Gemotions

The waiting room was sterile, all muted blues and grays. Amelia fiddled with the strap of her handbag, her pulse quickening. She’d made the appointment on a whim, driven by a restless energy she couldn't quite explain. The receptionist had called out, "Dr. Harding will see you now."

Amelia stood, her breath catching. The door. She was about to face *him*. Mark Harding, the boy who used to snatch her lunch money and call her names. Now, a doctor. A *therapist*. The idea crackled in her chest.

She took a step, then another. The hallway was hushed. The door to his office was plain, devoid of any decoration. She raised her hand, knuckles trembling, and knocked.