Page 13 of Break Room
The announcement had shattered any hope I’d had of sleep for the rest of the night. I paced back and forth in my room, my mind churning with restless thoughts.
From what I’d observed, unfortunately, everyone heredeservedtheir place in the game. But who among us was playing their role of being unlikeable so flawlessly? How had Monologue managed to collect the most hints? I had assumed he wasn’t taking the game seriously, but I’d been utterly mistaken.
Whenever we’d crossed paths in the break room, Monologue had only remained in the room long enough to quickly complete whatever chore he was in the middle of before leaving. In the countless hours I’d spent meticulously observing the hallway, not once had I seen him act in a way that seemed out of character or remotely suspicious. But what if he had deliberately been using the break room at times when no one else would be around?
I went back to the game rules and read them carefully. Nowhere did it state that the break room could only be accessed during working hours. The rules said we could go there ‘at any time’.
Why had I assumed that it was accessibleonlyduring working hours? In hindsight, it was such an obvious loophole. A glaring oversight on my part. I wondered if anyone else had noticed it – and, if they had, how long had they been exploiting it?
If my calculations were correct, I had twelve minutes left before hitting my 100-minute limit for the day. The thought of returning to the break room felt uncomfortable; perhaps there was a lingering sense of awkwardness from when I’d intentionally turned off the light while Coffee Mix was still in there. But the possibility that there could be something new to uncover late at night or just before dawn, when no one else was around, sent a flutter of excitement through me. It wasreminiscent of the thrill I’d felt when I’d received my first hint card.
I changed into clothes that made as little noise as possible, then pressed my ear against the door, straining to catch any sounds of movement. The hallway was silent. Slowly, I cracked open the door just enough to peek outside. It was dim and eerily still, with no light seeping from under any of the other doors connected to the hallway. It seemed everyone was tucked away in their bedrooms.
I stepped out with my right foot first, crouching low, and began to creep towards the break room. A childhood memory suddenly surfaced: a horror video game I used to play, where my character had to sneak into school the night before Valentine’s Day to leave sweets for their crush while dodging the roaming security guard. It was unfortunate timing for the memory to grip me. As if the ghostly presence of that guard from the game had come to life, I could feel something watching me, making my heart pound as if someone were swinging a bat against my chest. Unable to shake the sensation, I broke into a quiet, frantic run, the hallway stretching endlessly in my mind until I finally reached the break room.
The lights were off, and I kept them that way, fearing any beam of light might slip under the door and give me away. My heart felt like it was racing unevenly. The idea of being alone in the break room at night suddenly felt less exhilarating and more unnerving.
The whirling hum of the fridge was oppressively loud. The night seemed to have swallowed not only all the daylight, but all other sounds as well. One cautious step after another, I made my way deeper into the break room, fingers brushing against the cool, metallic edge of the sink as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When my hand grazed the door of a cabinet beneath the counter, I instinctively tugged it open. A jolt offear shot through me at the sight of the deep darkness within. Quickly, I closed the door, turning to the fridge and pulling it open to flood the room with its faint glow.
That’s when I heard it – the unmistakeablesqueakof doors opening in the hallway. Two of them, almost at the same time. Then, two distinct sets of footsteps were making their way towards the break room. Panicking, I flung open the doors of the cabinet once more and squeezed myself inside, shoving aside the random odds and ends cluttering the space. My knees pressed to my chest as I wriggled into a cramped position. I couldn’t help but worry that the cabinet might collapse beneath me, silently hoping that the production team had built this set sturdily enough to handle a situation like this. I’d barely managed to pull the cabinet doors closed from the inside when the sound of someone entering the room reached my ears.
A low murmur followed: ‘Do you know how much I’ve been dying to ask you more about what we were talking about earlier?’
‘Really? Well, it’s nothing, honestly. What do you want to know?’
‘You know what I mean. Who else came to you, and . . . well,youknow. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
It was Tumbler and Cake. Tumbler’s tone was gentle, almost coaxing, except there was a faint edge to it – he sounded slightly offended.
‘He came to me wanting to share his hints, but I said no. That’s all it was. You know how men flirt – so obvious. But of course, I didn’t fall for it,’ Cake said, her tone petulant and carrying a smug edge, as though she was used to such attention.
Her words made it sound like another man had tried his luck with her. But wait – there were only two men here besides Tumbler: Monologue and me. And honestly, Monologue didn’t strike me as the type to flirt with anyone.
‘I knew it! I noticed how Ice Cube kept giving you sly glances,’ Tumbler exclaimed, his voice brimming with misplaced conviction.
Unfortunately, Tumbler was wildly off the mark.
‘So, why did you turn him down?’ he asked.
‘Because I don’t believe in free favours,’ Cake replied smugly. ‘There are always strings attached.’
‘Of course,’ Tumbler said, sounding content. Then he added, ‘But just so we’re clear – not with me.’
He leaned against the sink, his butt bouncing with barely contained excitement as it tapped against the cabinet door that I was hiding behind. I held my breath even tighter. My knees dug into my chest, and my heart pounded so fiercely I could feel it in my knees. Why hadn’t I noticed their late-night rendezvous? Thinking back, they had seemed suspiciously close ever since the second day. Like a couple who’d already spent far too much time together.
How much longer would they stay here? My remaining time was probably already half gone before I’d need to make my escape from the break room.
Through the narrow slit in the cabinet door, I could see their legs. They were standing close to each other, and looked like a strange four-legged creature. I forced myself not to imagine what they might be doing above waist level. Before my mind spiralled further, Tumbler spoke, his tone shifting to something overly serious.
‘So . . . who’s your pick?’
My ears perked up instantly at the sudden pivot to a meaningful question.
‘Will it be that person we discussed before?’
‘No,’ Cake replied flatly. ‘He’s not it. He’s genuinely . . . off-putting.’
‘True. That’s not something you can just act out. He probablydoesn’t even realise he’s weird – and never will.’
