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“Will do, sir. Hang tight.”
The phrase knotted in my stomach. I squeezed my eyes closed. “Not helpful advice.”
“What? I thought it was better than ‘don’t drop.’” I heard the smile in her tone.
“Not any better, Clary.”
She laughed. “Just a joke, sir.”
I gripped my phone, sank to the floor, and slid to press my back against the wall.
My face burned. My vision blanked—or it would have if Icould see much beyond Ella’s silhouette, which was illuminated by the light of my phone.
Claustrophobia swooped in swift and fast.
I didn’t know much about elevators. Were we just dangling there now?
The image of cables snapping and of the two of us plummeting to our sudden and imminent deaths flashed in my mind like an explicit lyric in a song. Unexpected and unwanted.
“Are you okay?” Ella asked.
Kneeling, she shuffled closer to me.
I opened my eyes to find her analyzing me with concern. The phone in her hand provided enough light to cast shadows around us.
She really was beautiful, with tendrils of hair dangling on either side of her face. If only I had a drink of water, something to wet the dryness in my mouth. A bead of sweat trailed down my spine.
“I—closed spaces and I don’t go well together.”
I expected her to parry with a flippant remark. Something sarcastic and dismissive. It was what she usually did.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, taking me off guard. Her compassionate tone told me she meant it.
I cracked an eye open. She was looking right at me, giving me every ounce of attention I’d wanted during our brief time together.
Hm. Maybe this anxiety of mine wasn’t so bad after all.
“Is there anything I can do?” she offered.
“This could be our final moments. You’d better hold me close.”
“Ha ha. Seriously, is there something that might help?”
“Distract me?”
Light from my phone sprayed a single beam upward, casting shadows to the ceiling. Ella chewed her bottom lip again and fiddled with the buckles on her purse.
“I get that way with shots sometimes, too, at the doctor’s office, you know? I have to have someone talk to me to keep me distracted then, too.”
I inhaled long and slow. It only seemed to make my heart pound faster. She never volunteered information—I'd always had to beg for it before now.
“How do they distract you?” I asked with effort. “Does it work?”
“It does if people tell me stories.”
The walls were closing in. My panic escalated. I grimaced, digging my heels into the elevator floor.
“Okay, then. Got any good stories?” I attempted to keep my voice level, but even I heard threads of uncertainty.
