Gemotions

The receptionist's smile felt forced, the air thick with unspoken tension. He picked up a magazine, but the words blurred before his eyes. The name on the door was etched into his memory: "Dr. Eleanor Vance, Psy.D." He felt a strange tingling in his hands. *Eleanor Vance*. The girl who used to write humiliating things about him in her diary, then make sure he knew about it.

He sat frozen, his chest constricting.

A voice, surprisingly kind, called out, “Jason? Come on in. I’m ready for you.” He stood slowly, his legs feeling like jelly.

Eleanor was behind a large desk. She looked at him with an unnerving combination of seriousness and warmth. He felt a weird, unsettling shift, a sense of disorientation.