Gemotions

The stale air in the elevator hung thick, a cocktail of cheap cologne and something vaguely floral that turned her stomach. She shifted, subtly pulling her scarf up to cover her nose. This was precisely the kind of situation she'd dreaded, trapped with *him*. Mark. The man who always wore too much aftershave and whose attempts at office small talk were more akin to a verbal assault.

She imagined the escape route; a fire escape down thirty floors. The metal walls seemed to shrink, closing in with every silent second. The fluorescent lights flickered, casting a sickly pallor on Mark’s smarmy smile. Her stomach churned.

“So,” Mark began, his voice booming in the confined space. She stiffened, crossing her arms defensively. She focused on the buttons, willing the numbers to change, anything to break the spell. Anything to get her away from the overpowering scent of artificial fruit and forced camaraderie.