Chapter 4 #2
“Sorry.” I drag a hand through my hair again, before looking away, giving her some space. “It’s not my business. I shouldn't have asked.”
She doesn’t answer straight away, so I turn back to her, only to find her examining me.
“What’s your phobia?” she asks, steering the conversation away smoothly, like she's in charge.
She's smart.
I shrug. “I don’t have a fear. Of anything.”
“Everyone has a fear about something.”
“Not me,” I counter, proudly. I’ve dealt with too much trauma in my childhood years to ever fear anything now. I look up. We just left the seventy-second floor and now we’re stuck between that and the seventy-third floor.
Too bad. She was almost there.
Like most things in life, poor timing can fuck so much up.
If she’d been a few seconds earlier, if she hadn’t dropped whatever it was she was picking up, she’d have been there by now.
I’m suddenly curious about a total stranger and I want to know everything about her. I’m pretty sure I’m coming down with something, because this isn’t me. I’m detached and distant, and I keep to myself, but this morning? Feels like I’m in another timeline. In another universe.
***
ELIZABETH
Panic starts to climb up my throat with its sharp and twisty edges. My hands turn clammy, and my pulse races.
I undo a button on my blouse, needing to cool down.
I can’t believe I’m stuck.
Of all the things to happen to me today, this is the last thing I need. This morning couldn’t have turned out any worse.
The maintenance guy is trying to take my mind off the situation, and while I’m grateful for the distraction, it’s too raw. The memory of that room is as sharp as ever.
“Can you call one of your friends and see where they are?” We’ve been stuck here for what feels like forever, though it’s probably only been about ten minutes. But we’ve not had an update from whoever is fixing this.
The guy looks at me, puzzled. “My friends?”
“In maintenance. Isn’t that where you work? I don’t mean to be judgy but—”
“You can’t help yourself.” He chuckles softly. He seems so different from how I thought he’d be; I expected broodiness and him being guarded, but he’s not like that at all, and he surprises me.
“You seem to know more about elevator tech than the average person,” I counter.
He shrugs. “We have a good team here and you already know that someone’s on it.”
I take another deep breath.
“Don’t be scared. Nothing’s going to happen to us.”
He can see right through me.
“I’m fine.” But I’m not. My neck still feels clammy and my stomach is churning.
We’re suspended so high up, and my heart sinks even more.
I breathe in slowly. In for five seconds, out for five.
The panic started as soon as the elevator jerked to a stop.
In that moment it felt like a vise was gripping my chest. Time ticks by at a snail’s pace and it’s such excruciating torture.
It’s getting to be too much. I’m having another déjà vu moment because it’s the same metal walls.
The same humming lights. And no way out.
Just like last time.
I’m back there. In that cold night in a room I thought I’d left behind. The interrogation. The endless questions, each one designed to make me feel like a criminal. Maybe I was, back then, but I believed in what I did. I thought I was doing it for the good of people.
“That bag isn’t going anywhere,” he says, glancing at the strap of my bag which I’m gripping tightly.
“Why don’t you let go of it, and set it down?
” he suggests, moving closer to me, his voice dropping lower.
Instead of feeling like he’s invading my private space, I feel a little better.
A little grounded by his presence, and his voice is so soft I have to focus to hear him.
“Let go of what?” I murmur.
He holds out his hand, and I realize he’s asking me to let go of my bag. I take it off my shoulder, and he takes it, then sets it on the floor.
“You can loosen your shoulders,” he suggests. “That tension will give you a neck ache which might lead to a headache.”
Good thinking. I squeeze my shoulders lightly.
“Feels better, doesn’t it?” he asks.
I nod, then take my jacket off, needing to cool down.
Needing to regulate my breathing, my control, my focus.
I also don’t want to be a sweaty mess when I show up for my presentation.
Forcing in another breath I tell myself that this is not that time.
Today it’s something different. I’m rebuilding myself.
I’m being ethical. I’m not that girl anymore.
I have a chance to make good.
“Have you tried slowing down your breathing? In for five, hold for five, then out for five?”
Before I can answer, he starts counting, holding up his fingers slowly. We breathe in for five, hold for five, then breathe out for five.
He’s a great guy, is what I conclude, when, minutes later, I start to feel calmer.
We’re both facing one another. Both leaning on the wall. My hands are pressed together tightly. He’s folded his arms, showing off more tattoos. I bet he’s inked all over.
“You checking me out again?” he teases, offering a smile that unsettles me. It’s the stress of the situation and he’s only trying to be nice, I tell myself.
But I huff out a groan. “You wish.”
“I’m being serious. You were looking at my arms.”
He caught me red-handed and I can’t deny it. “I was … I was wondering where in maintenance you work.”
“Nowhere important. I’m just the janitor.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” He frowns. “Being judgy again?”
“No. No. I just had you down for working in … I don’t know.”
He’s put me in a bind. Eyes, brown or dull green, I can’t work out which, stare at me in consternation.
He must think I’m nasty. A real judgmental piece of work.
“I thought you worked in tech or something. I’m not judging you, I promise.
” I’m supposed to be thinking about my presentation, and the awesome opportunity I had.
Have, Liz, not had. They can’t turn me away for being late when it was a fault in their elevator.
The guy’s expression relaxes, and he stares at me for a moment before casually running a hand through his hair. It’s long and tousled, curling slightly at the ends near his neck and it falls perfectly over his forehead.
He has the type of hair and style that some would call messy.
I’d call it hot.