Gemotions

The chipped paint on the window frame seemed to whisper accusations. As he waited, Paul’s palms were clammy. He’d made an appointment, begrudgingly, because of mounting stress. His therapist? His childhood foe, Gary. He had been the epitome of cruelty, a constant source of fear.

He remembered the endless torment, the public humiliation. He remembered how awful he had felt.

He entered the office, his stomach churning. Gary stood and greeted him. He looked different, older. His handshake was firm, but gentle. His voice was calm, and his eyes appeared sincere. Paul struggled to return the gesture. He felt a weird need to explain himself. Gary didn't interrupt, but listened with what seemed to be genuine interest, not the bored indifference of his youth.