Gemotions

The rain lashed against the windows of the office, mirroring the storm brewing inside of Amelia. She clutched her worn purse tightly, a shield against the world. She always felt exposed, raw. He was a beacon of stability.

She hadn't spoken to anyone in weeks, not even her own brother. She'd become quiet, withdrawn, like a hermit crab retreating into its shell.

When the therapist, Robert, whom she had known in high school as a sadistic bully, walked into the room, she instantly felt trapped. She sat rigidly, hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting.

"Amelia, it's good to see you," Robert said, his voice measured and calm. He was still in control. She hated that he was in control.

She found herself, almost immediately, searching his face for judgment.