Gemotions

The waiting room was a suffocating floral print. Sarah felt a prickle of sweat crawl down her spine, the air heavy with the scent of potpourri. Her hands, usually steady, were now clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. She hadn’t slept well the night before, a familiar tightness constricting her chest. It was absurd. She was here for a routine check-up, not a root canal. The receptionist called her name, and her stomach lurched.

Walking down the hallway felt like wading through molasses. The door was ajar, and the voice that greeted her, smooth and practiced, made her pause. It was him. Mark, the boy who used to trip her in the school hallways, the boy who'd called her names. He stood up, a smile plastered on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sarah! Come in, have a seat."

She forced herself to smile back, her throat constricted. His office was surprisingly calming, with muted colors and a large window overlooking a garden. He gestured towards a plush armchair. "How are you doing today?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral. She sat, feeling a tremor in her hands as she clasped them in her lap.