Gemotions

A knot formed in Amelia’s stomach as she read the name on the door: Dr. Kevin Harding, Therapist. Kevin Harding? The Kevin Harding who’d once duct-taped her to a tree in seventh grade? She felt a sudden, pervasive heat wash over her, a prickling sensation that traveled down her arms. She nearly turned and fled, the impulse almost overwhelming.

Her appointment was in five minutes. She'd been on the waiting list for months, desperate for help sorting through the wreckage of her recent breakup. Now, all she wanted was to be anywhere else. She took a shuddering breath, her fingers tightening around her purse strap.

The reception area was serene – soft lighting, muted artwork, a gentle trickling fountain. It was the antithesis of the chaotic hallways and overflowing lockers of their shared middle school. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the past, in all its thorny glory, was about to rear its head.