Psychotic Love [AHS Character x Reader]

5. Never Felt More Alive

**A/N**
Hey, all! I'm really sorry that it's taken so long to update, but James was an incredibly difficult character to get inside of. Unfortunately, real life has to come first, and I've been working pretty hard to juggle both updating semi-regularly and my job—not to mention I'm still working on getting over a really nasty cold and breakup. But I promised a chapter and a chapter you shall receive! 🖤 Please be sure to vote, comment, and share if you like what you read! Thank you all so much for your support thus far and I cannot believe we only have two more chapters left 😭. I'm trying to incorporate more characters than Evan's from here on out because I don't feel as though they get enough inclusion.
**Also, disclaimer: I use the term "cross dresser" when referring to Liz Taylor because a) that's the term most often used when referring to her and b) because to me she's a woman but I'm not sure how you all consider her. It is not from a place of disdain and it is not from a lack of respect. She's one of my favorite characters from this season and I hope to not step on any toes or offend anyone. I apologize if I offend and feel free to message me privately if I do. I'll try to find another description of her to use.**
—Kayla 🖤

          Your heart pounds against your rib cage, a steady bompbompbomp grating against your eardrums as your cab sputters to a stop. Taking a deep breath to try and steady your erratic breathing, you pass the driver a wrinkled $20 bill before chucking your bag over your shoulder and quickly climbing out. Your head falls back and your mouth drops, your gaze caught by the large marquee that boasts the name of the place.
          "Hotel Cortez," the words drip from your tongue like marmalade, sending shockwaves to each and every nerve ending in your body. You force your feet to move forward and you push open the door, the mixed scents of sweet and spicy filling your nostrils almost immediately. It is pleasant but also somehow off-putting; in it you find a warning wrapped in comfort.
          The temperature outside was near boiling, but you shiver as you gawk at your surroundings, silently wishing you had brought a cardigan.
          The lobby is massive. Large, ornate chandeliers hang prettily from the steepled ceilings, casting an ethereal glow across the maroon and gold interior. Overstuffed chairs and sofas of the deepest red surround dark wooden coffee tables, and you imagine yourself lounging peacefully with a full glass of Merlot, hopelessly lost within the pages of Poe. A warmth fills your belly. You're only here for the all too short weekend, thanks to your boss reneging on his promise for you to take your entire week's vacation at once, and your mind is already at home in the hotel.
          The building is a work of art, you muse, taking in its intricate staircases and its unusual elevator straight across from entrance. Balconies supported by looming columns rested overhead, and you can't stop your eyes from flitting from landing to landing, a niggling suspicion burying itself into your gut that you're missing something, something playing on the edge of your peripheral.
          "Stop being stupid," you chide yourself before locating the vacant check in desk. Now that you think of it, the entire hotel is quiet, too quiet for such a masterpiece. A ping ping crackles through the air, breaking the silence as you tap the service bell. Where is everyone?
          You extend your hand to tap it again, your breath catching in your throat as the bell is swept off the desktop and out of your reach.
          "Keep your pants on, I'm right here. It's not like I was busy or anything." You look up and meet the surly lens-covered gaze of a portly silver haired woman. A quick glance at her name badge reveals her name is Iris.
          "I'm so sorry," You blurt, hitching your bag higher onto your shoulder. "I didn't know anyone was around."
           The woman looks you up and down analytically before a smile stretches across her weathered face. "I'm always around, sadly enough. Need a room, I gather?"
          You feel the corners of your mouth lift in response. "For two nights, if it's not too much trouble. I'll be checking out Monday morning. What time is check out?"
          Confusion plays over her features before disappearing. "Check out is eleven a.m., but no one ever makes it out by then." A short bark of laughter erupts from behind you and you spin on your heels, coming face to face with a tall, animatedly clad bald cross dresser, a feather boa draped around her shoulders.
          "You can say that again," she says with a smirk. The joke goes over your head but you brush it off as the woman extends a bony hand, her bright red fake nails longer than any you'd ever seen, resembling claws.
          "Liz Taylor. And you are?"
          "[Y/N]," you reply, taking her hand and giving it a small squeeze. Liz smiles, looking impressed.
          "Beautiful name. Enjoy your stay here, [Y/N]. I know I do." With a flick of her boa she retreats through a door close behind the desk. After finishing checking in with Iris, she dangles a room key in front of you, letting it flick back and forth on her index finger. Room 64.
          You reach out to take it from her, but she instead jerks her hand back before stepping around the desk and over to the elevator.
          "Well? I haven't got all day. Let's go."
          You hurry after her and step inside the elevator just as the doors close behind you, enveloping the two of you in the dim space.
          "How long have you worked here?" You ask, attempting to be friendly and make conversation. Iris is silent for a long moment. You open your mouth to ask again, certain she hadn't heard you, when she responds, "Entirely too long. I've seen this place at its best and I've seen it at its worst."
