Gemotions

The waiting room felt far too bright, the white walls amplifying the throbbing in Elias's temples. He picked at a loose thread on his worn jeans, his gaze flitting from the framed diplomas on the wall to the abstract art that did nothing to soothe his agitation. A small, anxious laugh escaped his lips. Of all the therapists in this city, why *him*?

He’d finally admitted to needing help, after a decade of internal wrestling. Now, staring at the nameplate - "Dr. Marcus Bell, LCSW" - a wave of nausea rolled over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the reason he’d made the appointment. He’d messed up. Again.

When the door finally opened, it was indeed Marcus. The bully. He had a kinder face now, but the broad shoulders, the set of the jaw, the eyes that always seemed to size you up – they were all there. The breath hitched in Elias's throat, and he found himself rising from his chair, a little too quickly.