Signed /Dream Team/

60

As Clay leaves, I try to keep myself busy with something before I go insane.

I try watching TV but end up hysterically going through every single channel 5 times and then only turning it off. I take a shower again and feel like my skin's about to peel off from how hard I'm rubbing it with the hotel bodywash. And I do all of that in 15 minutes, which is very concerning considering the fact that my showers alone take me an hour.

Finally, I decide to go through my phone. I haven't even unlocked it through the past day, which again, is very unusual for me. And as I do, I see unread messages from George. I get rid of the notifications as soon as possible, making sure that I don't read any of it.

What catches my eye though is the fact that my battery is on 2 percent. Oh, great, it just went down to 1.

I get up and start digging into my bag to find my charger. After a few minutes, I realize that I'm looking for a charger I didn't even pack. Looking around, I don't even see Clay's charger. And I don't want to go through his stuff to find it.

I can not describe my thought process, but to summarize it, I decided to walk back to the apartment, grab my charger, and come back. I probably should've texted Clay and informed him about my plans, but as I open my phone, I get distracted by my notification panel again and waste my battery completely. My phone is now dead.

At this point, I know that going back is my only option. And that's exactly what I do. I'm surprised that my head feels empty to the point where no single thought or concern stops my feet. Before I know it, I'm infront of the stinky elevator that takes me to the place I'm supposed to be avoiding.

I press the button and wait, looking down at the floor and looping the same part of the song I've been singing in my head on repeat the whole day.

The elevator finally opens, and I get in. Somebody gets in after me, and we both reach for the same button. Whether it was the sudden skin contact or the familiarity of the cold fingertips touching mine, but something made my head snap and look at the person.

Of course.

I repeatedly start pressing the button that opens the door, but to my surprise, the elevator's already moving up. Usually it doesn't even work properly, but today is a special day I guess.

"Ana-" George warns, but I ignore his voice and repeatedly press the button. Then his tone gets more aggressive, "stop it!"

His accent frustrates me so much that I press extra hard on the button, which makes the elevator drop dramatically and then stop.

My heart drops lower than the elevator. I can hear it pounding even in my fingertips, which I'm not sure if it's normal, but all I can see is them shaking on the broken button. The light in the elevator is gone too, which makes me blindly search for the emergency button while my fingers are hitting every single surface except for the target.

As if I was doing okay, he raises his voice.

"Stop pressing the fucking buttons!" George tugs harshly at my wrist, making me face him. And as he holds both of my wrists infront of my chest and probably feels my heartbeat through them, he softens up, "Just calm down, it's okay."

I hate him. I hate him so much.

Snapping back to my senses, I harshly push his hands away. George is not surprised by my act, I think he was more surprised that I let him get near me in the first place.

"Don't touch me." I warn, taking a step back and feeling my back hit the elevator wall.

George says nothing, and in the barely existent lighting, all I see is his silhouette, which doesn't give me enough clues about his reaction.

We stand still for a few seconds, and I hear him go through his pockets.

"Fuck- give me your phone," he demands.

Which pisses me off even more.

"No." Bold of him to assume that I was gonna hand him my phone even if it wasn't dead.

"Anastasia, c'mon-"

"It's dead." I cut him off before he gets the chance to start lecturing me with his serious voice.

And who leaves the house without their phone? Why didn't he take his phone with him?

Honestly, I'd be more surprised if he was useful.

I get back to the buttons, not caring about the fact that he told me not to. But because I can't see anything, I don't dare to push anything. Maybe my eyes will adapt to the darkness and I'll be able to see.

Any second now.

"Don't touch anything," he warns again, and I appreciate him for not touching me this time, but still, his voice and demeanor is just extremely annoying.

"Maybe do something?" I turn around, pissed that he's just standing there leaning against the corner and giving orders.

"You shouldn't have broken it."

The nerve-

I glare at him. Even though he probably can't see my face, the tension is enough for him to actually move and at least make an effort.

If you can call that an effort, of course.

He palpates the buttons and stops on one, "Is this the red one?" He asks as if I can see anything.

"How am I supposed to know if you don't?" I frown at his stupidity.

"Well, you're not colorblind as far as I know."

He doesn't even wait for my reaction, just presses the button with his words. And the elevator drops again - this time way rougher. I reflexively pull from his sleeve to detach his fingers from the buttons, but the damage is already done.

"Who the fuck told you to press it!" I yell at him, still clung to the fabric.

"Stop panicking, god," the way he sounds so bossy as if everything is in control frustrates me.

"I'm not panicking- just get away from the buttons cause you're making it fucking worse." And the way I sound and pull from his sleeve does me no favors in terms of proving a point. I'm actually terrified of dying in an elevator.

George finally turns around and faces me. I can see his face just barely now, which is either a result of vision adaptation or the fact that he's standing so close to me.

The smell of his cologne makes me shut my eyes for a second cause in this stinky elevator, it's the only pleasurable thing.

"We're stuck." His voice cut the train of my thoughts. And it also made me realize that I should probably let go of his hoodie, which I do immediately.

"No shit," I roll my eyes, going back to the corner, and taking a seat on the dusty floor.