Gemotions

He found himself pacing the worn wooden planks of his apartment floor. The bills were piling up, the landlord was getting aggressive, and his car had decided to start leaking oil again. He raked a hand through his already messy hair.

He needed help. He knew he needed help. His best friend had suggested therapy, mentioned a guy named Mark Henderson who was, apparently, the best in the city. The problem was, Mark Henderson used to make his life a living hell. The name sent a wave of heat across his chest, a tight knot forming in his abdomen.

He remembered the taunts, the sneers, the feeling of utter powerlessness. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow: the guy who had once delighted in tearing him down was now supposed to be the one to help him build himself back up. He abruptly sat down, head in his hands.