Gemotions

The therapy session had been going on for forty minutes, and he'd yet to utter a single word to his therapist. He stared at the patterned rug, counting the threads, trying to find some semblance of order in the chaos.

His hands shook as he lifted a glass of water, spilling a few drops. The silence stretched, a taut, invisible wire. He could feel the weight of her gaze, heavy and expectant.

“It must be difficult,” she finally said, her voice soft, “to revisit those memories.” He flinched, remembering the playground, the taunts, the isolation. He felt exposed, stripped bare.