Gemotions

He’d been feeling off-kilter for weeks, unable to concentrate, plagued by anxieties he couldn't name. He'd searched for therapists online, feeling a vague sense of dread with each name that popped up. Then he saw it: "Dr. Thomas Blackwood, PhD." It hit him with a physical jolt. Blackwood. The kid who'd terrorized him throughout high school.

He'd wanted to stop the appointment, to cancel it and run away from the problem, but he couldn't. He went in.

The waiting room was surprisingly vibrant. Bright artwork covered the walls. The air smelled of something vaguely herbal. But, inside, he felt frozen, rooted to the spot.

When the door opened, his throat constricted. Blackwood, older but still carrying the same commanding presence, beckoned him inside. His voice was calm, professional. "Mr. Peterson, please come in." He entered the office. His palms felt clammy, his stomach churning. He could only stare at the diplomas.