Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee did nothing to soothe the tension knotting in Amelia's stomach. She felt like a fraud. She kept running down a list of perceived errors, the words swirling in her brain. She looked at her reflection in the glass of the window, seeing every imperfection. It made her skin prickle.

She had finally agreed to seek therapy, desperate for some semblance of control. And then she’d found out who her therapist would be. Marcus Bell. The name felt like a brand, searing itself into her consciousness.

He finally walked through the door. Even his presence was a judgment. She felt the old, familiar sting of inadequacy. He was clearly looking at her, and she felt completely incapable of starting.