Gemotions

He’d always been a show-off, even back then. Now, here he was, Dr. Michael Davies, PhD, sitting behind a large, mahogany desk, a picture of studious contemplation. Emily leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, the leather cold against her skin. The sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air, a stark contrast to the sterile perfection of the office.

“So, Emily,” Michael began, his voice smooth, professional, “tell me what brings you here today.”

She met his gaze, a carefully constructed mask of disinterest in place. “Just trying to fix something broken, I suppose.” She let the words hang, a subtle jab, a reminder of the games they'd played – the ones he'd always won. The ones that had chipped away at her self-esteem.

His gaze flickered, a tiny muscle in his jaw clenching for a fraction of a second. She enjoyed the brief flicker of discomfort.