Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the elevator hummed, a shrill counterpoint to the silence that had fallen between Amelia and David. It had been nearly an hour, and David's casual mention of her report being "thorough, but perhaps a little… *verbose*," replayed on a loop in her head. Her jaw tightened, the muscles aching with a silent clench. She crossed her arms, the action a deliberate barricade against him.

Amelia tapped her foot, the rhythmic sound a tiny, aggressive punctuation mark in the confined space. He'd been so quick to offer that assessment, hadn't he? Like he was some kind of writing guru.

"So," David finally offered, his voice hesitant, "You think they'll get us out soon?" He gestured towards the emergency phone with a pointed nonchalance. Amelia merely looked away.

The steel walls of the elevator seemed to press in on her, each inch a reminder of the other's presence, of his implied critique of her work. She fiddled with the strap of her handbag, the leather cool and smooth against her agitated fingers.