Gemotions

Rain hammered against the window, each drop a tiny accusation. Liam stared out, the grey mirroring the landscape of his mind. He’d booked the appointment on a whim, fueled by a sleepless night and a creeping sense of unease. Now, staring at the polished oak door of the therapy practice, he felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach.

His fingers clenched around his phone, the smooth metal cool against his skin. This was ridiculous. He should just turn around. But the image of his relentless tormentor, Mark, a therapist? The absurdity was a twisted lure. He pushed the door open.

The receptionist’s cheerful greeting felt like a splash of cold water. Liam barely managed a nod in response. He felt a sharp jab of resentment, a memory of a playground taunt, a stolen lunch, a whispered sneer. He took a seat in the waiting area, a leather chair that felt oddly unfamiliar and too soft. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he had. He wanted to leave.