Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor hummed, a monotonous drone that seemed to amplify the silence. Amelia’s hands twisted in her lap, fingers digging into the worn fabric of her jeans. She watched Mark, her childhood confidant, now a doctor, walk towards her. He looked professional, confident, the perfect embodiment of success. He stopped, a polite smile gracing his lips.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice polite, clinical.

“It’s me, Amelia,” she blurted out, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "From, you know… the swings, the treehouse? Remember?” The hope that had flickered inside her died when he frowned, his brow creasing in puzzlement.

He offered an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve met you before.” The air around her seemed to thicken, making it difficult to breathe. She felt a pressure building in her chest, a physical manifestation of her confinement within this conversation, this stranger. All she could do was nod, numb.