Gemotions

The waiting room's floral wallpaper swam before Sarah’s eyes. A tremor started in her jaw, a subtle clenching she couldn’t control. Across the room, nestled in a plush armchair, sat… Mark. Mark, from the swings, from the bus rides, from the playground where he’d always found her an easy target. He was wearing a tweed jacket, his hair neatly styled. A nameplate on the small desk read "Mark Peterson, MSW."

Her breath hitched. She’d come here for help, for anxiety that had been clawing at her for months. Now, the air seemed thick, suffocating. He’d looked up, his face breaking into a polite, professional smile. "Sarah? Come on in. It’s lovely to see you." Lovely. The word itself felt like a punch.

She felt her feet dragging as she approached the office. The past felt like a tangible thing, a weight pressing down on her shoulders. The memories, so easily suppressed, now surged, vivid and unwelcome. His voice, once raised in taunts, now dripping with empathy, felt utterly alien.