Gemotions

The stale, recycled air felt thick against Maya’s skin. The small space made her feel claustrophobic. Three hours. She could have been home by now, curled up on her sofa with a book and a glass of wine. Instead, she was stuck with *him*. Mark. The one who always made off-color jokes and tried to flirt.

She huffed, crossing her arms defensively. "Are you even calling for help?" she asked, her voice sharp. She watched him, as he sat there, playing some mobile game.

“Yep,” he said. “They’ll be here.”

"They'll be here, as if we should just wait for them to save us!" She thought to herself. She wanted to scream. She had important things to do, a life to live. This was a complete and utter waste of her time. She began to tap her foot, a relentless beat of displeasure.