Gemotions

He cleared his throat, a nervous sound that grated on her nerves. The confined space amplified everything – the stale air, the metallic scent of the elevator, the way her own heartbeat hammered against her ribs. Sarah knew the elevator's fault had been hers. She’d insisted on taking the "shortcut" to the third floor, after she'd spent twenty minutes gushing to him about her weekend.

“So… how long do you think we’ll be here?” Mark asked, his voice strained. She shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. She busied herself with inspecting the scuffs on her shoes. He'd probably heard every embarrassing detail of her life since Monday, and now this.

“Probably not long,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. She hoped he didn’t see the flush creeping up her neck, the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. The thought of their interaction being replayed later by their office colleagues made her want to disappear.