Gemotions

Michael drummed his fingers on the cheap wooden table. Sweat beaded on his forehead, a sensation he despised. This whole situation felt absurd, like a bad sitcom. Of all the therapists in the city, he’d landed with *him* – Chad, the kid who used to steal his lunch money and call him names.

He caught his reflection in the window, a nervous, twitchy version of himself. He ran a hand over his face. The air in the room felt thick and heavy, like the weight of a schoolyard memory. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He just wanted to scream.

The door clicked open, and there he was, Chad, looking annoyingly calm and…professional. Michael swallowed hard. “Come in, Michael,” Chad said, voice smooth and cultivated. Michael clenched his jaw and trudged inside.