The blackout trapped us in the elevator in the dark

The elevator stopped on the nineteenth floor and the doors opened slowly. Inside was a single person. I nodded to him, stepped in, and turned toward the doors, pretending the button panel fascinated me.

But it didn’t. The only interesting thing in that mirrored box was him.

I studied him out of the corner of my eye, with the pretense of someone who doesn’t want to be caught staring. Thick, wavy brown hair, eyes such a dark blue they looked black, a straight nose, and thin lips curved in an impersonal, almost dismissive smile. High cheekbones, a square chin, a tall body brushing six foot three. His impeccably tailored suit outlined shoulders that were well-built without being exaggerated. He was leaning against the wall with the kind of indolence only very self-assured men have.

Fuck, he’s hot. I dropped my gaze to the floor and a shiver ran down my back.

And to make matters worse, I was a mess. I had left the university wearing whatever I had on: worn jeans, my motorcycle boots, and some random T-shirt. It had seemed more than enough for a five-minute errand, dropping off the paperwork they wanted from me to formalize my internship. It was far too hot to wear a jacket. Why was it that I never ran into a guy like that on the days when I actually made an effort?

***

What I didn’t know was that he was watching me too. He confessed it later, when there was no longer any reason to hide anything.

Without needing to turn around, he had felt my gaze fixed on the back of his neck. A crooked smile formed on his lips and, far from feeling uncomfortable, he settled more comfortably against the wall and let me look all I wanted.

For his part, he took in the few details he had managed to catch of me. The first thing that caught his attention was my hair: red, but not that glaring orange, rather a shade closer to dried blood, with flashes of fire. My eyes, though, were black as coal, against pale skin freckled with bronze-colored specks. Full lips. An athletic body, but not gym-built, exactly the way he liked them.

Too bad I ran into him in an elevator, he thought. From the helmet I was holding in my hand, he assumed I was a courier, someone he would never cross paths with again. Had we met in a bar, maybe he would have tried something.

***

And then the elevator jerked to a stop.

The lights went out at once and a red emergency beacon washed the walls. We were stuck between two floors, with no idea which one.

The only thing I could make out was his silhouette. I reached for the emergency button and pressed it. A beep came from the speaker. A couple of endless minutes passed before a voice answered, and in that silence I felt my pulse begin to quicken.

—Good afternoon —said a female voice, somewhat tense—. The system tells me you’re in the Meridian Tower. What is your emergency?

—The elevator has stopped —he replied. The Italian accent slipped through despite his flawless Spanish—. We don’t know on which floor. We were coming down from nineteen. I think you’ll need to send someone.

—All right, sir. How many people are inside?

—Two. How long will it take?

—I’m sorry, there’s been a power outage. We expect service to be restored in a few minutes. Please wait calmly. You’re perfectly safe in there.

The voice didn’t sound convinced, but we had no choice but to believe her.

—Do you mind if I take off my jacket? —he asked me, turning toward me—. With no air conditioning, this is going to be a furnace.

—Go ahead. Don’t hold back on my account.

That accent was driving me insane.

He took it off with slow, precise movements, folded it carefully, and draped it over his arm. I couldn’t stop looking at his forearms. He knew it.

***

The minutes dragged on. We stayed silent, each in our own thoughts, until the speaker crackled to life again.

—Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ve been informed that this is a nationwide blackout. We don’t know how long it will last, but it could go on for several hours. There are more urgent emergencies than yours. Please be patient; we’ll send help as soon as possible.

—What do you mean, several hours? —My voice shot out, out of control—. What do you mean it’s not an emergency? We’re trapped in here.

A sharp click meant the line had gone dead. My breathing turned shallow and uneven. The walls started closing in, I would swear it, as if they had a life of their own. My vision blurred and my legs gave out.

—Easy. —He tossed his jacket to the floor—. Sit down slowly.

He helped me lower myself with my back against the wall until I was sitting on the fabric, knees bent, arms wrapped around them.

—There. Good. Put your head between your legs and breathe slowly.

He knelt beside me and rested a hand on my shoulder. I was shaking. Cold sweat was running down my temple.

—Come on, I’ll help you. Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale. —He set the rhythm with his voice, and with each breath the trembling loosened, until I opened my eyes—. I think it’s over now. It was just an anxiety attack. Has that happened to you before?

—I… —I had had claustrophobia since I was a kid, but I’d learned how to keep it under control. It had been years since I’d had an attack like that. I wasn’t about to tell a stranger—. Well. A bit of claustrophobia. I don’t handle closed, dark places well.

Thank you, I wanted to say, but the word stuck in my throat. I didn’t even know his name.

—There’s nothing to be ashamed of. —He was still looking into my eyes, with a smile that was now warm, with none of that dismissiveness from the beginning. He held out his hand—. I’m Renzo. Actually it’s Lorenzo, but everyone calls me that.

