I feel for Gemma so, SO much after this episode.
She wakes up and her husband is there. The same man whose name she cried in the elevator. The man she’s missed for two years. And his hair is longer and his beard is gone but he’s smiling, and she’s smiling, and they fall into each other and the blood on his face mixes with the tears in her eyes and it doesn’t even matter.
She drags him through the scarlet, screaming halls — she’s fast from whatever she does on the days she wears a tracksuit, he’s slow from sitting on the couch and crying/drinking until he falls asleep — stepping over a dead man and into the elevator and treasuring the warmth of his hand. That sick, perverted doctor runs to get her back, but her husband steps between them and closes those doors.
And it is then Gemma knows. She doesn’t need to be afraid anymore.
But then she blinks and everything she’s wanted, everything she’s dreamed about for two years is staring her right in the face, an inch of glass between them — and no matter how hard she bangs on the door, all he does is stare at her like a bad dream he’s already forgetting.
She sobs for him. She screams his name. And all he can do is back away and take another woman’s hand.
Gemma’s dreams come true for a few, wonderful seconds. But that just makes it all the worse. Like loosening the grip around the head of a drowning man to let him come up for air — all her temporary relief did is remind her how much she is suffering and plunge her deeper into the pit of her grief.
This is the testing floor elevator all over again. Except this time, everything she wanted is not only taken from her.
It gives her a long, sorrowful look. Turns around. And walks away.