Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered, a nauseating strobe show. He watched the seconds crawl by on his watch, each tick amplifying the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Three hours. Trapped with *her*. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple.

"So," she began, a syrupy sweet tone grating against his eardrums. "This is quite the predicament, isn't it?"

He fixed his gaze on the elevator's control panel, pretending to assess the mechanical integrity. Her attempts at light conversation were a transparent ploy to soften the tension, a tension *he* wasn't particularly interested in dissipating. He breathed through his nose, a slow, deliberate process to keep from rolling his eyes.

A bead of sweat trickled down his back. He subtly shifted away, as far as the confines of the box would allow, and focused on counting the tiles on the floor. Seventy-two. He'd never noticed how bland the pattern was. He would rather be anywhere else.