Gemotions

She chewed the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit that had returned with a vengeance. Her hands fluttered uselessly in her lap, like panicked birds desperate to escape a cage. The receptionist's polite voice, informing her that Dr. Marcus was ready, felt like a verbal punch to the gut. The air seemed to have thickened, making it hard to breathe.

She pushed herself up, her knees weak. Her vision swam as she took the short walk towards the office. The nameplate on the door read "Dr. Marcus Thorne, PhD." It wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

The door opened, and his face was the same. The same smirk, the same condescending tilt of his head. Her skin felt too tight, itchy and prickly. *This is a bad joke,* she thought, the words a silent scream inside her head.