Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the therapy room seemed to amplify the silence. Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The air conditioning was set too low, making his skin prickle. He felt a burning sensation in his chest.

"Well, Mr. Harding," the therapist said, his voice a manufactured calm. It was David, his former tormentor. The one who had broken his favorite toy and spread rumors about him. He was a therapist? The irony was almost too much to bear.

Michael crossed his arms, staring fixedly at the framed diploma on the wall. He wanted to shout, to rail at the injustice of it all. The unfairness of the universe. Instead, he forced a tight smile. "Just call me Michael," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He would not give this man the satisfaction of knowing how much this encounter unsettled him. He would not.

David raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Alright, Michael. Let’s talk about… your childhood.”