Finding a Yandere in Reverse World

Chapter 79: The Click Heard Round the World

[Jason’s POV]

The world spins lazily around me as I sprawl on the living room couch, my head pleasantly fuzzy from the countless drinks we’ve had on this wonderful Friday night. The warm glow of the setting sun filters through the large windows, casting everything in a dreamy, golden haze. The rhythmic crash of waves outside provides a soothing backdrop to the quiet chatter and laughter of our friends.

I turn my head, my gaze landing on Erica. She’s perched on the arm of the couch, her long legs stretched out before her. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the alcohol, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief and affection as she looks down at me.

A lazy smile spreads across my face. “You’re so beautiful,” I slur, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

Erica’s laugh is like music, light and airy. She reaches down, her fingers threading through my hair. The gentle scratch of her nails against my scalp sends shivers down my spine.

“And you’re drunk,” she teases, her words slightly slurred as well.

I let out a contented sigh, leaning into her touch. The room around us feels warm and hazy, the edges of reality softening under the influence of alcohol and the bittersweet knowledge that our vacation is coming to an end.

“I don’t wanna go back,” I mumble. “To school on Monday.”

Erica’s hand stills in my hair for a moment before she resumes her gentle caress. “What do you care?” she says, her tone a mix of amusement and confusion. “It’s not like we’re going to college.”

I blink up at Erica, my alcohol-addled brain slowly processing her words. “Oh yeah,” I mumble, a lazy grin spreading across my face. “I guess we’re both too rich to go now, huh?”

From across the room, I hear Brooke let out a sigh of relief. Her shoulders visibly relax, tension draining from her body like water from a broken dam.

“You’re not mad I’m not going?” I ask as I turn to face her.

Brooke shakes her head, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “No, Jason,” she says softly. “Actually, I think... I think you’re a bit too mentally unstable to go to college right now.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment, heavy and unexpected. Then, like a dam breaking, laughter erupts from Tessa, Tara, and Nikki. Their giggles fill the room, bouncing off the walls and mixing with the sound of clinking glasses and the distant roar of the ocean.

Justine, however, doesn’t join in the laughter. Her green eyes flash with indignation. She sits up straighter, her red hair falling in waves around her shoulders as she fixes Brooke with a steely gaze.

“Just because he’s not as inhibited as he used to be doesn’t mean he’s not all there,” Justine says, her words clipped and precise despite the alcohol coursing through her system. Her voice cuts through the laughter like a knife, silencing the room.

Justine’s emerald eyes flick towards Erica, silently imploring her to defend Jason.

Erica lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, her body swaying slightly as she struggles to focus through her drunken haze. Erica slurs, her words tumbling out in a jumbled rush. “I low-key hate Brooke.” She pauses, furrowing her brow as if trying to grasp a fleeting thought. “But I’m too drunk to really think straight right now.”

“But yeah,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carries across the room. “I agree with whoever doesn’t want Jason to go to college. ’Cause then he can stay home with me and rely on me more, y’know?”

Erica sways gently, her eyes unfocused as she continues her drunken rambling. “Y’know what? Once I get off the pill soon, we can just spend all our time making babies.” She giggles a high-pitched sound that seems to bounce off the walls. “Just you and me, Jason. All day, every day. Making beautiful little blonde babies with your pretty hazel eyes.”

I feel a goofy grin spread across my face, warmth blooming in my chest at the thought.

“Cheers to that lifestyle,” I mutter, raising my glass. The words come out slurred, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth.

From across the room, Brooke lets out an exasperated sigh. Her face is a mixture of annoyance and concern, her brow furrowed deeply. “Erica’s not even hiding her manipulation tactics anymore.”

Erica’s laugh rings out, sharp and sudden. She points at me, her finger wavering unsteadily in the air. “Everything I know about gaslighting and manipulation, I learned from this guy right here,” she declares, her words running together slightly.

“Wait, what?” I slur, my brow furrowing in confusion. “When did I ever manipulate you?”

