Gemotions

The cold, metallic shell of the elevator pressed against Claire. The emergency lights were casting long, dancing shadows, making it difficult to discern the expression on her coworker, John’s, face. She had a phone in her pocket, but the signal was probably nonexistent. She took a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of metal and a faint hint of someone’s cologne.

John paced, muttering under his breath. Claire leaned back against the wall, trying to create distance between herself and the anxiety that was radiating from him. She concentrated on the patterns in the metal panels, counting the rivets. She began to catalog everything she saw, a sort of mental inventory of her surroundings. A scratch here, a dent there. All of it served as a way to calm her nerves.

"We'll be out of here eventually," she said, her voice measured. "The maintenance crew will get here." It was a statement, not a question, and she focused on her inner state to make sure the words sounded like it. She pictured the familiar face of her cat, Mr. Whiskers. It helped her center her attention. She hummed a quiet tune, anything to keep her composure.