Gemotions

He gripped the worn leather of the waiting room chair, his knuckles white. The sterile environment did nothing to soothe the tremor that ran through him. He’d been anticipating this for weeks, and the anticipation was causing a physical ache.

The door to the office opened, and a woman with familiar, piercing blue eyes beckoned him in. It was Karen, the girl who had made his school years a living hell. Now, she was a therapist. The irony was almost too much to bear.

“Come in, Michael,” she said, her voice even, professional. He could feel the blood drain from his face. He felt exposed, as if he'd been thrown into an ice bath.