Erica’s laugh is like tinkling glass, sharp and bright in the hazy atmosphere of the room. “No, No, honey,” she purrs. “You didn’t manipulate me. No, no, it was back when I read your diary.” She pulls back, tapping her temple with one perfectly manicured finger. “I saw all the weird shit you wanted me to do to you. You had it all laid out like a fucking instruction manual.”

My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, the alcohol in my system amplifying the sensation until it feels like my face is on fire.

‘That stupid fucking diary. Even Brooke saw it in the end.’

Erica continues, her voice rising with excitement as she recounts the tale. “And then there was the time you gave Rupert love advice for Skye.” She pauses for dramatic effect, her eyes scanning the room to make sure all attention is on her. “You told him he should threaten suicide or some shit!”

Tara’s eyes widen comically, and she suddenly spits out her drink in a spectacular spray.

Brooke’s face contorts in horror, her already pale skin turning ashen. She leans forward, her voice barely above a whisper as she asks, “Jason... has Erica ever threatened to kill herself to make you stay?”

I shake my head slowly, the motion making the room spin slightly. “No,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the alcohol coursing through my system. “She’s never done that.”

Relief flickers across Brooke’s face, but it’s bound to be short-lived. I turn to Erica, my gaze locking onto hers. The warmth that usually fills me when I look at her is absent, replaced by something colder, harder.

“But if she were to ever try to leave me,” I say, my voice low and intense, each word enunciated with chilling clarity, “I’d definitely kill myself.”

Erica’s reaction is immediate. She gets up from her chair, her movements fluid despite the alcohol in her system. She wraps her arms around me, pulling me close. I can feel the warmth of her body and smell the familiar scent of her perfume mingled with sunscreen and alcohol.

“Shh, baby,” she murmurs, her breath hot against my ear. “Don’t talk like that.” Her voice is soothing, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement that sends a shiver down my spine.

She pulls back slightly, her blue eyes meeting mine. There’s a fire burning in their depths, a mixture of passion and possessiveness that makes my heart race. “Remember our promise,” she says, her voice low and intense. “The only one who will ever kill you is me when you’re good and old.”

Her words are a blanket of warmth over me, wrapping around my alcohol-addled mind like a comforting embrace. The room seems to fade away, leaving only Erica and me in a bubble of twisted intimacy.

Brooke’s voice carves through the dream-like haze. “What the fuck kind of promise is that?” she demands.

Erica turns to face Brooke. A warm, lazy smile spreads across her face, her eyes slightly unfocused as she regards my sister.

“Oh, that?” Erica says, her voice light and airy as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. “One day, Jason asked to die at my hands.” She says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, that for a moment, the grotesque nature of the statement doesn’t quite register.

Brooke’s face contorts in a mixture of horror and disbelief. “Who the fuck would ask someone to do that?” she whispers.

Erica shrugs, the motion fluid and graceful. She turns to me, her gaze softening as it meets mine. With a gentle, almost reverent touch, she reaches out and cups my cheek. Her hand is warm against my skin, and I lean into it instinctively, craving her touch like a drug. She turns back to Brooke, her expression a mixture of pride and possessiveness.

“Brooke,” Erica says, her voice dripping with condescension, “you really don’t seem to get Jason.” She emphasizes my name, drawing it out as if savoring the taste of it on her tongue.

Brooke’s eyes flash with a dangerous light, her jaw clenching visibly as she glares at Erica. The tension in the room rises palpably, crackling like electricity in the air. Brooke’s hands ball into fists at her sides, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. She takes a step forward, her body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

Just as it seems Brooke is about to lunge at Erica, Tessa smoothly interposes herself between them. Her tall, imposing figure seems to fill the space, drawing all eyes to her. In her hands, she holds a bottle of deep amber liquid that catches the fading sunlight, casting warm reflections across the room.

“Ladies, ladies,” Tessa purrs, her voice low and soothing. “Let’s not ruin our last night together with petty squabbles.” She begins pouring the mysterious new liquid into glasses, the gentle tinkling sound a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere.

