I have no right to be so excited, especially after all I’ve seen today. But I can’t help it. It’s the way I stay sane. It’s the only way I can be a good social worker during the day. Each step on the wet sidewalk feels lighter and lighter. Work was hard today, but I can’t wait to get home now that I’m done. I’m humming ‘Singing in the Rain’ as I skip to the parking lot. As I reach to open my car door, I notice a long, uneven line going from the middle of the back door to where I’m holding the handle.

Someone keyed my car. Again. My grip tightens as my stomach sinks. Who was it this time? An angry husband? A scorned pimp? It’s undoubtedly a man. I touch the wet white surface of the door, running my fingers along the line as the rain soaks my hair. It’s someone at least a head taller than me. He probably thought it would scare me. The tiny female Asian social worker. Ha. He would’ve been right, five years ago. The first time it was scary. By the fifth time, and my fifth bill to fix it, my fear was replaced with annoyance. Cowards. They would beat their wives and children and then key my car because I dared to help.

No. Not today. I won’t allow a dickhead’s petty threat to diminish my excitement for tonight. Mathias, Connor, and I have been planning this for a week. I slip my hand in my purse, my fingers curling around the small pepper spray I carry with me. The parking lot is well-lit and empty on quick inspection, so I open the door with my left hand. I peer inside to make sure the spray is in prime shooting position in my palm. There’s no one inside, and the familiar smell of my Toyota calms me. I get in the car with the feeling of sexy enthusiasm returning bit by bit. I’m not going to be jumped tonight. Well, not by some sicko hiding in my car.

As I drive to my apartment, I run through what is about to happen in my head. I search for any doubt, for an inkling that I’m making a mistake. My palms are sweaty on the wheel, and I almost run a red light, deep in thought. Maybe I should have agreed for them to drive me instead. No. It’s too close to my work. If anyone saw a woman getting kidnapped in front of an abused women’s shelter, they would freak and ruin the fantasy. Worse, one of my clients could see it. I wouldn’t want to add to their trauma, so home it has to be.

My phone beeps with a message. I shouldn’t look at it while driving, but I’m too excited by the upcoming few hours. It’s Connor, ever the gentleman, checking in.

Connor: You still up for tonight?

I type in a quick response, my sweaty fingers sliding on the screen more than is comfortable. My mother would disown me if she knew what was about to be done to me tonight.

Hana: Ye.

The anticipation is going to kill me. Well, if not kill me, then make me run for the bathroom for sure. My stomach is in knots as I pass the last traffic light before my home.

I recount everything agreed for tonight. No blindfolds. No penetration. No visible marks. No calling me slut. Everything else goes. Yes, to fear. Yes, to humiliation. Yes, to being unraveled like a set of nesting dolls. Because I need to peel this professional persona off me. I need to let go of the hours and hours of heartbreaking stories I’ve heard throughout the week. I need to be stripped down to my essence so I can be reborn as the best version of myself. This is the goal anyway. Whether Mathias and Connor will go that deep, who knows.

I park in my usual spot, but the nerves make me stay in the driver’s seat a little longer. I rest my head on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths. Imagining. A reel of violence is playing in my mind’s eye. All my clients crying. Shaking in fear as those whom they have chosen to trust betray them, one hit at a time.

That’s not me. I bear no trauma of my own. My childhood was good, my relationships – fine at worst, amazing at best. So why I desire the dark things I do, I’m not entirely sure. I have my theories. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if it works. The pain, the humiliation, the torture – those feel horrible, there’s no doubt about it. But after it’s all over, I’m free. I’m empty and content. I’m ready for another week. I’m a blank canvas that my clients can paint with the colors of their suffering. In a way, my whole life revolves around my work. But enough about that. I relinquish my introspection and get out of the car.

My gray tweed skirt and blazer feel tight around every part of me. My excitement has bloated me, but no matter. It’s all part of the game. It began the moment I texted Connor back. The stiff bun on the top of my head is begging to be released. My tired eyes itch from hours of looking at case files and trying not to cry on behalf of my clients. I will cry now. I will let it all out.

On the way up, I opt for the elevator. Every other night I take the stairs, making use of the free cardio. Tonight, I don’t have the stomach to walk up six flights of stairs. I’m already hot and bothered, wetness pooling between my legs. It’s embarrassing how easy it is to get me going. I watch the numbers change in the tiny screen in the elevator, and when the doors open, I walk as if in a trance. This is it. No turning back now.

My hands shake while I take my keys out of my bag. Then I hold the key next to the lock, listening in. I can’t hear anything. But they’re inside. I know they are. And they will hurt me, just like we planned. Just like I wanted.

The turn of the lock takes one second, and I step inside, shaking all over. My body is on high alert, still unaccustomed to what I put it through so often.

The hallway is dark and quiet. For a moment, doubt creeps in. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. I close the door behind me and leave the keys in the little dish on the cabinet next to me. I stand frozen, waiting. Nothing happens. Should I turn the light on? We haven’t discussed specifics. The whole point of this play scene was for me to know next to nothing.

I return to shaking as I unbutton my blazer. I will turn the light on. As the familiar space is illuminated, nothing is out of place. Not that I expected to. Mathias lives with me. He wouldn’t trash the place for a scene. And Connor? I look around for his shoes, but only my slippers are on the floor.

Well, here comes nothing. I hang my blazer on the coat rack and glance in the mirror out of habit.

My heart does a somersault in my chest as I see them. Dressed in all black, with masks on their faces. But I can’t react quickly enough. One of them steps forward and grabs my face from behind, covering my mouth. Then he swings me around as if I’m a feather.

It’s Mathias. Tall, handsome, caring Mathias. He pushes me into the bedroom roughly. As I flop on the bed like a sack of potatoes, I forget all about his sweet side.