Part 3

On the night of the birthday party, the paper figure left the apartment, wearing Damien's face like a perfectly tailored mask. Damien had been nervous at first—what if someone noticed something off? What if the double slipped up? But as the hours passed and the figure didn't return, his anxiety slowly gave way to curiosity.

When the door finally creaked open late that night, Damien was pacing the room. The figure stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, and flashed him a thumbs-up. "Mission accomplished," it slurred, its voice still eerily identical to his own.

Damien's heart leapt with relief and excitement. "It worked? No one suspected anything?"

The figure smirked, tossing Damien's phone onto the bed. "Check your messages. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Damien grabbed the phone, his fingers trembling as he unlocked it. The screen lit up with a flood of notifications—friend requests, messages, and comments from classmates he had barely spoken to before. His eyes widened as he scrolled through the list.

"You were amazing tonight!"

"I had no idea you were so talented!"

"We should hang out more often!"

"Why have you been hiding this side of yourself?"

The messages kept coming, each one more glowing than the last. Damien's chest swelled with pride and disbelief. He looked up at the figure, now slumped in a chair, its form shifting back into its paper self. "What… what did you do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The figure tilted its head, its crude eyes glinting with mischief. "Nothing much. I just showed them the real you. The you they never bothered to notice." It paused, then added with a sly grin, "You're welcome."

Damien didn't press for details. He was too caught up in the euphoria of being seen, of being wanted. For the first time in his life, he felt like he mattered. He spent the rest of the night replying to messages, laughing at inside jokes he hadn't been part of, and basking in the attention.

Even the class monitor reached out, hinting at future hangouts. "You've been holding out on us, Damien," the message read. "We need to see more of this side of you."

As the night wore on, Damien couldn't stop smiling. He didn't ask how the figure had pulled it off. He didn't care. The results were beyond anything he could have imagined, and for once, he felt like he belonged.

But as he finally set his phone down and glanced at the paper figure now resting on his desk, a faint unease crept into the back of his mind. The figure's eyes, though just ink on paper, seemed to gleam with something almost… possessive.

Damien shook off the thought. He was being paranoid. The figure had given him everything he'd ever wanted. What could possibly go wrong?

When Damien's research project won a national award, he initially planned to attend the ceremony himself. But as the date approached, a nagging worry crept in. What if someone asked him technical questions he couldn't answer? What if he froze on stage? The thought of embarrassing himself in front of a crowd was unbearable.

So, he turned to the paper figure. "You go," he said, handing it his suit and tie. "You know everything about the project. You'll do better than I ever could."

The figure nodded, its paper face shifting into Damien's likeness with unsettling ease. "Of course. Leave it to me."

Watching the figure on stage, basking in the applause and admiration, Damien felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name. Jealousy? Regret? It didn't matter. The moment passed quickly, replaced by the thrill of seeing his bank account swell with the scholarship money.

"We should celebrate!" Damien exclaimed, pulling out stacks of cash. "Let's go out—somewhere fancy!"

The figure shook its head, its expression unreadable. "I don't need anything. This is your reward. Keep it."

Damien grinned, clapping the figure on the shoulder. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me!"

For weeks, Damien indulged in his newfound wealth—luxury meals, gaming marathons, and endless deliveries. Life was easy, comfortable. He barely left his apartment, content to let the figure handle everything outside.

Then, one evening, the figure returned with unexpected news. "By the way," it said casually, "I ran into Aria today."

Damien froze, his hand hovering over the mouse. "Aria?" His voice cracked slightly. Aria—the girl he'd been secretly in love with for two years. Beautiful, talented, and completely out of his league. He'd never dared to speak to her, content to admire her from afar.

"You… talked to her?" he asked, his heart pounding.

The figure nodded, its tone indifferent. "She approached me. Said she's performing at the school's cultural festival next week. Asked if I wanted to come."

Damien's stomach churned. He glanced at the figure, impeccably dressed and radiating confidence, then down at himself—unshaven, in a stained hoodie he hadn't washed in weeks. The contrast was jarring.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice tight.

The figure shrugged. "I said yes, of course. It's a great opportunity to network."

Damien's chest tightened. "But… that's not me. That's you. You're not supposed to—" He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. What was he even trying to say? That the figure shouldn't interact with Aria? That it shouldn't live his life better than he ever could?