Tessa raises her glass, the liquid sloshing gently against the sides. “A toast,” she declares, her grey eyes sweeping across the room. “To a great week with great friends. May we always remember these moments, no matter where life takes us.”

We all raise our glasses, the clink of glass on glass echoing through the room. As I bring the drink to my tongue, I can’t help but notice there’s something strange about the flavor. It’s incredibly faint, barely perceptible beneath the rich, smooth taste of the alcohol. But there’s something there, a ghost of a flavor that tugs at the edges of my memory.

‘Slightly bitter?’ I let go of the thought as the party continues.

Over the next hour, the atmosphere in the room shifts subtly. The lively chatter begins to slow, voices growing softer, and words more slurred.

Justine is the first to succumb. Her fiery red hair spills across the arm of the couch as she slumps sideways, her eyes fluttering closed. The glass in her hand tilts precariously, the last drops of amber liquid clinging to the rim before Tessa gently takes it from her loosening grip.

Tara follows soon after, her usual boundless energy finally depleted. She curls up in an oversized armchair, her electric blue hair a stark contrast against the cream-colored fabric. Her breathing evens out, punctuated by the occasional soft snore.

Nikki puts up more of a fight, her athletic build seemingly at odds with the drowsiness that’s overtaken the others. But even she can’t resist for long. Her head nods forward, jerking back up a few times before finally coming to rest on her chest, her dark braids cascading over her shoulders.

Brooke is the last to drift off, her protective instincts warring with the overwhelming urge to sleep. Her hazel eyes, so like my own, grow heavy-lidded as she watches me from across the room. Finally, she succumbs, her body relaxing into the plush cushions of the loveseat.

The room falls into a hushed quiet, broken only by the soft sounds of sleeping breaths and the distant crash of waves outside. The air feels thick and hazy, and time seems to slow down to crawl.

I blink sluggishly, surprised to find that it’s only 1 AM according to the ornate clock on the mantel.

“Hey,” I slur, turning to Erica and Tessa, the only other conscious occupants of the room. “Can we keep going? I’m not ready for the night to end.”

Erica’s lips curl into a lazy smile, her blue eyes glassy but still alert. “Of course, baby,” she purrs, reaching out to run her fingers through my hair. “The night is young.”

Tessa nods in agreement, her tall form casting a long shadow as she moves to refill our glasses. “Indeed,” she says, her voice low and smooth. “Why stop now when things are just getting interesting?”

I nod, a goofy grin spreading across my face. “Awesome,” I mumble. “I’ll be right back. Gotta use the bathroom.”

As I start to stand, swaying slightly on my feet, Erica reaches out, her hand brushing against my thigh. “Want me to hold it for you?” she asks while flaunting a smile at me.

“N-no, thanks,” I stammer, swaying slightly as I stand.

‘Maybe if we were home I’d take the offer.’

The cool tiles of the bathroom floor feel amazing against my bare feet as I relieve myself. I take a moment to splash some water on my face, the droplets clinging to my eyelashes as I blink at my reflection. My hair is a disheveled mess, and my eyes are glassy, but I feel a surge of energy coursing through me.

When I make my way back to the living room, I’m surprised to see Erica slumped over the coffee table. Her soft snores mix with the gentle breathing of the others, creating a soothing symphony of sleep.

“Aw man,” I whine, pouting slightly as I flop back onto the couch. “I just got a second wind, and now everyone’s asleep.”

Tessa’s low chuckle draws my attention. She’s still sitting upright in her armchair, her long legs crossed elegantly at the ankle. The dim lamplight casts intriguing shadows across her face, accentuating her high cheekbones and full lips.

“Not everyone,” she purrs, reaching for the bottle of mystery liquor. She pours a generous amount into a glass, the amber liquid catching the light as it swirls. “Here, have another drink with me.”

I accept the glass eagerly, my fingers brushing against hers as I take it. “Thanks, Tessa,” I say, grinning widely.

