Gemotions

John felt like he was being squeezed. The elevator ride to the therapist’s office had been agonizing, each floor a slow descent into a vortex of dread. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his palms slicked against his jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d developed over the last few weeks. He'd been having nightmares, crippling anxiety, and his doctor had recommended therapy. He’d booked an appointment, not knowing, and now this.

He saw the sign: "Elias Thorne, PhD, Therapy." Elias Thorne. The very same Elias Thorne who used to delight in tormenting him in elementary school. The same bully who’d convinced him to eat dirt on the playground. How could this be happening?

He imagined himself turning tail and walking away. Then he pictured his therapist, a nice, understanding woman, and the helpful advice she'd give him. He took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm. He didn’t.