Gemotions

The steel door offered no comfort. Sarah pounded on it again, her knuckles raw. Three hours. Three hours she’d been trapped with Mark, who was humming something vaguely familiar, oblivious to the urgency clawing at her insides. Sweat plastered her silk blouse to her back. She kept picturing the presentation she’d been practicing, the clients already seated, the deal hanging in the balance.

“Mark,” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, is there anything we can do?” He shrugged, fiddling with his tie. She felt a surge of pure, unadulterated frustration.

Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps, her chest tightening with each passing moment. The air conditioning was failing, and the stale air felt thick, heavy, like a suffocating blanket. She began to pace the small space, the only movement breaking the suffocating stillness.