“And I love you, can’t you see how low I’m willing to go just for you?”

It felt real, a little too real you actually thought that the scene you both were acting out was reality—the fake blood on his hands imagined as the blood of someone he killed with his own two hands, and the manic smile and bloodshot eyes that you could imagine him having outside his work life. The grip he had on your wrist was like a metal shackle, preventing you from taking any steps further back—like he was actually afraid that you would run away from the ‘crime scene’, from him.

You chanted to yourself that this was all fake, not reality. You were acting, not actually trapped in an enclosed space in the middle of nowhere with an obsessive man he had taken the role of with responsibility. He had more than 20 years of experience in his acting career, so why do you panic almost every time he gets near you and speaks to you with false emotion while recording takes? There was a very low probability he’d actually rely on his true emotions to help him carry the right tone for a line, but it was never zero.