Finding a Yandere in Reverse World

Chapter 42: Christmas Eve

♪ The mood is right ♪

♪ The spirits up ♪

♪ We’re here tonight ♪

♪ And that’s enough ♪

♪ Simply having a wonderful Christmas time ♪

The warm glow of the fireplace dances across Erica’s face as I pull her closer, the wine buzzing pleasantly through my veins. Paul McCartney’s cheery voice fills the luxurious living room of the Knight mansion, and I can’t help but grin.

“Fuck, this is such a good song.” I slur, nuzzling into Erica’s neck. Her familiar scent of cigarettes fills my nostrils, making me feel safe and alive all at once. Erica’s fingers thread through my hair, her touch both gentle and possessive.

From across the room, Brooke’s voice cuts through my wine-soaked reverie. “Why exactly are we celebrating Christmas Eve here instead of our house, Jason?” Her tone is curious, but I detect a hint of unease beneath it.

Before I can formulate a response, Vivian’s cool, authoritative voice chimes in. “It’s much bigger than Emily’s house, dear.” She gestures around the opulent room. “More room for... festivities.”

I turn to see my mother, her usually stern face flushed with alcohol, her hair slightly disheveled. ‘She drinks a lot in this world. But low key, she’s kinda cool when she’s drunk.’

“After the past four months,” Mom speaks, her words slightly slurred, “let’s just be happy everyone’s here.” She raises her glass in a wobbly toast, spilling a bit of wine on herself.

‘I hardly even feel surprised anymore seeing mom like this. Since letting Erica in she’s gotten considerably nicer to me at least. It’s unsettling but a part of me that always wanted her approval kinda basks in it.’

My moment of familial warmth is interrupted when I notice Rachel staring at me from across the room. Her amber eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me squirm. She shifts in her seat, her usual confidence seemingly replaced by an awkward hesitancy.

“Jason,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft, “I was wondering... are there any hard feelings after the whole General Violeuse mishap?”

“Oh, fuck off.” I reply, “Let’s just not bring it up again.”

Rachel sits there awkwardly, her amber eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. The tension in the air is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Brooke, her curiosity piqued, leans forward, her brow furrowed.

“What are you guys talking about?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern. “What’s a General Violin?”

Before I could even open my mouth to respond, Mom cut in. Her words were slightly slurred, but her tone was brooking no argument. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing to be concerned about. We were just running some tests for Jason’s safety, that’s all.”

I blink hard, trying to focus my wine-addled brain. The room seems to spin a little, and I huff drunkenly, unsure whether to be grateful for Mom’s intervention or annoyed at her casual dismissal of the whole ordeal.

My thoughts are interrupted as Erica, equally intoxicated, begins to pepper my neck with passionate kisses. Her lips are warm and insistent, trailing fire across my skin. For a moment, I lose myself in the sensation, my body responding instinctively to her touch.

But then I catch sight of Brooke from the corner of my eye. She’s staring at us, her gaze sharp as daggers, a mix of longing and disapproval etched across her features. The intensity of her stare sends a jolt of discomfort through me, breaking the spell of Erica’s embrace.

I gently push Erica away, my hand on her shoulder. “Not right now, honey,” I murmur, my voice husky and a bit unsteady. “Maybe we should cool it a bit, yeah?”

Erica pouts, her blue eyes clouded with desire and confusion. “But why, baby?” she whines, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “Don’t you want me?”

I stare into Erica’s eyes, and for a moment, I’m caught off guard by what I see there. Behind the desire and possessiveness, there’s a wild glint, a spark of something almost... unhinged. It’s as if she’s putting on a show, not just for me but for everyone in the room. Especially Brooke.

Before I can fully process this realization, Erica’s lips crash into mine with bruising force. Her tongue invades my mouth, hot and demanding, tasting of wine and cigarettes. I can’t help but melt into her embrace, my body responding despite my better judgment. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer as a low moan escapes my throat.

Through the haze of alcohol and arousal, I hear my mother’s drunken laughter. “Jesus, he really is a slut for Erica, isn’t he?” She slurs, sounding impressed with her future daughter in law’s hold of me. Her words sending a jolt of embarrassment through me. But I can’t bring myself to pull away from Erica’s intoxicating kiss.

Vivian’s voice chimes in, equally affected by the wine. “Yes, but otherwise, he’s very respectful. Such a good boy, our Jason.”

I feel my cheeks burning, caught between mortification and a perverse pride at their words. Erica’s grip on me tightens, her nails digging into my back as if to say, ‘Mine.’

Suddenly, Brooke’s voice cuts through the room like a knife. “This is a disgusting way to behave on Christmas Eve!” she exclaims, her tone sharp with disapproval and clear jealousy. “Can’t you two control yourselves for one night?”

