Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the waiting room. Each gust seemed to mirror the frantic drumming in Amelia's chest. She clenched and unclenched her hands, the fabric of her skirt twisting in her grip. Across the room, a magazine lay untouched in her lap. How could she possibly focus on celebrity gossip when *he* was behind that door?

Her appointment was for ten AM. It was 9:57. The grandfather clock in the corner seemed to tick with glacial slowness. A wave of heat washed over her face. She felt an overwhelming need to disappear, to dissolve into the floral wallpaper.

"Amelia?" A familiar voice. Cold, now strangely gentle. It was him. Michael. Her childhood tormentor. Now, a therapist.