Gemotions

The therapy office was minimalist, all clean lines and muted colors. David’s palms were clammy as he waited. The receptionist, a young woman with a kind face, had offered him water. He declined.

He was in the waiting room to see Mr. Henderson, or, as David knew him, “Bully Henderson.” The guy who’d made his life miserable for years in high school. The name on the door was the only reason he was so hesitant.

He went in, he was greeted by the man that haunted his childhood. Mr. Henderson was dressed in a soft, grey sweater. He looked up and seemed to realize who his next patient was. He seemed to smile.

"David," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Come in. Have a seat." David sat, his throat tight. Mr. Henderson sat across from him. He then told David about his therapy. This started a conversation about David’s problems.