Gemotions

The waiting room smelled like lavender and forced positivity. Sarah slumped in the plush chair, arms crossed, the magazine in her lap untouched. Across the room, a watercolor print of a sun-drenched beach mocked her. She had specifically chosen a therapist with no online presence, thinking she'd finally be safe. Then the receptionist had called her name, and her stomach had dropped.

“Sarah?” A too-friendly voice called. It was Mark, the bane of her elementary school existence. He stood there, smiling, looking impossibly…calm. The memory of scraped knees and stolen lunches flickered through her mind, sharp as a shard of glass.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the therapist’s chair. He didn't seem to recognize her, or maybe he was pretending. Either way, she wanted to flee. But she had paid upfront.

“So, what brings you in today?” he asked, his pen poised. He had traded in his sneer for what was, at best, professional neutrality. She almost laughed.