Gemotions

Sarah gripped the worn leather of the waiting room chair, the fabric bunching beneath her knuckles. She’d been staring at the abstract art on the wall for twenty minutes, but none of it registered. Each tick of the clock on the wall felt like a tiny hammer blow against her skull. This was ridiculous. She should just walk out.

The receptionist’s voice, saccharine sweet, cut through her thoughts. “Dr. Miller will see you now, Sarah.”

Her stomach plummeted. Miller. The name echoed in her memory, bringing with it the sting of childhood taunts and playground shoves. He'd been the bane of her existence, a constant source of anxiety. Now, here she was, seeking his help.

She followed the receptionist down the sterile hallway, her legs feeling heavy. The door to Dr. Miller’s office was plain, devoid of any decoration. She raised her hand to knock, her knuckles pale.