Gemotions

Sarah stared at the name on the door. "Dr. Marcus Bell, Therapist." Marcus Bell? There had to be a mistake. The Marcus Bell she knew was a tyrant on the playground, a whirlwind of elbows and insults. Her stomach lurched. She reached for the buzzer, then hesitated, hand hovering. A tremor ran through her.

She pictured him, the same cold eyes, the sneer playing at his lips. What would he even *say*? Would he remember the time he’d tripped her in the cafeteria, sending her tray of spaghetti and meatballs sprawling across the floor? Now, a therapist? The absurdity of it all was almost dizzying.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah finally pressed the button. The intercom crackled to life, a voice, surprisingly calm, said, “Yes? Who is it?”

“Uh… Sarah… Miller,” she managed, her voice cracking slightly. The door clicked, and she found herself walking into the lobby, her heart thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.