Gemotions

The waiting room was a study in beige. He tapped a nervous rhythm on his knee, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet space. A knot tightened in his stomach. *Ashley*, the sign on the door read. Ashley Peterson, MA, LPC. He’d recognized the name almost immediately, a cold wave washing over him as he reread the advertisement on the therapist’s website. The same Ashley Peterson who used to lock him in the equipment closet during recess.

He jumped when the door opened, heart hammering against his ribs. A woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile stood in the doorway. "Mr. Davies?" she asked, her voice soft. He swallowed, attempting a casual demeanor. "Yes. That's me."

As he followed her inside, he took in the details, searching for any sign, any tell. The room was cozy, but he didn't relax. He kept his back to the wall, his gaze darting from the window to the door, cataloging escape routes. He felt her eyes on him as he sat, the weight of the past pressing down.