Gemotions

The coffee cup, clutched in David's numb fingers, was almost empty. The ceramic felt cold against his skin, a sensation that barely registered. He rubbed a hand over his face, the stubble scratching lightly. He hadn’t shaved in days. Each breath felt like an effort.

He'd been putting off the therapy session for weeks, but the mounting pressure was unbearable. The office door was nondescript. He sighed, steeling himself to walk in.

The therapist's nameplate read "Sarah Miller, MA, LPC". Inside, the room was bland, predictable. And then he saw her. Sarah Miller, her name on the card, was, in fact, the same girl who used to steal his lunch money. Sarah, the one who had once called him a crybaby. His head felt dizzy.

"David?" she asked, her voice calm and professional. A small smile played on her lips. It was almost mocking. He didn't respond. He wanted to go home.