I studied his earnest expression for a few seconds, mentally weighing the pros and cons. “Fine, but I’m going to hate it,” I said, caving as he grinned at me.
5.
Present Day
11:20 AM
I came to with Justin hovering over me. My eyes focused on his, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of concern before his stare hardened again. “I never thought you’d take the damsel-in-distress route,” I heard him say as he backed up to the far side of the elevator.
I closed my eyes again to try to get my bearings. Whatever asshole comments he had, coupled with the fact that I was lying on some nasty elevator floor, were the least of my concerns. My biggest problem was that I felt no movement beneath me, meaning I was still stranded in this death trap. I slowly slid myself up until I was sitting against the wall of the elevator. Feeling no less panicked than when I blacked out, I focused on keeping my breathing steady to move my attention from the elevator walls, which still felt as if they would smother me.
“What did she say?” I asked, indicating the call box.
“Just that there’s some kind of power failure and we should sit tight while they call the experts,” he barked out. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at me as he held his phone in the air. “I’m not getting dick for cell service either. I’m going to kick Rob’s ass when we finally get out of here.”
His words slowly registered in my brain. Sit tight? What the hell did that even mean? Sit tight for the next few seconds? A few minutes? Several hours? Seriously, who tells someone to sit tight while they’re trapped with their ex in a small enclosed space hundreds of feet in the air?
“You’re not going to pass out again, are you?” he asked sarcastically as he studied me from across the elevator. “I don’t remember you being such a pansy.”
I ignored his ribbing while I concentrated on my breathing. “Did she guesstimate how long it would take?” I tried to sound unconcerned but knew it was pointless.
“Does it matter? We’re stuck together. Talk about irony at its worst,” he snapped. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d had something to do with this.”
“Oh yeah, you got me,” I snapped, sitting up straight. “I’ve missed your winning personality so much that Rob and I worked out this whole plan to hijack an elevator so I could be alone with you and tell you how much I missed you, and how I can’t live another day without you, and how I’ve tried to get hold of you for the last two years. Oh wait—I haven’t.”
He eyed me critically for a moment before looking away, almost satisfied. My sudden anger had dissipated any panic I was feeling. Judging by the look on his face, it was as though that had been his intention all along, but I knew better. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever did anything that came close to helping me.
The little bit of adrenaline I felt from my outburst was short-lived. Slumping back against the elevator again, I no longer felt like the walls were closing in on me, but it didn’t make the situation any more comfortable. We both sat in stubborn silence, as if the first one to talk would somehow lose the battle. The tension was high and began to feel heavy and oppressive, but I wasn’t about to cave.
“Since when are you scared of elevators?” Justin asked, without looking at me.
I silently celebrated my small victory and even debated being petty for a moment and not answering him, but the silence was wearing on me. “Since always.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because we never went on an elevator together—or maybe we just didn’t talk about those things.
“Yeah, you’re pretty good at keeping secrets.”
I sighed loudly. This was why there would be no reconciliation, even after two years. I had made a decision that threw down a gauntlet between us. I clamped my mouth closed, determined not to say another word until we were out of this situation. Pulling my iPhone from my bag, I began to scroll through my apps in search of anything to help pass the time. No bars meant no Facebook or Twitter, so I clicked on Spider Solitaire. I could feel Justin’s eyes boring into me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up. By the time I was playing my second hand of solitaire, I had successfully managed to put him somewhat out of my mind. When he finally did speak again, the suddenness of his voice made me jump.
“So, why the hatred of elevators?” he asked.
Glancing up, I weighed his question, wondering if it was even worth it to tell the story. Surely the elevator would start moving at any time. Justin continued to stare at me, waiting for an answer. This was how it had always been with us. He was always asking questions about my life before college, wanting to hear all my stories. I had chalked it up to the artist in him, who seemed to look at life in layers, as if it were a painting or a sculpture. Looking back now, it seemed crazy that I had never shared the elevator story with him since it was such a traumatic moment in my life.
“When I was in seventh grade my hand got crushed in an elevator door,” I answered, flexing the fingers on my right hand, which to this day still tended to tighten up and often went numb.
He didn’t say anything, waiting instead like he had so many times before for me to continue. It was so achingly familiar that my heart actually hurt. In the two years since our breakup, I had convinced myself that our relationship had been nothing special. That it only seemed that way because it was so intense and new at the time. Now, sitting here, it was painfully clear that I was kidding myself to think I could dismiss what we had shared.
“We were on a field trip to the public library in the big city not far from Woodfalls. It was a yearly tradition for seventh graders and believe it or not, was a pretty big deal for us considering the library in Woodfalls at that time was a joke. We were supposed to be doing research for some class project on influential figures of the twentieth century. Our teacher was old school and wanted us to use actual books for research in lieu of the Internet. Anyway, this library was huge and had two floors with an elevator. Well, for some reason—I don’t even remember why anymore—a few of us decided to go for a joyride. Then, that creep Tommy Jones, who knew I was scared anyway, had convinced everyone to run off the elevator just as the door was closing. Afraid of being on the elevator by myself, I stuck out my hand to stop the door, but my hand didn’t make it to the rubber sensor that should have caused the doors to bounce back open. Instead, the elevator door closed against my fingers for the entire ride up to the second floor. I screamed bloody murder the entire time and freaked out everyone in the library,” I said, grinning wryly. “Especially when they saw my hand,” I added, wagging my fingers at him. “I broke all four fingers on my right hand and also sprained my left hand in my frantic attempt to try to pry the elevator door open. By the time I got to the hospital, my fingers were swollen to the size of sausages.”
“Did you pound the prick Tommy Jones with your cast?” he asked.
“Nope. I didn’t have to. Word spread to his mom, who happened to be the principal of our school. She stuck it to him, made him shadow me for six weeks. He had to do all my writing for me in my classes. I had a cast on one hand and an Ace bandage wrapped around the other, but watching Tommy doing double work was almost worth it.”
“I would have still pounded his ass,” Justin growled.
“That’s because you’re quick to overreact in a situation,” I said, instantly wishing I could recall the words.