Leo's POV:
The morning light didn't help, if anything, looking around the motel room, it looked worse. Yellow walls, the cracked ceiling, stains around the room from god knows what. The empty bottle was still in my hand. I got up slowly groaning from falling asleep in such a uncomfortable position.
I knew my name, Leo. Born on August 7th 1985, I was Twenty-two years old.
That much was solid.
But everything else, from my face, to the way I spoke, felt borrowed, I had a rough idea of what happened, but it was a guess. From what I looked at, the original owner of the body, probably decided to end his life. What happened to my original body, I had no clue. Maybe we swapped souls, or maybe I took over after his faded away.
I saw the state of the room more clearly now with the morning light, the clothes thrown across the room, the wallet void of cash.
"Wait, what's that." I looked, at a pile of pages on the bedside table, something I didn't notice before.
"Script Reading, the Joker. January 14th."
I looked at the calendar by the wall "January 12th."
"2 days huh, so this guy was an actor. No wonder he had the looks."
The character's name felt familiar. I just couldn't place it.
I picked up the pages, fingers tracing the name 'The Joker' like I would remember. I cleared my throat and began to read.
"If you're good at something, never do it for free."
The words, while I had read it so mundanely, felty alive and electric, My vision sharpened, the room around me became less focused and almost pulsed. Suddenly, the lines started to blur, I felt my body move inside them. The walls dissolved, replaced by a room not much worse than the motel I was in, holding a man with a blank face, my face moved by itself, automatically, a crooked smile tugged at my lips, my voice echoed, dark, playful and void of real emotion.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?"
I blinked, gasping for air, like I was being choked. The motel room snapped back into focus, my heart hammering a thousand beat a minute.
"What the fuck was that."
The script slipped from my hands, and I crawled further back onto the bed, like it might come alive and swallow me whole.
I lay there for a moment, chest heaving, trying to convince myself that I wasn't about to get taken out by a pile of pages.
Slowly, I got up, my hands trembling but slower now, and grabbed the script again. "Okay Leo," I muttered. "Maybe you're going crazy. Or maybe the other guy didn't have sleeping pills but drugs."
I looked at the script slowly. The words called to me, like a shit but catchy song.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?"
I threw the script across the room.
"Nope, Nah, Not today"
I ran my hand through my hair.
I glared at the script across the room like it owed me money. Curiosity kills the cat, but who the hell cares, curiosity won.
I picked it up again, flipping to the marked page. "Alright, lets try this again."
I cleared my throat and read out loud, half mocking, half hopeful.
"If your good at something, never do it for free."
Nothing happened. Just my own voice echoing.
"There we go, totally normal."
I tried it again, this time with a little bit more enthusiasm.
"You wanna know how I got these scars."
My voice cracked halfway through, I looked around like someone was about to laugh at me. But then, the air around me felt like it was tightening, the white page blurred, the words focused, I felt the same feeling, I felt before.
I yanked the script down "Okay, that was weird."
"What the hell is going on here."
I dropped the script on the bed, staring at it, like it was about to explode. My head was spinning.
"What the hell am I even doing?" I muttered. "Reading lines to an empty room, pretending to be some lunatic."
But deep down, there was a yearning which kept wanting to read the lines, and read the story. Something was obviously happening, something I didn't understand.
"If I don't figure this out soon, I'll actually lose my mind,"
I shook my head, "Alright Leo, Step one: Don't panic. Step Two: Figure out what the hell 'Joker' is before I actually become insane.
With that great and intricate plan in place, I lay back down on the bed, looking at the yellow and cracked ceiling, wondering how far this ride will take me.