When I woke up, I was immediately disoriented. I was confused about where I was, until I recognized the room. I had no memory of slipping under the soft, smooth sheets and resting my head on the row of plump pillows but at least I remembered being on the bed in the first place. I also had no idea how long I’d been asleep. Not only does time behave differently in Hell, but the lack of any distinction between day and night made it hard to determine its passage. Add that to my groggy state of mind following a period of deep unconsciousness and I might have believed it if Gus had burst in to tell me I’d been asleep for a century. Or twenty minutes. They both felt accurate.
I threw the sheets aside and discovered that I was wearing pajamas. They were patterned with cartoony rocket ships shooting past smiling anthropomorphic planets. My apparel did not seem to fit my job title. I was grateful to be alone in the room so that no one could see my embarrassing toddler-jammies.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and discovered a pair of plush slippers waiting for me. They weren’t bunny-rabbit slippers, thankfully, but they were almost as bad—Spongebob. I hesitated instinctively before deciding that Hell was no place to be barefoot. I’d wear the Spongebobs until I found something more suitable.
I went over to the closet in search of clothes—and praying that I didn’t find whips and ball gags and strap-ons. I opened the double doors and discovered an impressively deep walk-in closet that contained copious quantities of both what I desired and what I feared. I moved past the chains and vibrators and quickly selected a pair of jeans. I rifled through an assortment of t-shirts and grabbed the first one that seemed acceptable. After grabbing a pair of socks, finding some shoes and hurrying again past the kinky stuff, I returned to the luxurious bedroom, dressed, and teleported back to my office.