He stood in the doorway, my face stretched into that same sickening smile. His head tilted, just like always — but this time, his neck cracked when it moved, bending too far to one side.
“She forgave me,” he said, voice low, like it wasn’t meant for me to hear. “Will she forgive you?”
I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t want to.
I stepped back, and he stepped forward. Our movements were in sync, like a twisted mirror. But I wasn’t controlling mine anymore. My body moved on its own.
He wasn’t copying me. I was copying him.
I felt my throat tighten, and then I heard myself speak — but it wasn’t my voice. It was his.
“She’s waiting for you, too.”
My legs moved without me. One step. Another. I couldn’t stop.
He smiled wider and whispered:
“Let’s trade again.”
The room twisted, the walls stretched like melting wax. My vision blurred — not from fear, but from something worse.
I wasn’t sure which one of us was still real anymore.
The Stranger Who Wore My Face 15