Gemotions

The waiting room smelled faintly of lavender and old magazines. A knot of anxiety tightened in Elias's stomach. He kept his eyes fixed on the chipped paint of the wall, avoiding the gaze of the receptionist who had offered him a weak smile. He hadn't been sleeping well, and the days all seemed to bleed into one another. The sunlight felt harsh, the noise of the city grating. He'd been referred to this therapist by his doctor, a name scribbled on a slip of paper.

"Elias?" a voice called from the doorway. He looked up, and his blood went cold.

It was Mark, the bane of his childhood. Mark, who used to delight in making Elias's life miserable. Mark, with the same cruel glint in his eyes, only now, it seemed, framed by a professional smile.

“Come on in,” Mark said, gesturing toward his office. The room was bland, impersonal, filled with the same sterile calm Elias associated with dentists' offices.

“So,” Mark began, leaning back in his chair, “Tell me what brings you here.” Elias swallowed, the lump in his throat making speech difficult. He felt suddenly, intensely, small.