Erica finally breaks the kiss, leaving me gasping for air. She turns to face Brooke, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “What’s wrong, Brooke? Feeling like someone stole your little brother.”

I lean in close to Erica, my lips brushing against her ear as I whisper, “Hey, could you maybe stop acting like a textbook NTR villain to my sister? It’s Christmas Eve.”

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Erica pulls back, her blue eyes dancing with mischief. She lets out a throaty laugh that sends shivers down my spine. “But baby,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry. “It’s my favorite bit that I do.” Her lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout, and I can’t help but be struck by how adorable and terrifying she looks at the same time.

My heart flutters in agony for her. ‘Bits are my favorite thing, and Erica indulges in almost all of mine. And here I am, asking Erica to give up hers.’ Truly a tragic sight to behold.

I take a deep breath, the scent of pine from the Christmas tree mingling with the lingering aroma of mulled wine. “I know, I know,” I say, my voice soft and pleading. “But just... not on Christmas, okay?”

Erica’s eyes narrow for a moment, and I can almost see the gears turning in her head. The fire crackles in the background, casting dancing shadows across her face. Finally, she lets out a dramatic sigh, her breath warm against my cheek. “Fine,” she concedes, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells me this isn’t over.

She turns to Brooke, a wide evil grin spreading across her face. It’s a look of triumph as if she’s won some unspoken contest. The tension in the room is palpable like a rubber band stretched to its limit.

Brooke, for her part, just stares at us, her hazel eyes filled with disgust. “You two are gross.” She declares, her voice dripping with disdain. But there’s a tremor in her words, a hint of something deeper.

Mom, oblivious to the tension between Brooke and Erica, sways slightly as she gazes around the mansion. Her eyes widen with childlike wonder, taking in the opulent surroundings. The crystal chandeliers twinkle above, casting a warm glow across the room. Intricate moldings adorn the walls, their delicate patterns telling stories of a bygone era.

“My goodness.” Mom breathes. “I feel like a little kid in here. These ceilings are so fucking high!” She cranes her neck like a brontosaurus, staring up at the vaulted ceiling with its hand-painted cherubs and wispy clouds. The Christmas lights strung along the walls seem to dance in her unfocused vision.

Suddenly, Mom’s expression shifts. Her brow furrows, and she turns to Vivian with an almost comical seriousness. “Say, Vivian,” she begins, her tone reminiscent of a child asking about Santa Claus, “did your family sell slaves in the past? Is that where this house came from?”

‘Let her cook! LET HER COOK!’

The room falls silent. The crackling fire seems to pause, and even the Christmas music fades into the background. Vivian’s eyes narrow, her gaze shifting from Mom to me. Her lips purse into a thin line, and I can see the muscles in her jaw tighten.

“Funny you should ask that, Emily,” Vivian says, her voice crisp and cold as winter frost. “Your son asked me a very similar question when we first met.”

Mom’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. She turns to me, beaming with pride, and claps her hands together. “That’s my boy!” she exclaims, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Always asking the important questions, just like his mama!”

Erica winces at Mom’s use of the word “mama,” her face scrunching up like she just bit into a lemon. She leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “I’m your momma now, you got that,” she whispers, her voice possessive.

“I know,” I murmur back, feeling a strange combination of comfort and unease. The Christmas lights reflect in Erica’s eyes, making them sparkle with an almost otherworldly intensity.

Brooke, ever the peacekeeper, steps forward to Vivian, her face a mask of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry about Mom’s behavior.” she says, her voice strained. “The wine has clearly gone to her head.”

Vivian waves her hand dismissively, a small smile playing on her lips. “Oh, don’t worry about it, dear. It’s actually quite refreshing to see Emily in such a whimsical light. Especially compared to how much of a cunt she was in high school.”

“Hey now!” Mom slurs, swaying slightly as she points an accusatory finger at Vivian. “We talked about this already. Water under the bridge and all that jazz.”

Vivian’s gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing as she stares directly at Mom. “Emily, dear, you once took a shit on my desk at school.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Even the fire seems to hold its breath. I feel my jaw drop, and I look around the room to see similar expressions of shock on everyone’s faces except for Mom, who burst into raucous laughter.

“That’s right!” she howls, tears streaming down her face. “And everyone else laughed!”

Erica’s eyes widen with glee as she listens to Mom’s confession. Her laughter starts as a low chuckle but quickly builds into a full-blown cackle. Tears stream down her face too as she clutches her sides, gasping for air between fits of hysterical giggles.

“Oh my god.” she wheezes, her face flushed red. “That’s fucking hilarious! I’ve always wanted to shit on someone’s desk to intimidate them. It’s like the ultimate power move!”

I turn to stare at Erica, but I can’t muster much surprise. At this point, her outrageous thoughts barely faze me anymore. I just raise an eyebrow and take another sip of wine.

