Going Up

(TW .. this story contains references to verbal and emotional abuse.)

Wearing her bathing suit and coverup she went into the elevator and hit the round button for her floor. Seeing her reflection in the mirrored walls she smiled. Finally, the long awaited girls’ trip to Cancun was here; five full days of laughter and conversation over food and drinks on the beach. Leaving her friends on their lounge chairs, she ran back up to her room for the forgotten sunscreen.

Ding.

The doors opened to four faces peering in. “Hola. Going up?” they asked, smiling. “Going up!” She confirmed while sliding over to allow them entry. The family was beautiful, the two daughters in matching sundresses, a striking resemblance to their mother. The young parents holding hands were obviously enjoying their vacation and one other.

Ding.

Another floor up and the doors opened again. This time a man in dark sunglasses carrying his towel loosely around his neck stepped in. As if playing a game with unwritten rules, she and the family of four all shifted over to allow this new player in. More greetings of “Good morning”, “Going up” were exchanged with the newbie.

The doors closed.

It hit her.

The smell. THAT smell. The smell of cologne. HIS cologne. 

Her heart racing, panic encroaching. Relax, relax. Breathe. 

Ding.

The doors reopened to another family, this time with luggage. A pause, some banter while the door was held open. “Is there enough room?” “Sure, come on in.” Good natured greetings and laughter as the crowded collection of passengers squeezed together. She stepped back towards the corner as the doors closed.

The smell was closer, stronger. 

She heard his voice, “Who are you texting?” 

“My mom. She wasn’t feeling well yesterday.” 

“LIAR!” He roared, knocking the phone out of her hands, sending it crashing to the floor. Her breath came in rapidly, she backed up further into the corner. 

“I swear, I was texting my mom. You can read it. Check the time it was sent.” Leaning over, she scrambled to retrieve the phone, pleading her case.

“You think you’re so damn smart, don’t you? Like you’re better than everyone else. Well, let me tell you, you’re not. You’re nothing.”

Ding.

The elevator doors opened, the beautiful family of four exited. “Have a good day,” they called out with their thick accents, the little ones smiling and waving as the doors closed.

The smell, stronger as it permeated the small space, bringing alive the ghost from her past.

“Why are you late?”

“There was traffic.”

“Bullshit. Tell me where you really were.”

“I worked til 5:00 as always then drove straight home.”

“Stop lying. I know you were with him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” She blinked, startled to see the guest with the luggage looking at her with concern. She glanced down unaware of the pain until it was pointed out to her, surprised to see the angry red mark appearing. The suitcase wheel had gotten too close, scraping her foot. The soft straps of her sandals offered little to no protection. 

“I’m okay,” she sputtered out. “I’m ok,” she whispered to herself. I’m ok. It’s been seventeen years. I am strong. I am safe. 

Transported back to that night she saw her younger self packing her few meager belongings while he lay asleep in the bed. She had been planning it meticulously for months. Like a frog in a pot of boiling water she had gotten used to the heat slowly rising. It had gotten to the point of leaping out or dying a certain death.

“He’s so abusive. Why do you take it?” Her sister had asked her years before, surprising her with the word abuse. It sounded so harsh, shocking even.

“Abusive? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Abuse is not always physical, you know. There’s verbal abuse, emotional abuse. I hate what he’s doing to you. I hardly recognize you.”

She shrugged off the comments at first, determined to prove her sister wrong. Working hard to keep up appearances became more and more exhausting. She had become an actress on a stage performing to a dwindling audience and it was time to drop the curtain on her final act.  

All the while hearing her sister’s voice in the background, knowing in her heart her words to be true. 

Ding.

The elevator doors once again brought her back to the present. Catching a glimpse in the mirror she was suddenly startled by her reflection, not expecting her casual beach attire but rather the oversized shapeless outfit that had become her uniform.

“Who are you trying to impress with those tight jeans? Does your boss like when you walk past his office shaking your ass?”

“I’ll return them, get the next size up.” Having grown weary of defending herself, it had become easier to agree.

The travelers with their luggage departed with a guilty look back to confirm she was ok. She smiled, nodded, giving them the okay to go on their way.

The doors closed.

She was alone with HIM.

Blocking her way, he stood in the doorway puffing his chest out screaming in her face, “Where do you think you’re going? If you even dare to go out I’ll change the locks. Don’t forget this is my house. I pay the bills.”

“I work forty hours a week. I pay my share.”

“Yeah right. Galivanting around town all week, who knows what you’re doing. You’re a whore.”

Placing her hand on the cool bar that ran along the perimeter of the elevator she focused her attention on a dot on the rug. Breathe in five, four, three, two, one. Breathe out five, four, three, two, one. It was not him. It was not him. That smell, swirling around, played tricks on her mind.

He cleared his throat, raised his arm to check his watch. She saw him in her peripheral vision while keeping her focus on that dot. Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. Why wasn’t she dressed in more than a flimsy coverup and bathing suit? She felt vulnerable, naked, crossing her arms in front of herself, still with her head down. Still looking at that dot. Still breathing in five, four, three, two, one and out five, four, three, two, one. 

Ding.

The doors opened. Was it her floor? No idea. 

He turned to face her, those dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, that smell menacing, overpowering.

“Have a good day!” He exited.

Thankfully alone, with tears springing to the corners of her eyes, she quickly pressed the close door button.

Riding that elevator blindly from floor to floor she was unaware of the vacationers accompanying her. The tiny space had turned into her own personal boxing ring, weaving and ducking to avoid the endless series of barbs thrown her way. The cold metal bar transformed into ropes surrounding the square. Like the bell signifying the end of a boxing match she heard the ding every few minutes.

“Don’t be badmouthing me to your sister.”

“We didn’t even talk about you. She was filling me in on her kids.”

“I know for a fact that’s what you did last time she was here. You better not do that again.”

DING. 

“I found a receipt in your purse from the boutique. What did you get, sexy lingerie?”

“I got a pack of warm socks for the winter.”

“Yeah right.”

DING.

“Let’s celebrate! I got a holiday bonus today at work! I’m so excited!”

“What’d you have to do to earn that?”

DING.

Finally she realized she was alone, the elevator unmoving, the ding silenced. The boxing match over and she was still standing.

She turned and looked directly into her reflection and saw once again the colorful beachwear. Stepping away from the corner she straightened herself and held her head high. I am a strong confident woman. I have worked hard to get to where I am. 

The door opened with a crowd of tourists asking, “Going down?”

“No,” she replied from the middle of the tiny space. “This one is going up.”