Gemotions

He found himself staring at the address on the intake form. "Therapeutic Solutions - Michael Stevens, LCSW." Michael Stevens, the boy who used to trip him in the hallways. A strange, muted feeling settled over him, the kind he got when he looked at a broken appliance and knew he should fix it, but couldn't bring himself to care enough.

The office was predictably generic, with calming artwork and a distracting water feature. Michael, now Dr. Stevens, had aged. He had a kinder face, but a familiar gleam in his eyes.

He began explaining his problems, speaking in a slow, detached manner. Stevens asked probing questions, his face neutral. He felt nothing, just the weight of his own existence. He stared out the window during the entire session.