Gemotions

“Please have a seat.” The voice of Mrs. Henderson, his childhood tormentor, directed him to a leather armchair. The room itself was unremarkable, filled with the usual therapist accoutrements. As she began her introduction, a sense of lightness came over Oliver. He sat up a little straighter. The urge to burst out laughing was powerful, but he controlled it.

He thought back on all those times he'd been ridiculed by Mrs. Henderson. He'd dreamed of seeing her in a bad light. Now she sat opposite him, offering to give him advice. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stay calm.

“Now, Oliver,” she said, her voice still sharp, though laced with a professional veneer, “what brings you here today?”

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling. "Well, Mrs. Henderson," he began, his tone carefully neutral. "I have a few… unresolved issues." His smile was widening. This was going to be therapeutic, indeed.