Gemotions

The waiting room felt like a pressure cooker. Sweat beaded on Amelia's forehead, tracing paths down her temples. She clawed at the faux leather of the chair, the sound grating against her teeth. The scent of lavender and something vaguely medicinal did nothing to calm the tidal wave of anxiety threatening to engulf her. Her breath hitched, shallow and rapid. What had she been thinking, scheduling this appointment?

A throat cleared, a sound that sliced through the already taut silence. The door to the office opened, and a woman, face softened with practiced empathy, beckoned her in. Then Amelia saw her, and a jolt of pure, unadulterated shock ricocheted through her. It was Brenda. Brenda from the fifth grade, Brenda who had stolen her favorite scrunchie and laughed as she cried.

Her mouth worked, soundless. *No, this can't be happening.* The woman, Brenda, gestured to the chair across from her, her smile unwavering. Amelia stumbled forward, her legs feeling like overcooked spaghetti.