Gemotions

She was babbling about her weekend plans. He could practically taste the saccharine sweetness of her voice, thick in the air. The stale, recycled air, that is. He crossed his arms, the gesture a physical barrier against her relentless cheerfulness.

He let out a sigh that was meant to express a weariness far beyond the three hours trapped in a metal box. He turned slightly, offering a view of the back of his head, hoping the hint would be taken. It wasn’t.

He considered the merits of feigning a sudden illness. Perhaps a dramatic faint? But the thought of her reaction – the fuss, the attention – was more repulsive than the prospect of another hour. He clenched his jaw, and stared at the emergency phone, the silent black eye in the corner of the elevator.