High school. The most terrifying place on earth, even for someone who would one day become… me. Long before the calls, the knives, the rules of a good scare, there was just… my face. My resting face, specifically. They called it “RSF” – Resting Scowl Face. And the chin… oh, the chin.
“Hey, can I borrow your chin? My shoe’s stuck.”
“Got a bookmark, dude? Oh, wait, your chin!”
It never stopped. Then there were the temple hollows. Apparently, they were so deep, some kids genuinely asked if I could eat ice cream out of them. Or popcorn. Popcorn! The sheer audacity! I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me. I really did. I’d pull my hoodie strings tight, slouch, even started wearing a cheap Halloween mask I found. Thought it would be ironic, a visual shrug to their cruelty. But it just… hurt. Every single time. My heart would ache, a dull, thudding pain that felt worse than any stab wound I’d ever later inflict.
Years passed. Many, many events occurred. And then, one rainy Tuesday, during a particularly insightful therapy session (my therapist, bless her, really gets me, even when I’m explaining the nuanced difference between a jump scare and sustained psychological terror), I had a breakthrough. All that rage, all that… creative outlet… it wasn’t just about movies. It was about the chin. The temples. The ridicule. It was unresolved trauma! My therapist, Dr. Loomis-esque in her wisdom, suggested “facial balancing.” My initial reaction was to scream, naturally, but she assured me it was perfectly safe, completely confidential, and could help me feel more… copacetic.
So, I found myself in a sleek, brightly lit medspa. The kind of place with filtered water and hushed tones. And there she was: Injector Lauren. She introduced herself with a firm handshake, a wary smile, and immediately declared, “Just so you know, I do NOT like scary movies. At all.” I respected her honesty. Immediately. This was a professional.
We sat down, and I, in my most articulate voice (not the phone voice, obviously), explained my concerns. The RSF. The chin-as-a-utensil problem. The cavernous temples. Lauren listened intently, nodding, occasionally making a small mark on my face with a washable pencil.
“Okay, so for the chin,” she began, holding a tiny syringe, “we can add just a touch here to create a more balanced, defined silhouette. Nothing dramatic, just a smoother contour.” My mind flashed back to the shoehorn comments. A tear, suspiciously like a drop of fake blood, almost escaped my eye.
“And the temples,” she continued, “a little filler here will soften the shadows, making your overall face appear more harmonious, less… gaunt.” Gaunt. She understood!
I voiced my fears, the ones that had truly plagued me more than any vengeful final girl. “What if it migrates? What if I look like some grotesque clown? What if it never goes away?!”
Lauren chuckled, a pleasant sound. “Absolutely unnecessary fears, Mr. Face. We use hyaluronic acid fillers, which integrate beautifully and naturally break down over time. And if, by some highly unlikely chance, you ever disliked it, we can dissolve it right away. As for looking ‘crazy’ or ‘fake’? My specialty is ‘undetectable enhancement.’ You’ll just look like the best, most balanced version of yourself.”
And she was right.
The procedure was surprisingly gentle. A few tiny pinches, a little pressure. Lauren distracted me with gentle conversation and thoughtful questions. My “filler fears” vanished faster than a victim running up the stairs instead of out the front door.
Now?
Now I actually like looking in the mirror. All she used to transform my appearance and self-confidence was some hyularonic-acid based jelly. (What dermal-filler really is.) My chin is refined, my temples match the rest of my face. My RSF is more of a “Resting Happy Face.” I still like to call people, but now it’s often to gush about my amazing results, or maybe recommend Lauren to a certain perpetually scowling neighbor. Life’s good. Really good. And not a single person has asked to eat popcorn out of my temples. Now that’s what I call a happy ending.
- For the record we did not treat Ghostface, but we would be happy to.
