He Thought My Dying Was An Act

1 Twenty minutes before the annual campus Halloween showcase, Devin’s lifelong best friend, Sienna, dragged me backstage, insisting she needed one final promotional clip for the student council feed. She covered my eyes with her cold palms, guiding my steps down the velvet-draped corridor and straight toward the center of the auditorium stage. "Keep them closed, Piper," she giggled, her breath smelling of spiced cider. "I swear to God, the whole campus is going to lose their minds over this." I bent forward, resting my chin onto the chilled, unvarnished wooden cradle just as she instructed. Above me, a latch released with a sharp, metallic snap. A searing line of agony tore through the back of my neck. My eyes flew open. Only then did I realize my head was wedged inside a full-scale historical guillotine. The weighted prop blade Sienna had checked out from the drama department hadn’t caught on its safety stop. The heavy steel edge had dropped, biting deep into the base of my skull. Violent convulsions racked my torso. I flailed blindly, my fingers clawing at the wooden frame, desperate for help. Laughter rippled through the wings. Sienna stood right in front of me, holding up her phone, beaming at the screen. "Holy shit, the twitching is insane! Hold it for ten more seconds, Piper!" Devin stepped out from behind the heavy stage curtain, dressed in his floor-length Grim Reaper cloak. He chuckled, reaching down to clasp my trembling, spasming fingers. "Don't be dramatic, babe. She spent all week putting this teaser together." He squeezed my hand, his voice laced with that easy, familiar patience he always reserved for her. "Just play along. Don't ruin her moment." Seeing my body still thrashing violently against the stocks, he let out a soft sigh and reached down, giving the back of my neck two gentle, soothing pats. The weighted blade drove another inch down into my flesh. A torrent of scalding blood surged upward, choking my windpipe. I stared wide-eyed into his face, my lips parting, but all that came out was a wet, muffled gurgle. Devin didn't look closely. He merely wiped away the hot tears streaming down my cheeks, whispering in his gentlest tone, "Good girl. I'll see you in a few." He turned and pulled the velvet stage curtain shut, entirely blind to the unnatural angle of my lolling head. The blood soaked rapidly through my black-and-crimson Victorian gown, swallowed completely by the stiff, high-boned leather collar, the cascading layers of mourning lace, and the burst packets of fake theater blood Sienna had rigged around the frame. Within minutes, the auditorium doors opened. Over a thousand students poured into the hall, clad in demonic horns, ghoulish masks, and ghost shrouds. Carved jack-o'-lanterns flickered across the risers. The deafening cheer shook the floorboards. The emcee took the mic: "Welcome to tonight’s Halloween Gala!" My spirit drifted softly upward, hovering at the lip of the proscenium arch. It wasn't a Halloween celebration. It was a wake for my corpse. Fifteen minutes until curtain call. When Devin parted the curtains again, my body was still slumped over the guillotine. Sienna crouched beside the wooden riser, furiously trimming the video clip on her phone, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Devin, look at this. The way her muscles locked up? Method acting at its finest. The comment section is about to blow up." Devin didn't look at her screen. He knelt, taking my dangling arm and placing it back onto my lap. The moment his skin brushed mine, his eyebrows drew together. "Why are her hands so cold?" I lunged in front of him, pointing frantically at the black lace swathing my throat. Devin, please. Look at me. Just look at me for one second and you'll see I'm not breathing. Yet my flesh remained locked in the wooden yoke. The rigid leather collar propped my chin upward, making it look as though I were merely hanging my head in stubborn, petulant silence. Sienna didn't even lift her gaze from her phone. "She was covered in cold sweat earlier. Probably just spooked. You know how easily your girlfriend gets scared." Devin frowned. Unclasping his velvet Reaper cloak, he draped it over my shoulders. The heavy black fabric fell over the spreading, congealing dark stains. "Piper." He shook my shoulder gently. "The shoot's done. You can get up now." No answer. He reached to lift me by the shoulders. The suspended blade shifted slightly inside the wooden grooves. My head slumped limply to the right, the stiff collar producing a faint, sickening tear