Gemotions

The waiting room felt suddenly smaller, the floral wallpaper closing in. Amelia gripped the worn armrests of the chair, knuckles bone-white. Across from her, a framed certificate proclaimed the name she never thought she’d see professionally: Derek "The Destroyer" Davison, M.A., Licensed Therapist. Sweat trickled down her spine.

Her appointment was in five minutes. Five minutes to face the person who’d made her life a living misery during middle school. She considered bolting, escaping the pristine office with its soothing music and the smell of air freshener. But the anxiety knotting her stomach was just as terrible as the thought of seeing him, maybe worse.

The receptionist called her name. Amelia's mouth was so dry she could barely manage to murmur "Here." She walked towards the door, her legs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort.