Gemotions

The air conditioning hummed, a mechanical, impersonal sound that did nothing to soothe the tension knotting in Clara's shoulders. She kept fiddling with the straps of her purse, a nervous tic she hadn't realized she had until now.

She was surprised she didn't just turn around and leave. She had thought about it all week. Her therapist, the bully, now had a fancy degree. She wanted to smash the framed certificates she saw on the wall.

The door opened and in walked Mr. Davies. Now, Dr. Davies. He wore a crisp white coat.

"Clara, come in, please."

She forced herself to walk forward. Every step was like wading through molasses. She sat, but she didn’t look at him.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up,” he said.