Gemotions

A wave of nausea swept over him. He gripped the armrests of the chair, knuckles white, fighting the urge to bolt. Every muscle in his body was tense, as if preparing for a fight. He felt utterly exposed, vulnerable. His breath hitched in his throat, and his heart hammered against his ribs. The office was too quiet, and the clock on the wall ticked with agonizing slowness.

His appointment was with Roger Blake. Roger Blake, the kid who had made his childhood miserable. He needed therapy, desperately. He was falling apart.

He imagined the pain, the humiliation, and the dread. He thought of his mother, and how he had promised her he would be better.

The door swung open and Roger, in a professional tone, said, "Daniel? Come on in."