The Floor I Slow Down On

The badge scanner clocks me floor by floor, in and out, so ops can see the building got cleaned and nobody's slacking on the night contract. Floors two through five take me eleven minutes each, give or take. Floor six takes twenty-six. Has for four months now, since the company that used to lease it moved out and took my old desk with them, the one by the window that isn't anyone's desk anymore, just carpet lines where the legs used to sit.

I tell myself I check the vents twice up there because the air's different. I wipe down a conference table nobody's used since March like someone's coming in. Tonight the scanner log popped up on my phone before my shift even ended, floor six flagged, a message from my supervisor asking if there's an access issue up there, something to look into.

There isn't an access issue. I have full access. That's the part I haven't said out loud, even to myself, not until I read his question twice and understood what I've actually been doing, every single night since the layoffs. Keeping company for a desk that isn't mine and never asks me to leave.