Finding a Yandere in Reverse World

Chapter 26: 19 Dollar Fortnight Card

[Lyra’s POV]

[Day 6 since Jason was kidnapped.]

Lindsey looked at the monitors with a solemn face. “He broke exceptionally fast.” She recounts. “When I took that first nail, I truly believed he was lying. But when I took them all….” She sighed with something that felt adjacent to regret.

“He actually told you he would do whatever you asked the second you took out the tools.” I add. Not trying to contradict Lindsey. Just honestly assessing what happened with my own surprise.

“The sheer look of terror he had for me was strangely heartbreaking. Usually, when the toys look scared it's so fun. To take them, to ruin them. But Jason only feared the pain. Usually, they fear the rape more than the pain. He cried during the sex, but I think it was from the pain and the fear I might hurt him again.”

I nod. My guilt felt overwhelming after watching the scene. “He is obedient, at least.” I look for the brighter side.

Lindsey frowns. Something I’ve never seen before. “Indeed.” she paused for a moment. “But I think all we bought with this was his obedience.” She looked confused, as if her tactic backfired.

“How is Erica handling the situation?” I ask her. I’ve been watching over Jason every minute we weren’t in school, and even then, I was religiously checking the feeds on my phone every time I went to the bathroom.

“She suspects everyone, even you and I. But she suspects random people more. It’s complicated. She demanded to know your alibi during Halloween, but since we prepared, we were able to give you a solid cover story of covering your duties here.

I nod, Lindsey was very cunning, so I wasn’t worried. She continued. “She even did a once over of the mansion because I figured fuck it. It’s not like she knows about this secret room or the dozen others like it. She’s already off chasing other leads, for now.”

“Thank god,” I mutter.

[Day 7]

I have decided I can't keep going on like I am. I won’t stop Lindsey, but I will not be a force of negativity in Jason’s life. I will be his friend, and I will help him find balance in his new life. I genuinely want to make penance for my misdeeds.

I carefully balance the tray as I approach Jason's room, my heart heavy with each step. The door creaks open, revealing the dim interior where Jason sits, chained to his bed. His eyes, once bright and curious, now seem dulled by resignation.

"I've brought your lunch," I say softly, setting the tray on the small table beside him. The aroma of warm soup and freshly baked bread fills the air, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere.

"Thank you," Jason mumbles. He doesn't meet my gaze; instead, he stares at his hands, now missing their nails. The sight makes my stomach churn with guilt.

I hesitate for a moment before asking, "Would it be alright if I ate with you?"

Jason looks up, fear flickering across his face before being replaced by conflict. He seems to war with himself, perhaps weighing the desire of solitude against the fear of what might happen if he refuses. Finally, he nods slightly. "Yeah, that's... that's fine."

I settle onto the chair next to his bed, my movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle him. The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by the soft clink of spoons against bowls. I can't help but notice how Jason's hand trembles slightly as he eats, his fingers still raw and tender.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, immediately regretting the question.

‘How could he possibly be feeling anything but awful?’

Jason pauses, his spoon hovering midair. "Great.” He lies, but I think he’s actually trying to lighten the mood with sarcasm.

His politeness, even in this situation, makes my heart ache. I want to apologize, to explain, to do something to ease his suffering. But I know my place, and I know Lindsey's plans. So, instead, I simply nod and continue eating, the food tasting like ash in my mouth.

As we eat in silence, I can't help but observe Jason more closely. His brown hair, usually falling casually over his forehead, now looks limp and unkempt. Dark circles underscore his hazel eyes, evidence of a sleepless night filled with pain and fear.

‘He looks so unbelievably sexy.’ I curse myself for my depraved thoughts, even in a moment like this.

"Is there... is there anything you need?" I ask hesitantly, knowing full well that what he truly needs, freedom, is the one thing I can't provide.

Jason looks at me, clearly untrusting and terrified. "No.”

[Day 8]

I wake before dawn, my mind already racing with thoughts of Jason. The guilt gnaws at me, but beneath it, a pervasive heat builds. I spend extra time preparing his breakfast, a fluffy cheese omelet with a side of crisp bacon and fresh fruit. His favorite, according to Lindsey.

As I approach his room, tray in hand, my heart pounds. I take a deep breath before entering. Jason is awake, sitting up in bed, his eyes wary as I enter.

"Good morning," I say softly, setting the tray down.

He eyes the food suspiciously before murmuring a quiet "Thank you."

I linger, fidgeting with my uniform. "I hope you enjoy it. I... I put a lot of effort into making it just right."