The figure tilted its head, its eyes glinting with something almost… mocking. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to handle everything so you don't have to?"

Damien opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. The figure was right. This was exactly what he'd asked for. So why did it feel so wrong?

This was his chance. The girl of his dreams had noticed him—or rather, noticed the polished version of him the paper figure had crafted. If he played this right, maybe, just maybe...

The figure leaned against the doorframe, its tailored suit catching the dim light of Damien's gaming setup. "You look... concerned," it said, tilting its head with feigned innocence. "I thought you'd be thrilled."

"I am! It's just..." Damien's voice trailed off as he caught his reflection in the darkened monitor screen. The face staring back was unrecognizable—sunken cheeks shadowed by patchy stubble, greasy hair clinging to his scalp, eyes bloodshot from weeks of sleepless nights. He smelled of stale takeout and unwashed laundry. The contrast between his disheveled form and the figure's immaculate appearance was grotesque.

"Problem?" The figure's voice held a new edge, like scissors grazing paper.

Damien's fingers dug into the armrests of his gaming chair. "I can't let her see me like this." The admission tasted bitter. "Not after the person she met was... you."

A beat of silence. Then the figure stepped closer, its polished Oxford shoes clicking against the concrete floor. "You want me to go again." It wasn't a question.

"Just this once." Damien's laugh came out shrill. "I'll get myself together next time, I swear. Hit the gym, buy new clothes—"

"Of course." The figure cut him off, its smile not reaching its eyes—eyes that now held a faint crimson tint Damien didn't remember programming. "You focus on what makes you happy." Its hand brushed Damien's shoulder, leaving behind a papercut-thin scratch. "Let me handle the rest."

As the figure turned to leave, Damien's phone lit up with a new message notification. The lock screen showed a selfie from last month's award ceremony—the figure posing with Aria, her smile bright enough to hurt. He hadn't noticed until now how the figure's arm around her shoulders looked less like an embrace and more like possession.

That Saturday, the sky wept a steady drizzle, the kind that seeped into bones and souls alike. Damien had told the figure to go alone, but he couldn't resist. He needed to see Aria, even if it was through the figure's borrowed eyes.

From the shadows of the auditorium's back row, he watched her. Aria, radiant in a deep violet gown that shimmered like liquid starlight under the stage lights. Her fingers danced across the piano keys, each note a dagger to Damien's heart. When she finished, the audience erupted into applause, but Damien only saw her—her graceful bow, her dazzling smile.

And then he saw the figure.

It rose from the front row, impeccably dressed, its every movement exuding a confidence Damien could only dream of. Aria's face lit up as it approached, and soon they were walking out together, laughing like old friends. Damien's stomach twisted as he watched their retreating backs, the figure's hand hovering just above the small of Aria's back.

By the time he returned to his apartment, the rain had soaked through his hoodie, but he barely noticed. The figure was already there, lounging in his chair, its suit pristine and dry.

"You look terrible," it said, tilting its head. "Catch a cold?"

Damien collapsed onto his bed, the damp fabric of his clothes clinging to his skin. He shook his head, unable to articulate the storm raging inside him. He had asked for this, hadn't he? He had wanted the figure to be his better self, to live the life he couldn't. But now, watching it succeed so effortlessly where he had always failed, he felt… hollow.

The figure stood, its shadow stretching across the room. "You're upset," it observed, its voice soft but probing. "Because of Aria?"

Damien flinched. "No. Yes. I don't know." He buried his face in his hands. "It's just… it should've been me. Walking with her. Talking to her. But I can't. I'm not… I'm not like you."

The figure stepped closer, its polished shoes clicking against the floor. "You wanted this," it reminded him, its tone almost gentle. "You wanted me to be everything you couldn't. And I am."

Damien's breath hitched. The figure was right. It was everything he wasn't—confident, charming, successful. And now, it was living his life better than he ever could.

A cold realization settled over him. He had created this perfect version of himself, but in doing so, he had rendered the original obsolete. The figure didn't need him anymore. It could be Damien—better Damien—without him.

"Am I… useless now?" he whispered, the words tasting like ash.

The figure didn't answer. It didn't need to. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, until Damien finally understood.

He wasn't just afraid of being replaced.

He was afraid he already had been.