Gemotions

Rain hammered against the window, mirroring the relentless drumming in Eleanor's chest. She hadn't left her apartment in days. Empty takeout containers and discarded clothes formed a barrier between her and the world. Her phone lay untouched on the coffee table, a dead thing. Another rejection email. Another missed opportunity. She stared at the ceiling, feeling the familiar weight pressing down. A sense of being permanently anchored.

Her gaze drifted to the flyer she'd picked up weeks ago, advertising local therapists. One name, "Marcus Thorne, LCSW," briefly caught her eye. Then, a flicker of recognition. Marcus Thorne. The boy who had made her life a misery in middle school. The thought of confronting him, of laying bare her failings before him, was almost unbearable.

But then, the thought of *not* doing it felt worse.