Gemotions

The waiting room smelled faintly of lavender and disappointment. Mark shifted uncomfortably in the plush armchair, the fabric itching against his skin. He crossed his arms, the action a familiar shield against perceived threats, real or imagined. He tapped his foot, the rhythmic thump a counterpoint to the soft, New Age music filtering from hidden speakers.

He'd almost cancelled the appointment. The receptionist’s voice on the phone – so chipper, so…professional – had grated on his nerves. Now, here he was, about to bare his soul to *her*. Sarah Jenkins. The girl who used to tie his shoelaces together before gym class. The girl who’d nicknamed him “four-eyes” and made sure everyone knew it.

His stomach clenched. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the stray strands. He hoped she wasn't going to try some touchy-feely nonsense.