Gemotions

The world felt muted. Everything was grayscale. Michael found himself staring at the peeling paint of the office door, the chipped wood a perfect reflection of his crumbling insides. He rubbed his aching temples, the dull throb a constant reminder of his inner turmoil. He was a wreck.

A sign reading "Dr. Bethany Reed, Therapist" adorned the door. Bethany Reed. His nemesis. The girl who’d turned his life into a living hell. The thought of spilling his guts to her made him want to bolt.

He took a seat. Her eyes, usually sparkling with malicious glee, were now filled with professional neutrality. She asked questions, her voice a monotonous drone. He stared at his hands, his knuckles white. The words caught in his throat. He felt trapped, exposed. Shame coiled in his stomach, a poisonous snake.