Gemotions

He’d booked the appointment on a whim, a desperate attempt to sort through the chaos in his head. The receptionist had confirmed his fears: yes, Dr. Davies was available. He’d barely registered the name at the time. Now, sitting outside the office, the memory of Davies's sneering face from the school bus hit him like a physical blow.

He gripped his hands together, knuckles white, willing himself to breathe. The air felt thick, heavy. He’d expected an imposing space, something intimidating. Instead, the waiting area was minimalist, almost sterile.

The door opened. Davies. He’d aged, but the same cold glint flickered in his eyes. He said, "Mr. Harrison, please, come in." His voice was smooth, professional, but the polite facade did little to soothe the churning in his stomach.

As he walked into the office, his footfalls felt hollow, each step echoing in his ears like a drumbeat. He sat down, the chair cool against his back. He felt his hands begin to sweat.