of fabric and tendon. Devin’s hand caught my jaw instantly—a quick, instinctive reflex, exactly like the way he used to cradle my head whenever I drifted off in his passenger seat, guarding me from bumping against the window. "Still mad?" His tone held a familiar helplessness, devoid of real anger. "If you hate the video that much, I'll make her delete it once the show wraps." Sienna's head snapped up. "Why delete it? I pulled three all-nighters scripting this aesthetic!" Devin glanced at her, then softened his gaze back toward me. "We'll post it under the student council handle without tagging your personal account. Deal?" I looked at his face, barely inches away, and realized the blade through my neck didn't hurt half as much as this. It was always like this. He would offer me pity, then quietly hand Sienna everything she wanted. Freshman year, Sienna borrowed my vintage SLR for a photo contest and dropped it, shattering the prime lens. Devin drove me across three counties to hunt down an identical replacement. But when I demanded an apology from her, he merely ruffled my hair and murmured, She didn't do it on purpose, Piper. Then came my design portfolios, our shared club nominations, and our private anniversaries. Sienna never did anything on purpose. And every single time, I was the one expected to let it go. Devin smoothed the black lace veil over my head. The delicate fabric draped down, hiding my shattered cervical spine. "Fifteen minutes," he said softly. "Cool off for a minute. I'll come get you for curtain." He took Sienna’s arm, leading her out past the curtains. At the threshold, Sienna glanced back over her shoulder. "Piper, you're not actually sulking, are you?" She waited two seconds, then pouted with exaggerated innocence. "I just wanted to make tonight memorable." Devin wrapped an arm around her shoulder, steering her into the hallway. "Ignore her. Once she’s done brooding, she'll walk out on her own." The curtains fell closed again. Sienna’s phone sat forgotten beside the wooden platform, its screen still blazing in the dark. In the repeating video loop, my body thrashed in absolute, agonizing terror. And Devin’s hand fell over and over, patting rhythmically against the very blade wedged into my neck. 2 Ten minutes until showtime. When Sienna scurried back to grab her phone, the teaser had already racked up hundreds of comments. That SFX makeup is insane, the blood looks sickeningly real. Her death spasms gave me chills. Give this girl an Emmy. If she doesn't take Best Costume tonight, this campus is rigged. Sienna scrolled through the notifications, liking comment after comment, the last trace of unease vanishing from her features. She crouched in front of my body, playfully poking my limp bicep. "Still playing possum? The comments are raving about you, Piper. So stop holding a grudge, okay?" I wanted to tell her that I wasn't angry. I was simply dead. But she couldn't hear a word. Seeing that I remained motionless, Sienna flipped the camera into selfie mode and knelt down beside my slumped form. Her voice was bright, dripping with artificial sweetness. "Quick update, everyone! Piper isn't feeling well, so I'll be stepping in to co-host the opening ceremony with Devin tonight!" She angled the phone toward me. "Right, Piper?" Her hand came down on the crown of my head, firmly forcing it to nod twice. My chin smashed heavily against the wooden stocks. The weighted blade drove deeper, shearing through the final strands of muscle and cartilage. I threw myself toward her hands, screaming until my lungs felt shredded: Stop pushing! My head is coming off! Sienna noticed nothing. She admired the footage on her screen, thoroughly pleased. "Great. She nodded. It's settled." Less than thirty seconds later, the heavy curtains were yanked violently aside. Devin stood there, his Reaper mask ripped off, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His gaze bypassed Sienna entirely, locking onto me. "Piper, did you seriously hand her the opening slot?" His voice dropped an octave, turning brittle and cold. "Or are you pulling this stunt just to force me to take your side in public?" My corpse slumped over the wood, silent as stone. Devin waited for a response that never came, his expression hardening into cold disappointment. "Piper, this is the university’s centennial showcase. The Board of Regents is sitting in the front row, and forty thousand people are on the livestream. Sabotaging your own responsibilities over a petty argument—don't you think you're taking this too far?" Sienna darted between