Gemotions

Liam dragged his feet down the long hallway, the fluorescent lights of the clinic buzzing overhead, a low, irritating drone. He felt like he'd been wading through molasses all day. The receptionist's smile felt brittle as she directed him to the therapy room. He knew what awaited him: the familiar, suffocating questions.

He opened the door and saw her: Sarah Miller. Sarah, who used to tie his shoelaces together and laugh as he tripped. Now, she was behind a desk, a nameplate proclaiming her role as a licensed therapist. His jaw clenched.

“Liam, come in,” she said, her voice smooth and professional. The room smelled of antiseptic and something faintly floral. He forced a smile, but his hand trembled slightly as he took a seat. What a world.