Gemotions

The waiting room's floral wallpaper seemed to writhe as Amelia slammed the magazine onto the coffee table. She’d been waiting for an hour. An HOUR! For Mark. Mark, the bane of her childhood, the boy who'd once stolen her favorite teddy bear and hidden it in the mud. Now, apparently, he was a *therapist*. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow.

Her jaw clenched, her hands forming fists. The receptionist, a woman with a kind smile, had the audacity to offer her a soothing cup of tea. Amelia nearly barked at her, but restrained herself. She needed to maintain some semblance of composure. She had to.

She imagined the smug look on Mark’s face, the condescending tone he would undoubtedly use. He’d probably try to analyze her, to peel back the layers of her psyche. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. She was not going to give him the satisfaction.

The door opened, and there he was. Mark. Older, yes, but still carrying that familiar, irritating air of self-importance. He gestured towards his office. Amelia rose, her posture stiff, and followed him, a coiled spring ready to snap.