Gemotions

He found himself pacing the length of his cramped apartment, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet. The email had arrived earlier that day: his former tormentor, Brenda Miller, was now a licensed therapist specializing in childhood trauma. A low hum of anxiety thrummed in his chest. He hadn't thought about her in years.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the action a nervous habit. The thought of potentially sharing his deepest vulnerabilities with the person who had once delighted in making him feel worthless was a bitter pill to swallow.

His phone buzzed. It was a reminder for his therapy session tomorrow. He stared at the screen, the light reflecting in his wide, almost frightened eyes. He'd booked the session weeks ago, desperate for a way to process the recent loss of his father. Now, he wondered if he could even go through with it.