Gemotions

The drive over had been a blur of frantic self-talk. Now, I found myself staring at the closed door, the handle gleaming under the soft porch light. I was debating turning around, making up some excuse. My stomach felt like it was churning.

A window opened, and he appeared, smiling. “Come on in, Jake,” he called out. His voice was warm, almost friendly. I forced myself to walk forward, my feet heavy.

The interior of his home was tastefully decorated, smelling faintly of cinnamon and something earthy. I sat down, my shoulders hunched, feeling small and exposed. I couldn't help but remember the days he would tower over me.