Gemotions

Sarah glared at the door labeled “Mark Peterson, LCSW.” The letters swam before her eyes. *Therapist*. She gripped her purse so hard her knuckles were white. The man who'd once called her "Twitchy Sarah" was now supposedly helping people. The audacity of it.

She pushed the door open, a sound that she hoped conveyed exactly how she felt about this appointment. His office was, predictably, full of earthy tones and soft lighting. *Ugh*.

“Sarah, come in, have a seat.” Mark, older but still…big, gestured towards a plush armchair. He had the gall to look calm, almost serene. She sat, carefully, as if the chair might explode.

“So, what brings you here?” He asked, his voice low and practiced. The question hung in the air, a challenge. She crossed her arms and stared out the window.