Gemotions

He took a sharp intake of breath. The waiting room felt suddenly small, the air thick with unspoken history. He had walked into a calm, beige space expecting a neutral setting. Instead, he was facing the person who had once delighted in making his life a misery. The person who had once been his nemesis now appeared as a professional.

He found himself seated in the designated armchair, the leather cool under his skin. He saw his childhood tormentor looking at him. “So, what can I help you with today, James?” She spoke with a studied gentleness, as if she were speaking to a particularly skittish animal.

He tried to respond, but his throat had closed. He felt a hot flush rising up his neck. His carefully prepared list of complaints evaporated from his mind. He sat there, mute, a captive audience in a courtroom of his own making.