Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Liam swirled the lukewarm liquid in the disposable cup, his gaze fixed on the office building. The sign, “Mark Peterson, PhD, Counseling Services,” mocked him from across the street. Liam’s stomach churned. He hadn't seen Mark since...well, since the lockers.

He considered going home, turning back, pretending he'd forgotten the appointment. But the panic attacks were getting worse. He felt the familiar prickle of sweat on his forehead.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He walked into the building and checked in with the receptionist. He hated this, every single facet of this situation.