Gemotions

A cold dread settled in David's bones as he sat in the sterile waiting area. The magazines lay untouched on the coffee table. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous tic. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, amplifying the silence. Across from him, a smiling, though generic, motivational poster displayed the word “HOPE”. He hated it.

He'd nearly turned around and walked out when the receptionist called his name. The door opened and there was *her*. Sarah Jenkins. The girl who used to steal his lunch money and call him “four eyes.”

His throat constricted. He mumbled a greeting, sinking into the plush chair. The room was bland, but he felt an invisible pressure pressing down on him. How could he possibly confess his struggles to the person who’d been the source of so many? Her questions came, gentle, probing. He answered in monosyllables. Each word felt like a nail hammered into his coffin. The weight on his shoulders felt almost unbearable.