The elevator is mirrored on all sides, forcing me to confront my reflection.
I look flushed.
Alive.
My finger hovers over the button for Heaven, but then I hear it…a scream from below.
Not playful, not performative.
Real.
The elevator has three buttons. Heaven. Main. Hell.
Hell has a keypad next to it.
I shouldn't know the code.
I definitely shouldn't have overheard it from a client who broke down sobbing about the things her ex did to her there.
About how he knew someone who knew someone, how the code changes weekly, but she remembered it,
God, she'd never forget those numbers.
6-6-6-9.
My fingers type it before my brain catches up.
The button lights up red, and the elevator descends.
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I'm sure it's visible through my dress.
Every rational thought screams at me to hit another button, any button, to stop this descent, but my hand stays frozen at my side.
This is what I came for, even if I didn't admit it to myself until now.
The elevator seems to move slower than it did going up, or maybe that's just my perception warping reality with anticipation. Each second stretches, taut as a held breath.
My skin feels too tight, too hot.
Between my legs, I'm already aching, and I haven't even seen what's down there yet.
This is insane,the remnant of my rational mind whispers.You don't know what's down there. You could get hurt. You could?—
Good,the darker part of me responds.Finally.
The elevator slows.
My reflection stares back at me from every angle—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, chest rising and falling too quickly.
I look like prey that's already been caught—or prey that wants to be.
A soft chime, and the doors begin to part.
The first thing that hits me is the sound—a low thrum of music mixed with something else.
Something that makes my stomach clench and my thighs press together.
If the main floor was intense, Hell is overwhelming.