us, her eyes instantly glistening. "Devin, don't yell at her. It's my fault. I shouldn't have asked her to shoot the video. Should I go out there right now and announce to the committee that I ruined the entire evening?" Her voice shrank to a fragile whisper. Devin pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "Nobody's blaming you, Sienna." He turned his eyes back to my motionless form. "Satisfied now? You won't feel vindicated until she breaks down in tears?" I stared at him, numb. I hadn't realized that even after death, a person could feel this cold. It wasn't the chill in my limbs; it was the hollow cavity in my chest, a gaping void where freezing wind tore straight through. Sophomore year, during my first campus gala, I was so terrified of public speaking that I threw up twice backstage. Devin had sat on the floor with me, holding my trembling hands, running through the cue cards twenty times until my voice stopped shaking. That night, he had pressed his forehead to mine and promised: Every event you ever host, I'll be in the front row. Nobody will ever make you feel small while I'm around. Then Sienna transferred back from her study abroad, and the front-row seat became hers. Whenever I felt slighted, Devin was still the first to show up—only he stood between us, urging me to be the bigger person. The curtain rustled again. Maisie, head of the stage makeup crew, rushed in clutching her heavy tackle box. "Why is Piper still in the stocks? We have to strike the guillotine right now so the glass casket can roll out!" Maisie knelt beside me. Seeing the chalky pallor of my skin, she frantically dug through her kit and pulled out a hard peppermint candy. "Is her blood sugar crashing? Piper barely touched her lunch today—she's probably hypoglycemic." A flicker of genuine concern broke through Devin’s guarded expression. Maisie unwrapped the candy, reaching out to lift my black veil. "Let's wake her up first and get some sugar into her." The moment her fingers brushed the lace, Sienna grabbed her wrist, intercepting her. "Don't touch the veil! I spent over an hour pinning this styling. If you mess it up, the aesthetic is ruined! Besides, she's throwing a fit right now. If anyone touches her, she'll just get more agitated." Maisie didn't pull away. "Agitated or not, she needs to breathe!" A frantic voice crackled through the backstage comms. "Devin! Board four blew a fuse on the lighting rig! We need you in the tech booth right now! Eight minutes to curtain!" Devin checked his watch, then firmly pulled Maisie's hand away from my veil. "She's fine. Every time we have an argument, she pulls this—shutting down and waiting for me to coax her out of it." He leaned down, unpinning a small enamel pumpkin brooch from his own lapel and fastening it carefully to my chest. It was the souvenir from our very first date at the autumn harvest festival freshman year. "Stop sulking, Piper," he murmured, his fingers gently brushing my earlobe, his voice softening into an intimate cadence. "Once the showcase is over, you can punish me however you want. Just don't leave me out there alone tonight." I watched him, remembering the question I had once asked him late at night in his car: If you had to choose between me and Sienna, who would you drop everything for? Devin had kissed my temple back then without hesitation. You, obviously. You're my partner. She's just like a sister to me. Promises were such pretty, effortless things when no one was asking for payment. When a real choice had to be made, I was always the one left behind in the dark. Devin turned to walk away. At the edge of the curtain, he glanced back one last time. "Eight-ten, Piper. Don't make me wait." I looked down at my stiffening, gray hands. It isn't that I don't want to come to you, Devin. You're the one who pinned me here forever. 3 Five minutes to showtime. A few guys from the stage crew walked in to dismantle the guillotine. Travis grabbed my arms, attempting to haul my torso out from the wooden yoke. The moment he pulled, my head—held upright only by the stiff collar—pitched sharply forward. The sound of snapping vertebrae was sickeningly subtle. Like someone stepping on a dry twig in the dead of night. Horror gripped me. I threw my phantom form over my body. My head! Stop! No one heard a thing. Travis merely grunted under the dead weight, muttering under his breath, "Jesus, is she still committing to the bit? She’s completely limp." Another stagehand laughed. "Method acting at its finest. Academy Award goes to Piper." Sienna hovered nearby, directing them. "Be