Gemotions

The waiting room smelled faintly of lavender and old paperbacks. His palms were slick. He kept adjusting the knot of his tie, even though it wasn't askew. He'd nearly tripped getting out of his car, a silly, clumsy lurch that he attributed to the sudden downpour. Now, sitting here, he saw the photo on the desk – a softer face, the same sharp cheekbones, the same unsettlingly clear eyes. *Dammit, Jessica*, he thought, the name a silent prayer.

He heard his name called. He stood, his legs feeling wobbly. The door opened and there she was, radiating an aura of calm that made his own anxiety spike. "Come in, Mark," she said, her voice low and steady. He managed a weak smile, his heart hammering against his ribs. The world tilted on its axis as he followed her.

He sat on the plush couch, noticing the way her fingers tapped gently on the notepad as she asked him to begin. His mouth felt dry. He could barely articulate his name, let alone the tangled mess of feelings that had brought him here.