Gemotions

The elevator ascended slowly, each floor a fresh wave of panic washing over him. He felt as if his senses were dialed to maximum. The whirring of the gears, the stale air, the faint scent of cleaning solution - all were amplified, assaulting his senses. He kept running his hands through his hair.

He was here for a consultation. A colleague had recommended this practice, a place for help, a chance to improve. He had only learned the therapist's name a few hours ago: David Harding. His stomach churned. The very idea of opening up to the person who had once delighted in tormenting him was almost unbearable.

The doors chimed, and he hesitated. He took a long, slow breath, then walked out, feeling like a soldier marching into a minefield.