120 Minutes

The elevator door slides open to reveal carpeted hallways that do not manage to absorb the ruckus Elizabeth is convinced they are making—or rather, the noise she is making. She has had more to drink, but Thom clearly cannot handle her alcohol as well as she leans on the wall, shoulders slumped and eyes half-closed. Stifling an inappropriate giggle, Elizabeth leads her by the hand in search of Thom’s hotel room. She imagines someone listening through the peephole of each door they pass, a silent Greek chorus to her night that seems to grow more absurd by the hour.

Her breathing comes out unnaturally loud (but that is only the alcohol talking), and Elizabeth can feel her fingers getting damply entangled in Thom’s own warm hand. The hallway appears to stretch out endlessly, with no one awake but them, and she starts to wonder if they will still be walking around this floor come morning when Thom blurts out, “Here.”

Room 520. There is a sad-looking art deco lamp hanging over the door and a nondescript nightstand with a vase of flowers placed between 520 and 521. Elizabeth lets go of a breath she has been holding. “Do you have the key?”

Thom makes a small “o” with her mouth and digs her hands into her pockets. Laughing—too loudly, Elizabeth thinks, panicking—she pulls out lint, pennies, paper scraps, and no key. She looks at Elizabeth and lets out another throaty chuckle. “I swear I have it, gimme a minute…”

“Maybe you left it at the bar.”

“No,” Thom replies, raising her voice, then just as quickly reverting to a whisper. “I didn’t.”

Elizabeth wants to slap herself for giggling again. “Look, how about you wait here, and I can go downstairs and look for it—“

“Got it!” she exclaims, yanking the elusive card key from a coat pocket. “I told you I—“

Elizabeth claps a hand over Thom’s mouth. “Keep your voice down!”

Thom quietly laughs through her fingers and says in a muffled voice, “Relax, we’re not disturbing anyone.”

She looks around suspiciously. “You never know.”

“You’re just being silly now.”

“Pfft, says the drunker one.”

Thomas merely raises an eyebrow, and Elizabeth belatedly realizes where her hand still is. “Ahaha, whoops.” She takes her hand away, noticing the way her fingertips graze her classmate’s generous bottom lip. Thom’s steady gaze is fixed on Elizabeth for the entire sequence, simultaneously calming her and unnerving her. “Can you just open the door now?”

Thom blinks. “Of course.” She slides the key, waits for the green light, and pops the door open. A rush of cool air flies past them, and Elizabeth discerns the dim outlines of a single bed, the TV, a writing desk, and other standard hotel furniture.

“It looks better with the lights on,” Thom remarks dryly, and Elizabeth almost jumps. “Thanks for walking me.”

“No problem,” she replies easily. “You would have fallen asleep in the bushes or something—“

“In or out, Elizabeth.”