—Iván. —I shook his hand and was grateful the dim light hid the blush climbing up my neck.

—Well, Iván. We’re going to be here a while. If the blackout is nationwide, there are people worse off than us. The elevator isn’t even full; we’ve got plenty of air to last for hours. The worst part is going to be this heat.

He sat down beside me, shoulder to shoulder.

—Sorry, I’m staining your jacket because of me —I said, flustered.

—Don’t worry about the jacket. —He shrugged—. From your accent, you’re not from here, are you?

—I’m from Madrid. Well, partly. I was born here, but my parents are Uruguayan. I have dual nationality, though I barely remember Montevideo, I was a child the last time I was there. And you? I took you for Italian.

—Good ear. I’m from Genoa. —A rough laugh reverberated in the cabin and I lost myself for a second in that sound—. It gets hot there in summer too, but not like this.

—So what brings you to Meridian Tower?

—A meeting. Nothing that can’t be postponed. —He tilted his head—. And you? I thought you were a courier, because of the helmet.

—Almost. —I smiled into the dark—. I came to hand over some papers for my internship. I’m starting as a trainee in September, if I graduate on time.

***

I watched him unfasten the cuffs of his shirt and roll up his sleeves with the same meticulousness, pushing them above his elbows. I was transfixed by his fingers, long and firm, and imagined them running over my skin. I barely managed to suppress a sound.

—What a shame —I murmured, surprising myself. I thought I’d only thought it, not said it aloud.

—A shame about what? —Renzo smiled and the tip of his tongue appeared for an instant between his lips.

—Nothing. I was thinking out loud.

Nerves drove me to rummage through my backpack. I pulled out a bottle of water and took a swig to keep my hands busy.

—Can I have some? —He held out his palm.

—Of course. Here.

I handed him the bottle and watched him drink without taking his eyes off mine, slowly, with an intent that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He gave it back to me with a half-smile.

Time stretched out. To keep from losing my mind in the dark, I turned on my phone radio. Knowing what was happening outside anchored me to something. I left it on for half an hour, then turned it off to save battery, and in the silences Renzo kept me afloat with meaningless conversation that, in reality, wasn’t meaningless at all.

Because I liked that man, and not just for his looks. My radar told me he liked men too. But another voice whispered that someone like Renzo would never notice a sweaty intern in a wrinkled T-shirt. I cursed myself again for not having made more of an effort.

***

—Iván… —Barely a whisper—. Can I ask you a nosy question?

—Questions aren’t nosy. Only answers are.

He gave a soft laugh.

—Do you like men?

—Why are you asking?

—Because… —He extended his hand and, with two fingers under my chin, lifted my face toward his—. Because I’m liking you.

—Really? —I looked at him in disbelief—. Why me?

—Why not? Besides, you haven’t answered me. —His voice grew lower as he stroked my lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

—Yes —I said, and looked away just in time to see a glint light up in his eyes.

—And…? Answer me something else. Do you like me?

—Y-yes. —I hissed, holding my breath.

I watched him lean slowly over me until his forehead rested against mine, his lips a millimeter from my own, mingling his breath with mine. His hand caressed my cheek and I felt the heat of his body enveloping me completely.

—And would you…? —he murmured—. Would you like to…?

He didn’t like being blunt, he told me later, but he couldn’t find the words to propose something like that in a dark elevator. He didn’t need to find them. I understood perfectly.

And of course I wanted to.

I put one hand on his chest and the other at the nape of his neck, sank my fingers into his hair, and pulled him toward me, erasing the last millimeter between our mouths. I kissed him without asking permission, parted his lips with my tongue and tangled it with his, tasting him, feeling a rough moan slip from him against my mouth.

Renzo wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me tight against his body. His other hand slid down my side to my hip and tugged me in, setting me almost on his lap. The heat in the cabin no longer mattered. The darkness had stopped suffocating me and turned into an accomplice, a hiding place where no one would interrupt us.

I bit his lip. He answered by holding me even tighter, running his hand up my back beneath my T-shirt with those fingers I’d been imagining on my skin for half an hour. Every caress sent a different shiver through me from the one fear had caused. I threw my head back and his lips moved down my neck, slow, deliberate, as if we had all the time in the world locked between those four walls.

—We’re not getting out of here for a good while —he murmured against my skin.

—Good —I replied, and went back for his mouth.

***

And then, without warning, the elevator trembled and started moving.

The lights flickered before coming on in a harsh burst after so many hours in the dark. We pulled apart just enough to look at each other, flushed, lips swollen, breath ragged, while the numbers on the panel came back to life and began to descend.

Renzo brushed a strand of hair off my forehead and smiled, that same crooked smile from the beginning, only now I knew what it hid.

—Genoa is far away —he said—, but I’m staying in Madrid for a few days.

I took out my phone, which had finally regained signal, and held it out to him without saying a word.

To be continued. Or maybe not. Who knows.