‘Will he offer himself if he knows I tried? If he offers himself to me, that doesn’t count as rape which means I can still have sex with him.’ I get wet as I realize the loophole in front of me.

Jason picks up the fork, his fingers still raw and healing. As he takes a bite, I can't help but stare at his lips, imagining them on my skin. Heat floods my cheeks.

"Is there something else?" he asks, noticing my lingering presence.

I step closer. My entire resolve shatters in front of me as lust takes hold of me. ‘I don’t want to be good right now. I want to fuck.’

My voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Actually, yes. I was hoping... maybe we could spend some time together."

His eyes widened in understanding, and a shudder of disgust was quickly replaced by fear. I hate myself for the thrill that runs through me at his expression.

"I... I don't..." he stammers.

"Shh," I soothe, reaching out to stroke his cheek. He flinches but doesn't pull away. "It's okay. I won't hurt you. I just want to make you feel good."

Jason swallows hard, conflict evident in his eyes. I can see the moment he gives in as he looks at his fingers. The resolve in his eyes was snuffed out like wet kindling. "Okay." he whispers, barely audible.

Guilt and desire war within me as I lean in, pressing my lips to his. He remains still at first, but once I dig my nails into his head, he starts trying.

[Day 11]

I jolt awake, my stomach churning violently. The dim light filtering through my curtains tells me it's barely morning, but I can't focus on that as I stumble out of bed, barely making it to the toilet before emptying the contents of my stomach.

As I retch, memories of the past few days flash through my mind, Jason's pained expressions, his silent tears, and the way his body trembled beneath mine. Each image sends a fresh wave of nausea through me.

When there's nothing left in my stomach, I slump against the cool porcelain, my body shaking. With trembling hands, I reach for my phone and type out a quick message to Lindsey:

{Too sick for school today. Sorry.}

Her reply comes almost instantly: {Try not to have too much fun with Jason ;), But if you really are sick, don’t fucking go near him. I’ll feed him when I get home.}

‘This boy, he has no hope for a better life anymore.’

I drag myself back to bed, pulling the covers tight around me as if they could shield me from my own actions. But there's no escape from the crushing weight of guilt pressing down on my chest.

"What have I become?" I whisper into the empty room, my voice cracking.

I think of Jason, locked away in that room. Every day, I tell myself no more. How many times had I promised myself I wouldn't hurt him? And yet, at the first temptation, every time, I shatter those promises like they were nothing.

A sob escapes me, then another, until I'm weeping uncontrollably. My tears soak the pillow as I curl into myself, trying to make sense of the monster I've become.

"Never again," I vow between sobs. "I'll never hurt him again. I swear it."

But even as I make this promise, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers, 'Can you really keep it this time?'

I spend the day drifting in and out of fitful sleep, plagued by nightmares where Jason looks at me with those terrified, betrayed eyes. Each time I wake, the guilt hits me anew, fresh and raw.

“This time, I will get myself in check. I’ll masturbate 20 times a day if that’s what it takes.”

[Day 12]

I lay on one side of a passed-out Jason, panting heavily. Lindsey is on his other side, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. We're both stark naked, our skin glistening with sweat in the dim light of Jason's cell. The air is thick with the dizzying scent of sex.

As we rise from the bed, I can't help but marvel at the sight before me. Jason's unconscious form is sprawled across the sheets, his body bearing the marks of our passionate encounter, faint bruises blooming on his hips, red lines tracing down his back where my nails had dug in. His face, even in sleep, holds a mixture of exhaustion and residual pleasure.

Lindsey and I exchange glances as we gather our discarded clothing. Her neon blue hair is a disheveled mess, sticking to her forehead and neck. There's a triumphant gleam in her brown eyes.

As we slip out of the cell, careful not to wake Jason, Lindsey lets out a low, throaty laugh. "I can't believe you went nine rounds, Lyra," she says, her voice husky from exertion. "You're an absolute monster."

‘The masturbating constantly made me far hornier in a complete backfire to what I was trying to achieve.’

A rush of pride surges through me at her words. For a moment, the intense satisfaction of my womanhood drowns out any lingering guilt. I feel powerful, desirable, unstoppable. "Thank you," I reply, a smirk playing at the corners of my lips. "I didn't know I had it in me either."

[Day 14]

The final bell rings, signaling the end of another school day. As I make my way home, my steps grow heavier with each passing moment. The weight of my actions, the guilt that's become my constant companion, threatens to crush me.

I arrive at the mansion, the imposing structure looming over me like an accusing finger. Lindsey was nowhere to be seen; she'd mentioned something about an errand for her mother. The house feels emptier and quieter without her presence, and I find myself drawn inexorably toward the basement.