gentle! Don't mess up the veil. If she wakes up and sees her hair ruined, she’ll never speak to me again." So she knew. She knew I would be hurt. My pain had simply never outranked her production aesthetic. The two guys hoisted my body out of the frame. The second the wooden stocks released, my head snapped backward at an unnatural angle. The rigid leather collar split open with a sharp rip. Sienna’s face paled a fraction. "Why is her neck so loose?" Travis casually cupped the back of my skull, steadying it. "That's what happens when someone faints, Sienna. Hurry up and get her into the casket—we're out of time." They lifted my body into the glass coffin lined with black velvet roses. Sienna hurriedly wound the black mourning lace around my throat three times, pulling it tight enough to mask the tear and anchor my loose head in place. She even grabbed a powder puff from the vanity, dusting another layer of translucent white across my cheeks. "Her skin looks incredible. After all that, the base hasn't even creased." I drifted beside the casket, looking down at my half-open eyes. My pupils were fixed, reflecting neither the stage lights nor their faces. I looked like a broken porcelain doll discarded in the corner of a shop window. Devin rushed back just as Travis was sliding the glass lid into its brass tracks. His face darkened instantly. "Who told you to move her?" Travis blinked, taken aback. "We couldn't leave her trapped in the stocks, man. Isn't she supposed to play the corpse for the opening?" Devin shoved the glass lid aside, his eyes checking the lace around my neck first. Seeing the veil intact, his shoulders dropped slightly in relief. He leaned down and scooped me into his arms—a practiced, effortless cradle, just like the dozens of times he had carried me up the dorm stairs when I fell asleep on the drive home. My head slumped against his shoulder. The shattered cervical bone pressed through the heavy fabric of his shirt, resting against his collarbone. He was right there. One downward glance was all it would have taken. Instead, he flinched at the heavy scent of copper filling the air. "Why does the stage blood smell so metallic?" Sienna quickly grabbed a plastic bottle from the vanity. "It's a new professional blend from the theater shop. I might have poured a little too much. Realistic, right?" Devin’s brow furrowed deeper. He reached two fingers toward my carotid artery, aiming for my pulse point. I held the breath I no longer possessed. Before his skin made contact, my voice suddenly echoed across the auditorium speakers. It was the pre-recorded promotional interview playing on the Jumbotron outside the curtain. On-screen, I stood under the empty stage lights, smiling with nervous excitement. The student interviewer asked: Piper, what means the most to you about tonight's showcase? On the screen, my eyes looked off-camera, straight at Devin. It's not the campus awards. It's not how many people fill the seats. It's that I worked three months on this, and Devin promised he would stand beside me until the very end. The recorded Devin reached into the frame, catching my hand with a bright grin. Don't worry, Piper. Whatever happens tonight, I choose you. Backstage fell dead silent. Sienna’s smile froze. Devin’s outstretched hand hovered motionless above my throat. A long moment passed. Slowly, he adjusted the lace over my chest, his voice dropping to a raw, ragged whisper. "I messed up earlier. I shouldn't have brushed off your feelings." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine. The familiar warmth of his skin was so intoxicating, mocking me with the phantom sensation that I could still wrap my arms around his neck. "Piper. Don't really shut me out." I looked at the rim of red around his eyes. It was the first time tonight he had admitted in front of Sienna that I was the one who had been wronged. Yet his promise to choose me had arrived too late. Outside, the crowd’s unified countdown thundered through the speakers: "Five!" "Four!" "Three!" Devin lowered my body back onto the bed of black roses. Before sliding the glass shut, he bent low and pressed a kiss to my cold forehead. "Wait for my cue. When I call your name, I'm bringing you out myself." 