Gemotions

He kept seeing the same license plates. Every other car seemed to be registered to a street near his childhood home. A headache pounded behind his eyes, a dull throb that worsened with each passing hour. He checked his rearview mirror again, though he’d been staring at it for the past ten minutes.

He’d booked the appointment months ago, needing help. But now, standing outside the beige building, he felt a wave of nausea crash over him. It wasn't the building, but the name on the doorplate. "Dr. Thomas Miller, LCSW."

He could almost see him, the sneer, the way his eyes would narrow. He could almost hear the taunts echoing from the recesses of his memory. He fumbled with the handle, taking a few extra moments before finally pushing the door open, feeling a tremor in his fingertips.

The interior was bland and modern. The waiting room offered few comforts. He found himself staring at the artwork. All abstract shapes, with no easily discernible meaning. A woman with glasses greeted him, offering him a seat. He nodded.