Gemotions

It had all felt like a bad dream. The anxiety, the panic, the sheer, utter dread that had been building inside him for days. He gripped the edge of the chair in the waiting room, knuckles white. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, a frantic rhythm. He wanted to scream.

"Mr. Peterson?" The receptionist’s voice was a distant echo.

He walked down the hall, his legs heavy. He forced himself to look at the name on the door: "Dr. Rachel Blackwood." A wave of dizziness washed over him.

The door opened, and she was there. Rachel, the girl who had made his childhood a constant torment. He thought he might faint. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to flee, to escape this waking nightmare. He stood rooted to the spot, speechless.