Gemotions

He stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling, tracing the cracks with his fingertip. The therapist's office, once a bright and airy space, now felt like a prison cell. He'd been avoiding this for months. Now, the weight of his actions had become unbearable.

The door opened, and a woman with kind eyes and a familiar face entered. “David?” she asked. It was Emily, the girl he used to terrorize on the school bus, the one he'd made cry so many times.

"Please, have a seat," she instructed, her voice gentle, and he felt a flush of heat rise in his cheeks. He slowly took the offered chair, his stomach churning with unease. He couldn’t look her in the eye.