4 Eight o'clock sharp. Every house light in the auditorium snapped off. Over a thousand students in elaborate monster masks cheered, waving their glowing pumpkin lanterns in the dark. The online livestream counter blew past a hundred thousand viewers. In the center of the dark stage, only the glass casket sat illuminated under a single, sharp blue pin-spot. I lay within. The lace veil hid the severed wound; the black silk roses drank in the dark, warm blood continuing to seep from beneath my shoulders. They were all waiting for the dead to rise. According to the cue sheet, Sienna would deliver the opening monologue, and then Devin would emerge as the Grim Reaper. He would rap his staff three times against the glass lid. I would sit up, take the microphone from his hand, and announce the start of the night. Clang. The first strike echoed through the house. The auditorium held its breath. Clang. The second strike fell. A white beam washed over my bloodless face. Clang. The final echo faded into the air. I didn't move. A thrilling shriek broke out from the front row. "Holy shit, her stage presence is insane!" "Creepier than a haunted house!" "Rise! Get up!" The cheers surged like a wave. Devin stood beside the glass, the faint performer's smile on his lips vanishing. He stared down at me through the pane, his lips parting in a silent, familiar command: Stop playing games. I knew those three words down to my bones. For four years, whenever Sienna crossed a boundary and I pushed back, that was the exact look he gave me. Don't make a scene. Don't ruin the vibe. Don't embarrass everyone. As long as I played the reasonable one, everyone else could walk away happy. A frantic voice hissed through Devin's earpiece: "Devin, we can't stall any longer! The dance team is backed up in the wings!" Sienna gathered her skirts and darted to the edge of the stage, signaling frantically, genuine panic finally creeping into her eyes. "Should we skip the resurrection beat?!" Devin ignored her. He shoved the glass lid open, bending down to seize my hand. Rigid. Freezing. For the first time, a sharp tremor shot through his posture. Yet the cheers below were deafening. A thousand voices roared my name in unison. Piper! Piper! Piper! The glorious, spotlighted moment I had spent months planning had finally arrived. And I could never stand up to claim it. Devin bent low, his mouth brushing my ear, his voice trembling beneath forced restraint. "You’ve given me the silent treatment for half an hour, Piper. You’ve made your point." His tone was still laced with that coaxing gentleness, but his grip around my wrist tightened into iron. "Get up and finish the opener. When we get home, I'll make it up to you. I swear." I wanted so badly to answer him. Devin, I don't need you to make it up to me. I just wanted you to look at me when I was screaming for help. Just once. Truly look at me. Sienna rushed over in a panic. "Did she actually faint from fear?" Devin snapped his head toward her. "You swore that blade was safe!" "It is!" Sienna scrambled for her phone. "The stage manager told me himself! The inspection tag was attached! Maybe Piper is doing this on purpose to scare us—she hates it when people mess with her production cues!" Devin’s jaw clenched so hard the bone jutted beneath his skin. He pulled out his phone. Inside the glass casket, my screen lit up on my lap. [Get up.] A few seconds later, another message flashed: [When tonight is over, I will set clear boundaries with Sienna in front of everyone.] I stared at that line of text for an eternity. I had waited four years for that single sentence. From freshman year to senior year. From the first casual slight to my final suffocated scream. He had always known how to say it. I simply hadn't bled enough to make it worth his while until now. Below the stage, the crowd began an unprompted countdown. "Ten!" "Nine!" "Eight!" The camera crane swooped down close to the casket. The university deans leaned forward in the front row; dozens of student performers stood waiting in the wings. The last trace of Devin's patience shattered into desperate anger. "Piper! Do you really need me to get on my knees and beg you in front of the entire campus?!" "Zero!" The stage pyrotechnics flared, and the amber wash blasted across the stage. Devin gritted his teeth, gripped my wrist with both hands, and yanked my body upward with brute force. "Fine! You win! Get up, and I'll give you whatever you want—" My rigid torso was ripped from the bed of black roses. The lace veil wound around my throat snapped taut under the sudden leverage. The fractured cervical spine gave way with a sickening, brittle crack. Devin heard it. He froze, looking down. In the next heartbeat, my head tore clean away from my shoulders, bounced heavily against the beveled glass edge of the casket, and rolled across the pumpkin-strewn stage, coming to a dead stop against the toe of his boot.