Gemotions

The anxiety that usually gnawed at him was absent. He’d driven to the appointment without a single racing thought. He felt like a weight had been lifted, leaving him strangely empty. Even the sterile office seemed benign.

He sat on the plush sofa, legs crossed, waiting. The old rage was gone, replaced by a feeling akin to being drained of all fight. He barely registered the artwork on the walls.

"Come in," a familiar voice called. It was Mark, his childhood tormentor. He felt no urge to flee, no desire to confront. He just walked in and sat. Mark, now Dr. Thompson, gestured to the chair opposite him. He simply sat.