Gemotions

The elevator doors chimed open, and she stepped into the sterile hallway. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She double-checked the number on the door, 307. This was it. The place where she was supposed to find help. The place where *he* was waiting.

She could hear her breath, shallow and ragged, a prelude to a panic attack. Her vision blurred, and the world seemed to tilt slightly. She backed away from the door, almost colliding with a potted plant. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight the overwhelming impulse to flee, to disappear.

She pressed her palms against the wall, seeking a grounding sensation. The cool plaster offered little solace. The weight of the past, the memories of his cruel laughter and the relentless harassment, pressed down on her with the force of a physical blow. She took another shaky breath and raised her trembling hand to the door.