I bring the glass to my lips, the cool rim a stark contrast to my flushed skin. The amber liquid catches the soft lamplight, swirling hypnotically as I tilt the glass back. The rich, smoky flavor of the alcohol floods my mouth, but this time, there’s an unmistakable undercurrent of bitterness that lingers on my tongue. “This is really good.”

I take another large gulp, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. The bitterness is more pronounced now, a familiar taste that tugs at the edges of my memory. I furrow my brow, trying to place it as I continue to drink.

Tessa watches me intently, her grey eyes unreadable in the dim light. A small crease forms between her brows as she observes me gulping down the drink.

“What?” I ask, noticing her puzzled expression.

She leans forward slightly, her voice low and smooth. “Are you feeling tired, Jason?”

I shake my head, feeling a surge of energy coursing through my veins. “Nah, I’m wide awake,” I reply, raising the glass to my lips once more.

“Huh?” Tessa mutters in confusion.

As I drain the last drops, realization hits me like a lightning bolt. The bitter taste was so familiar and yet so out of place in this drink.

‘It’s the same bitter taste as my sleepy-time tea. This bitch spiked our drinks.’

Without thinking, I drunkenly point at Tessa, my finger wavering unsteadily in the air. “You roofied us!” I slur, the words tumbling out in an accusatory rush. It’s not a question but a statement of fact, my alcohol-addled brain suddenly piecing together the puzzle.

Tessa’s melodious laugh fills the room, a stark contrast to the seriousness of the situation. “Yes,” she admits, her grey eyes glinting with amusement in the dim light. “And you’ll be asleep soon, too, Jason.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis as I process her words. My hand moves of its own accord, reaching behind me to the small of my back where I keep a weapon. The cool metal of the gun is a shock against my flushed skin as I pull it out, the weight familiar and comforting in my unsteady grip.

‘You think I’m going on a trip with you without my piece? What a fucking idiot.’ I laugh arrogantly from my mind palace.

A wild, unhinged laugh bubbles up from my chest as I level the gun at Tessa. The barrel wavers slightly in my drunken state, but the threat is clear. “I’ve been taking trace amounts of Rohypnol for months,” I declare, my words slurring together but filled with a manic sort of triumph. “It won’t work on me.”

[A/N: Do not try this. This isn’t real life. Taking any amount Rohypnol is dangerous for you and you wouldn’t develop resistance. Do not roofie people, and do not roofie yourself.]

Tessa’s reaction is immediate and visceral. The color drains from her face, her usual composure shattering like glass. Her grey eyes, normally so cool and collected, are now wide with terror as they fix on the gun in my hand. But beneath the fear, there’s a flicker of confusion, her brow furrowing as she processes my words.

Tessa’s composure shatters completely, her eyes wild with a mixture of fear and rage. “Who the fuck would roofie themselves?” she screams, her voice cracking with hysteria. “Why are you and Erica so fucking weird?!”

The corners of my mouth twitch upwards in a lopsided grin. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, aiming directly at Tessa’s chest. The sharp click of the firing pin echoes through the room, but there’s no explosion, no bullet. Just empty silence.

Tessa flinches violently, her entire body jerking backward as if struck by an invisible force. Her eyes squeeze shut, her face contorting in anticipation of pain that never comes. For a moment, the only sound in the room is her ragged breathing.

Slowly, hesitantly, she opens her eyes. They dart frantically between my face and the gun, wide with disbelief. She blinks rapidly as if trying to clear away an illusion.

Suddenly, she surges to her feet, knocking over her chair in the process. It clatters to the floor, the sound jarringly loud in the tense silence. Tessa towers over me, her tall frame trembling with a potent cocktail of fear, anger, and adrenaline.

“YOU JUST TRIED TO KILL ME!” she shrieks, her voice raw and primal. “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!”

Her face is a mask of fury, her grey eyes blazing with an intensity I’ve never seen before. The veins in her neck stand out prominently as she screams, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

I stare at the gun with an immeasurable amount of disappointment.

“Fuck.”

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