Brooke, on the other hand, looks utterly horrified as she sits back down in her chair. Her face has gone pale, and she’s gripping her wine glass so tightly I’m afraid it might shatter. “That’s... that’s disgusting!” she sputters.

Vivian, swaying slightly on her feet, nods sagely. “Oh, it was.” she agrees, her words slurring together. “But you have to admire the sheer audacity. And let me tell you, it was one of the biggest shits I’ve ever seen. Truly impressive.”

Mom’s eyes light up at this, a prideful glint shining through the haze of alcohol. “Why, thank you, Vivian.” she says, raising her glass in a wobbly toast. “I always did believe in giving it my all.”

Brooke’s face contorts in a mixture of disgust and disbelief. “Mom!” she shrieks, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. “How can you be proud of this? Bullying is wrong, no matter what form it takes!”

Vivian nods, her expression suddenly serious despite her inebriated state. “You’re absolutely right, dear.” she agrees. “It was a terrible thing to do. In fact, at the time, I wanted to kill her.”

Mom starts laughing uncontrollably, her whole body shaking. “Well, lucky for Erica over there,” she wheezes between fits of giggles, gesturing wildly with her wine glass, “you didn’t kill me!”

In one swift motion, Brooke grabs a fresh bottle of wine from the nearby bar cart. The crystal stopper makes a satisfying ‘pop’ as she removes it, and without hesitation, she tilts her head back and starts chugging directly from the bottle. The rich, ruby liquid sloshes down her throat as she gulps desperately as if trying to drown out the insanity around her.

Mom’s eyes light up at the sight, a proud grin spreading across her face. “Good, that’s my girl!” she cheers, raising her own glass in a wobbly salute. “What a wonderful family!”

Vivian, not to be outdone, reaches for the decanter of whiskey on the side table. She pours herself a generous measure, the amber liquid glinting in the firelight. As she brings the glass to her lips, her eyes lock onto Mom’s face. There’s anger there, a smoldering resentment that seems to have been reignited by the memories of their shared past. But beneath that a glimmer of something heated and primal that makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

‘She looks just like a horny Erica. Jesus Christ.’

The tension in the room is palpable, crackling like the logs in the fireplace. I feel a strange unease settling in the pit of my stomach.

I turn to Erica, my voice low. “Hey, is your mom, like... a lesbian or something?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Erica snorts, nearly choking on her drink. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of red lipstick. “No way,” she scoffs, her blue eyes full of pride. “Mom used to see prostys all the time. Like a revolving door of high-class escorts. It was wild.”

I blink in confusion, my alcohol-addled brain struggling to process this new information. “Oh,” I manage to say, the word hanging in the air like a bewildered bubble.

Before I can fully wrap my head around Erica’s revelation, Mom’s voice cuts through the haze. “Vivian?” Mom drawls, swaying slightly on her feet, “Can you show me to the guest bedroom I’m staying in tonight? I think I might need to... lie down for a bit.”

Vivian rises from her seat, her movements fluid despite the amount of alcohol she’s consumed. “Of course, Emily.” she purrs, her voice low and honey-smooth. “I’d be happy to.”

‘What the fuck! Am I the only one seeing this shit?’ I look around and no one else seems to notices our parents running away like two teens ready to fuck in the woods.

Now it’s just Erica, Rachel, Brooke, and me left in the living room. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows across the antique furniture.

Rachel, the socialite, breaks the silence. “So, Brooke.” she begins, her voice carrying a forced cheerfulness, “Where do you go to college?”

Brooke, still clutching her wine bottle like a lifeline, turns to Rachel. Her hazel eyes are slightly glassy, and her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol. “Oh, um, Salem State.” she replies, her voice small and uncertain. “How about you?”

Rachel nods, “I go to Harvard.” The moment the words leave Rachel’s lips, I see Brooke deflate. It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of her. Her shoulders slump, and she lets out a long, heavy sigh that seems to come from the depths of her soul.

“Of course you do.” Brooke mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. She takes another long swig from the wine bottle, wincing slightly as she swallows.

“Hey, Brooke,” I say, my voice sounding strangely hollow in the cavernous room. “You know, if you want to transfer to another school, I’d be happy to pay for it.” The words drunkenly tumble out of me forgetting what’d I’d already set up for her.

Brooke’s head snaps up, her hazel eyes wide with a range of emotions, shock, anger, hurt, and a deep sadness. The wine bottle dangles forgotten from her fingers, swaying slightly.

“Your money?” she says. Then, louder, “Your blood money?”

I wince at her words, feeling them like a physical blow. The room suddenly feels too small, too close.

“I don’t want your hush money, Jason,” Brooke continues, her voice rising. “I don’t want anything that came from... from the Carter family.” Her eyes are glistening now, unshed tears making them shine in the firelight.

