Gemotions

The waiting room felt too small, the air thick with the scent of lavender and forced calm. Sarah gripped the worn strap of her purse so hard her knuckles were white. Across from her, a framed photo of Dr. Miller smiled. The same smug grin. The same eyes that had watched her trip and fall, years ago, at the school dance. A tremor ran through her, a current of pure, unadulterated… something.

Her leg bounced relentlessly. She hated waiting. She hated lavender. She hated *him*.

The door opened, and Dr. Miller appeared, radiating the same unsettling composure she remembered. He gestured towards the office with a practiced, open palm. Sarah followed, her mouth a thin line. She’d walked past him in the grocery store a few weeks back. He’d barely spared her a glance.

"Please, have a seat," he said, his voice smooth and calibrated. She slammed herself into the chair, the faux leather squeaking in protest. He continued to watch her.

"So, what brings you in today?"