“It feels like movement,” he said. “Movement is good. Movement means we’re close.”
Another jolt.
A deeper descent.
This time lasting several seconds, long enough for the panic to spike hard.
“It’s okay. They’re lowering us floor by floor. This is how it works.”
My breath shook. “Vince?—”
“I’ve got you,” his mouth close to my ear. “Keep holding on.”
Like I had any other choice.
I buried my face deeper into his neck, body shaking as the elevator kept descending. He held me through every second. Pulling me back each time my fear tried to push me off the edge.
“Good girl,”
The elevator dropped again, not a smooth descent. Afall.
“We’re falling—we’re falling—Vince—oh God?—”
His arms locked around me before I even finished the sentence “Madeline. Look at me.”
“I can’t—I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can. You’re okay.”
And I held onto him.
Minutes stretched. Or seconds. I couldn’t tell. My body was shaking so badly I wasn’t even sure I was breathing. Then….A deep mechanicalclunk.The floor leveled.
“We’re here,” he stroked my back.
I dropped against him, exhausted.
Alive.
Somehow alive. The elevator chimed. The doors began to part. I panicked for an entirely new reason.
“Oh my God—people are going to see me like this.”
I looked down at myself, oversized shirt buttoned, hair bow half fallen. “I’m—I’m sitting in your lap—I’m wearing yourshirt—my dress is on the floor—no—no, no, no?—”
The door started to open.
Someone outside stuttered, “Sir, we?—”
“Close the fucking doors!”
“Y-yes, sir! Closing!”
Silence followed. I realized I was still clinging to him.
“You’re okay.” He lowered his voice, softer than I’d heard it all night. I nodded, but the shaking only got worse.
“Why am I—why can’t I stop shaking?”
