Page 119 of Role Play
The temperature drops as I climb higher, or maybe it’s just my nerves making me shiver. A thin mist has begun to gather around my ankles, curling upward like ghostly tendrils. The lanterns flicker more aggressively now, some extinguishing entirely as I pass, plunging sections of the path into momentary darkness before the next light source reveals itself.
In the distance, the mansion looms larger with each step. The windows are mostly dark except for occasional flashes of colored light that suggest activity within. The architecture is impressive really, a nightmarish blend of Victorian and Gothic influences—turrets spiral toward the sky, gargoyles perch on ledges, and the roof seems to be intentionally uneven, as if the house itself is off-balance. If this were a horror movie, even the ditzy girl who usually dies first would know better than to enter this place.
I’m so lost in these observations that I don’t immediately register that I’ve reached the mansion’s front steps.
“Here we go,” I mutter, reaching for the knocker.
Before I can touch it, the door swings open with a dramatic creak. Inside is a dimly lit foyer with peeling wallpaper, dusty chandeliers, and a grand staircase that looks one step away from collapse. I pause in front of the cobweb-dusted sign on the entryway table which reads:Follow the screams. Or don’t. We get paid either way.
Again, their attempts at humor are very lost on me.
I take a deep breath and step inside. “Forrest?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty foyer.
No response.
Right. He’s playing the masked villain. I remember his text:I’ll be waiting in a Scream mask. Don’t be scared when you see me.As if a text like that wouldn’t make me more scared.
I wander through the first floor, passing rooms designed to replicate various horror scenarios—a blood-splattered kitchen with a butcher’s table, a nursery with creepy dolls that seem to follow my movements with their glass eyes, a library where books occasionally fly off the shelves thanks to some hidden mechanism.
“This is ridiculous,” I announce to no one in particular as I dodge a rubber bat on a string. “Who enjoys this? How is this a fantasy for anyone?”
Dark romance has never been my thing. Give me sunshine, flowers, and meet-cutes over stalking, blood, and terror any day. Yet apparently thousands of readers disagree with me, based on the bestseller lists.
The floorboards groan beneath my feet as I move deeper into the house. The air grows heavier, thicker somehow, carrying the scent of dust, aged wood, and something metallic that I refuse to believe is actual blood. The walls themselves seem to pulse with an eerie energy, and I could swear I hear whispers following me, always just behind my right ear, never quite distinct enough to make out the words.
I push open a heavy door and find myself in what appears to be a dimly lit throne room. Somewhere you’d stow an evil, two-headed dragon. Candles flicker in wall sconces, casting long shadows across the stone floor. And there, standing beside a massive throne carved with skulls, is a figure in a Scream mask, dressed all in black, holding what appears to be a very realistic executioner’s blade.
My pulse skips, but then I relax.
“There you are,” I say, stepping farther into the room. “I was beginning to think you’d set me up. Do they know you’re lurking around, posing as a cast member?”
The figure doesn’t move or speak.
“Really committing to this whole silent stalker vibe, huh?” I laugh nervously, moving closer.
Still nothing.
“Okay, you’ve done your job. I’m thoroughly scared,” I mock, although there’s truth behind my words. I cross my arms, leaning against the wall. “Are you just going to stand there all night? Because I had some things I wanted to talk about. Are you ready to go?”
The figure tilts its head slightly but remains silent.
“Fine. Here, then. I’ll talk, you can listen.” I take a deep breath. “Yesterday got me thinking, after the whole dinner-with-my-parents thing. The way you defended me…it wasn’t just what you said, but how you said it. Like you really care from your very core.”
The figure shifts its weight but doesn’t respond.
“I know this started as an arrangement. A deal. But it doesn’t feel like that anymore, at least not to me.” My heart is pounding now, confessing to a silent mask. But maybe that makes it easier. “I’m just going to say it. It’s probably no surprise, but I have real feelings for you, Forrest. And I’m scared because I don’t know if what I’m feeling is real, or if this is just the ‘Forrest effect’ if that makes sense?”
The masked figure straightens, gripping the executioner’s blade tighter.
“And I’m not trying to come on too strong, but the thing is, I see you.The real you.Not the escort, not the performance. I see the incredible father who’d do anything for his daughter. The good man who stands up for what’s right. The person with the best heart I’ve ever gotten to know.” I’m on a roll now, all mythoughts spilling out. “I know it’s a long shot, but I think if we figure some stuff out, we could have something real. But…only if you want that too.”
The silence stretches between us, but somehow it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like he’s really listening.
“Okay, so you’re going to stay in character. That’s fine.” I push off from the wall, walking toward him. “But just know this next kiss isn’t for research, okay? It’s just a girl kissing the guy she’s falling for.”
I reach up, carefully lifting the bottom of the Scream mask just enough to reveal a pair of lips. Without hesitation, I press my mouth to his, but something feels…off. These aren’t the lips I’ve come to know so well. They’re thinner, stiffer, and they taste like chew tobacco masked by cinnamint gum.
Forrest doesn’t dip. And I’ve only ever tasted spearmint on his breath.
