Gemotions

The elevator doors opened, and Thomas stepped out, phone in hand. He’d just sent a message to his boss, explaining why he was late for the meeting: a flat tire. The reply appeared immediately: "Sounds like a problem, but it’s not my problem." He blinked, his mind struggling to process the terse words. He was in the wrong building, the wrong floor.

He had to get to the meeting. He checked the number again. It was his. He knew it. His fingers tightened around the phone. He pressed the elevator button again, his pulse pounding in his ears. The doors shut and started their descent. He felt the blood drain from his face. What had he done? How had this happened? His chest felt tight, like he was trapped.