Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. She slumped in the waiting room chair, the floral wallpaper blurring through unshed tears. The stale air hung heavy, a suffocating blanket. Why was she here? After all these years, the knot in her stomach tightened. Across the room, a framed photograph of a smiling woman caught her eye: Dr. Carol Peterson, PhD, LPC. The same Carol Peterson who’d tripped her in the school cafeteria every Tuesday.

She tried to take a deep breath, but it hitched in her chest. The receptionist called her name, and her legs felt like lead weights as she rose. The office door seemed impossibly far away.

The session itself felt like a slow-motion car crash. She couldn’t make eye contact. Carol’s voice, once sharp and filled with cruel laughter, was now calm and measured, but it did nothing to calm the anxious churning of her gut. Amelia focused on the pattern of the rug, desperately avoiding the woman’s gaze, her own voice cracking as she recounted the reasons she felt so... small.