Gemotions

He stared at the blank canvas, the white expanse mirroring the emptiness he felt inside. He hadn’t painted in months, the creative fire extinguished by the weight of his anxieties. He wanted to throw his fist through the artwork.

A friend, sensing his struggles, had urged him to consider therapy. The therapist's name? Mark Henderson. The name he associated with torment. The boy who had made his school days a relentless cycle of fear and humiliation.

The very thought of confiding his deepest fears to his childhood tormentor made his skin crawl. He threw the brush down, the bristles splattering the table.