Gemotions

The stale air in the waiting room felt heavy, suffocating. He needed the routine, the structure, the certainty that someone else knew what to do. He found this comforting.

The receptionist called his name. As he walked toward the office, he felt his pulse quicken. The door read: "Mark Thompson, PhD, Licensed Therapist." Mark Thompson. The same Mark Thompson who had tormented him throughout high school.

He felt a familiar wave of nausea wash over him. His mouth went dry. He sat down, a little too hard.

He struggled to meet his gaze. He simply waited for direction, to be told what he should do.