Gemotions

Heaviness settled on Mark's chest as he waited in the reception area. The sterile white walls, the bland artwork – it all felt designed to amplify his anxiety. The receptionist, a woman with a strained smile, called his name. "Dr. Peterson will see you now." He stood, his legs feeling like lead. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't *him*. "Mark?" A voice, familiar and yet subtly different. It was David, the kid who used to steal his lunch money and call him names. Now, David was a therapist. A cold dread, a feeling of being completely circumscribed, began in Mark's gut.