Gemotions

The office was overly bright, the walls painted a cheerful yellow. She hated it. The air was thick with the scent of something vaguely floral. She slouched in the chair, her shoulders hunched, refusing to make eye contact.

"So, Emily," began the therapist, his voice gentle. "Tell me what's been happening."

She shrugged, a gesture of complete indifference. She looked around the room, making a show of inspecting the artwork on the walls. She wasn’t going to open up. She felt a knot in her stomach, a physical manifestation of her reluctance. She was not going to give this man anything.

She stared blankly at a watercolor painting of a flower, her lips pressed into a thin line. She would keep him guessing.