Gemotions

He stared, mouth agape, at the framed diplomas lining the wall. Dr. Eleanor Vance, LCSW, read the gold lettering. Eleanor Vance. His chest felt tight, as if a vise were slowly closing around it. Eleanor, the girl who’d terrorized him in middle school, the one who’d tripped him in the hallway and stole his lunch money.

He slowly turned towards the plush leather chair, the one he was scheduled to occupy for his session. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. She was seated, her expression calm, her gaze steady. "So, David, tell me what brings you in today?" Her voice, usually sharp and cutting, was now soft and encouraging.

He could feel his palms begin to sweat. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. The room seemed to tilt slightly, the diplomas blurring. He was trapped, utterly disarmed, facing his childhood tormentor in a setting where she held all the cards.