          The elevator slides to a stop and the doors open, revealing an impossibly distending corridor, its cream walls and patterned carpeting directionally disorienting. Your heart picks up speed once more as you follow Iris to your room. You try to pay attention to each and every twist and turn you take, but you know it's useless. You have always been geographically challenged, and this proves to be no exception.
          Iris stops abruptly and you have to veer to the left to avoid colliding with her. With an air of finality, she turns to you, drops the key into your awaiting palm, and begins to walk away.
"Oh, and before I forget. Enjoy your stay. The Cortez will feel like home in no time."
You watch her retreating back until she turns the corner and is out of sight. The key slips into the lock almost sensually unlocks with a soft click. The door creaks open and you step through hurriedly, eager to absorb your surroundings.
The room looks just as you expect, a large couch and chairs facing each other in the center of the small living area, furnished sparsely yet elegantly with small accents to give a neat, homey appearance. Beyond the living room is the bedroom, ensconced behind a set of rolling doors, a side table/lamp combination on either side.
You slip your shoes off by the sofa, the pads of your feet moving soundlessly upon the plush carpet as you cross the room to the bed, letting your bag slide to the floor with a low thump. The small clock radio resting atop the table on the left of the bed glows 5:47 p.m. Your stomach rumbles, reminding you that you hadn't eaten since the night before.
"I wonder if there's any room service," you muse aloud as you begin to search for the phone. You spot it quickly and follow the prompt to reach the front desk.
"Reception."
"Hi, this is [Y/N], you just showed me to room 64? Do you happen to have room service? I couldn't find the number for the kitchen on the leaflet by the phone."
"We don't, sorry." Iris sounded nowhere near sorry. "But we have a bar down here with some olives and I'm sure if you ask Liz real nicely she'll give you a handful."
A hotel with no room service? "Oh, okay. Thank you, anyway." You set the receiver in its cradle, disappointed, before putting your shoes back on and pocketing your room key, cell phone, ID, and a few bills from your wallet. You aren't a fan of olives, but at this point you'd eat anything.
You find it on the second floor as empty as the rest of the hotel and you take a seat on a plush red barstool, eyeing the bottles at varying stages of depletion behind the bar.
"What's your poison, beautiful?" Liz stands from a crouched position behind the bar, a Cosmo in her hand.
"Can I get a Martini, dry, with a whole bowl of olives? I'm starving." You lean forward and rest your chin in your palm as she makes your drink.
"Rough day?" she asks, setting down your order. Your stomach gurgles at the sight of the olives and you pop one in your mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"Not rough, per se, just kind of disappointing."
"How so?"
"My boss went back on his word about letting me have the whole week off so I only get the weekend. I saved for this trip for six months! I've wanted to come here for as long as I can remember."
"To the Cortez? Why?" You laugh at her incredulous tone as you take a sip of your martini.
"To be completely honest, I'm quite the horror fan. I have a real penchant for serial killers and true crime, so when I learned of March and his 'heinous hotel' I had to come. But to see it so... barren..." You let your voice trail off, sighing before biting into another olive. "Look, I'm not saying I condone what he did or that I'm in love with him or anything, but you have to admire his dedication. He built this entire hotel for a specific purpose, albeit a really fucked up purpose, designed every room, every torture device to fit his vision, and yet here it is, not a soul around, just wasting away when there's still sooo much potential here. It just doesn't seem fair."
You breathe deeply and drain the rest of your drink before looking up sheepishly, heat filling your face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. It's just all so fascinating to me."
Liz mixes you another drink, flipping a manicured hand. "Honey, you don't work here as long as I have without seeing your fair share of shit. Your little monologue is the least freaky thing I think I've ever seen."
"Doesn't it make you angry?" You ask animatedly. "To work so hard for a place and it not get the attention it deserves?"
A small smile works its way to her face. "You'd be surprised at just how much attention this place truly gets."
Not for the first time since arriving you feel another comment pass overhead and you sigh. The alcohol was starting to worm its way into your bloodstream, causing your limbs to become heavy and your head to tingle. You finish the olives and the rest of your second drink (and quite possibly a fourth) before standing, wavering a bit on your feet.
"How much do I owe you?"
Liz flits her hand again and brushes you off.
"Just make it up to your room safely and we'll call it even, alright?"
Another comment you don't get. You shake your head and lay a ten and two fives next to your empty glass. "Thank you for letting me talk. I really d-do feel a lot b-better." Your words start to slur together and you only take a few steps before the room starts to spin and you sink. A pair of arms wrapped in faux fur catch you before you hit the floor, and you peer into the distorted face swimming before you like a Picasso painting. All you can make out is a smear of bright red lips and frizzy pale hair.
"I'll make sure she gets where she's going," comes a husky feminine voice. You can't help but lean into the figure, the smell of menthol and anguish filling your senses.
"I've got you, you fucking lightweight," the voice says to you. It's the last thing you remember before inky blackness swirls around your head and consumes you.