Gemotions

He paced the small, cluttered apartment, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet. He couldn't sit still. Each step was a tight, clipped movement. The air felt thick, stifling. He’d just received the rejection email, the one that meant everything to him. The words blurred before his eyes: “We regret to inform you…”

He stopped pacing, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. A wave of heat washed over him, making his skin prickle. He had to breathe. He needed help.

Then, the name surfaced in his memory: “Dr. Eleanor Vance, Therapist.” It was the therapist his sister had recommended. Eleanor Vance. The same Eleanor Vance who had terrorized him throughout his childhood. He had no other choice.