My feet carry me down the familiar path to Jason's cell. With trembling hands, I unlock the door and step inside. The room is dim, the air thick with despair. And there he is, Jason, huddled in the corner of his bed, his eyes vacant and unfocused.

The sight of him, so broken and vulnerable, shatters what little composure I have left. I fall to my knees, my clothes crumpling beneath me. Tears spring to my eyes, hot and stinging.

"Jason," I choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He doesn't respond, doesn't even look at me. His gaze remains fixed on some distant point as if he's trying to escape this reality by sheer force of will.

"Please," I beg, inching closer to my knees. "Please forgive me. I know I don't deserve it. I know what I've done is unforgivable. But I... I can't..."

My words dissolve into sobs, my body shaking with the force of my remorse. I press my forehead to the cold floor, prostrating myself before him.

"I never wanted to hurt you," I continue, the words tumbling out between gasps. "I told myself I'd protect you, be your friend. But I'm weak. I'm so weak, Jason. And I've hurt you so much."

I dare to look up, hoping to see some flicker of emotion in his face. But Jason's expression remains unchanged, a mask of fear and resignation. His silence is more damning than any words could be.

"Say something," I plead, my voice cracking. "Anything. Tell me you hate me. Tell me I'm a monster. Just... please."

But Jason remains mute, his eyes now closed as if to shut out my presence entirely. I can see the slight tremor in his hands and the quickening of his breathing. He's terrified of what Lindsey will do to him.

I curl in on myself, my forehead once again pressed to the floor. My tears form a small puddle beneath me, a physical manifestation of my shame and regret.

"I'll do anything," I whisper, more to myself than to Jason. "Anything to make this right. To take away your pain. I'll... I'll let you go.”

As I look up, I saw that his eyes were shot open wide. “Please set me free.” His words sounded like he was dusting his voice off.

A wave of relief washes over me, so intense it surprises me. For the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe again. The crushing weight of guilt lifts ever so slightly, replaced by a fragile hope.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice gaining strength. "Yes, I'll set you free."

I scramble to my feet, nearly tripping over myself in my haste. My heart pounds in my chest as I race down the corridor to the security room, my footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. The room is a maze of monitors and control panels, but I know exactly where the key is kept for his shackles as I use it the most.

With trembling hands, I unlock the drawer and retrieve the small silver key. It feels impossibly heavy in my palm, the weight of redemption.

I rush back to Jason's cell, my lungs burning from the exertion and emotion. As I approach, I see him standing by his bed, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and disbelief. The sight of him makes my heart clench.

"I'm going to slide you the key," I explain, my voice shaky but determined. "Once you have it, you can walk straight out. Up the stairs, through the main hall, and out the front door. It's a clear path."

Jason nods, his gaze never leaving the key in my hand. I can see the faintest glimmer of life returning to his eyes, and it fills me with a bittersweet joy.

I crouch down and slide the key to Jason. His fingers, still raw and healing, reach for it with desperate urgency. As he grasps the key, his eyes fill with a wide and manic bliss.

"Thank you,” he laughs into the air as he stares at the key.

My heart races as I sprint back to the control room, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The weight of what I've just done crashes over me, I've freed Jason, betrayed Lindsey, and upended everything. As I burst through the door, my eyes immediately locked onto the bank of security monitors.

That's when I see it. The notification light on my phone. With trembling fingers, I unlock the screen, and my blood runs cold. There's a text from Lindsey from 30 minutes ago:

"Heading home early! Can't wait to see our little toy ;)"

Panic grips me as I frantically scan the monitors. To my horror, I see Lindsey's sleek car already parked in the driveway. She's here already. My eyes dart from screen to screen until I find Jason's cell.

The sight before me makes my stomach lurch. Jason is free of his chains, standing over the open toolbox Lindsey used to torture him. His hand closes around the handle of a wicked-looking knife, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. The look in his eyes is feral, a cornered animal ready to lash out.

I watch in paralyzed terror as Lindsey's elegant figure appears in the doorway. She freezes, taking in the scene before her. For a split second, genuine fear flashes across her face before her usual mask of cool control slips back into place.

"Jason, darling," she coos, her voice dripping with confusion and fear. "What are you doing out of your chains? And with my toys, no less." She takes a careful step forward, her eyes never leaving the knife in Jason's white-knuckled grip.

Jason spoke with a broken, freakish look. “You fucked up my relationship Lindsey. What if Erica can’t get past what you’ve done to me?”

With that, he lunged at her with the knife.

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