Gemotions

“Take a seat, Mr. Henderson.” Michael felt a chill crawl up his spine. The voice, smooth and controlled, was unmistakable. He sat, the springs of the chair protesting. Across the room, seated behind a desk polished to a blinding sheen, was Jake - the boy who'd once held him down and painted his face with peanut butter in the school bathroom.

Every muscle in his body felt tense. He couldn’t process this. The walls seemed to be closing in. He felt his face flush. He was here for help, for support; not for a goddamn reunion with a tormentor.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.