Gemotions

The waiting room's floral wallpaper seemed to constrict Amelia’s breathing. Another Tuesday, another hour spent staring at the speckled linoleum, another session looming. Her shoulders slumped, a weight pulling them downwards. She absentmindedly traced the pattern on her worn handbag, her fingers finding a small, loose thread. A voice called her name. Amelia looked up, surprised to see it was HIM. Mark Peterson, the bane of her childhood. He'd somehow become a therapist. Her stomach dropped.

"Amelia," Mark said, a gentle tone she didn't recall. "Come on back." His office was a stark contrast to the waiting room, filled with muted colors and soft lighting. Amelia shuffled inside, taking a seat in the plush armchair.

"So," Mark began, his eyes kind. "Where shall we start today?" The casualness of it all felt unreal. Years of stolen lunches and playground taunts… all replaced with a polite invitation. She felt a throbbing ache behind her eyes.