‘She is going to hate her Christmas present then.’ I cringe awkwardly in anticipation of her reaction tomorrow.

Rachel clears her throat, her amber eyes softening with sympathy. “If I may,” she says, her voice gentle but firm, “my family would be more than happy to cover your tuition if you’d prefer a more... ethical source of funding.”

The offer hangs in the air like a delicate soap bubble, shimmering with possibility. Brooke’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, with a mix of surprise and longing. For a moment, it seems as though she might reach out and grasp this lifeline. But then, like a curtain falling, her expression hardens. She shakes her head, her brunette waves catching the firelight.

“No, thanks,” Brooke says, her voice strained. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t accept that.”

Rachel leans forward, her posture radiating sincerity. “Brooke, it’s really not a problem. Our family has more money than we know what to do with. Helping you pursue your education would be our pleasure.”

Brooke’s fingers tighten around the neck of the wine bottle. “No, thank you.” she repeats, her voice carrying a hint of steel beneath the polite words.

Rachel nods, respecting Brooke’s decision. “I understand.”

Suddenly a waive of drunken exhaustion hits me. I tug on Erica’s sleeve, the room spinning slightly as I lean in close. “Hey, bedtime,” I mumble, my words slurring together. “I’m sleepy.”

Erica nods, her blue eyes glassy from the wine. “Yeah, you’re right,” she agrees, her voice a bit louder than necessary. “It’s Christmas tomorrow, after all.”

We bid goodnight to Brooke and Rachel. As we stumble out of the living room, the warmth of the fire fades, replaced by the cool, shadowy hallways of the Knight mansion.

Our footsteps echo off the marble floors as we make our way towards our room, the walls lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors holding witch heads, who seem to watch our every move. The Christmas decorations take on an eerie quality in the dim light.

Suddenly, a muffled sound catches my attention. I pause, cocking my head to listen.

‘Was that a fucking ghost?’

Then I hear it it again a little clearer this time. A hushed grunting coming from behind the closed door of one of the guest rooms. My alcohol-addled brain takes a moment to process what I’m hearing, but when it does, a mixture of fascination and horror washes over me. ‘Oh fuck.’

I turn to Erica, my eyes wide with disbelief. She’s frozen in place, her face a mask of shock as the realization dawns on her too. The color drains from her cheeks, leaving her looking pale and sickly in the moonlight streaming through the hall windows.

“Are... are our parents fucking?” Erica whispers, her voice trembling with a combination of disgust and disbelief.

I can’t help but let out a soft, drunken chuckle. “Jesus Christ.” I sigh.

I sway on my feet, the alcohol making the hallway tilt at odd angles. The muffled sounds from behind the door grow louder, more insistent. A wicked grin spreads across my face as I turn to Erica, my inhibitions lowered by the wine.

“Hey, which one of our moms do you think is topping?” I ask.

Erica’s face contorted in disgust, her nose wrinkling as if she smelled something foul. “Ew, Jason! That’s our parents you’re talking about!” she hisses, her voice a mixture of revulsion and shock.

I lean in closer, my breath hot against her ear. “I bet it’s my mom.” I whisper, a mischievous glint in my eye.

The effect is instantaneous. Erica’s disgust melts away, replaced by a fierce, competitive fire. Her blue eyes narrow, sparkling with determination in the dim hallway light.

“No fucking way,” she scoffs, her voice low and intense. “It’s definitely my mom. She would never put up with being topped by her old bully. Not in a million years.” Erica’s lips curl into a smirk, her words dripping with a strange mix of pride and disdain. “You probably get your insane level of submission from your mom, you know. I bet it’s genetic.”

I can’t help but grin. “No chance,” I argue, shaking my head vigorously. “My mom would never let Vivian top her. You’ve seen how she is. She’s all about authority.”

“You’re so full of shit Jason.” Her words dripping with pride for her unseen mother.

“Well, there’s only one way to settle this,” I say with a cheeky glint in my eye. “We could just take a quick peek and find out for ourselves.”

Erica looks torn, her face a battleground of conflicting emotions. Disgust and curiosity wage war across her features, her nose wrinkling even as her eyes gleam with intrigue. After a moment of internal struggle, curiosity emerges victorious. She gives a small, reluctant nod.

With exaggerated stealth that only drunk people can manage, we tiptoe toward the door like cartoon characters. I reach for the doorknob, my hand trembling slightly. Whether from anticipation, the effects of the wine, or even fear, I’m not sure.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I turn the knob and ease the door open just a crack. The sounds from within grow louder, more distinct. Erica and I press our faces to the opening, our cheeks squished together as we strain to see inside.

The sight that greets us is shocking. There, in the middle of the guest bed, is my mother, stark naked and glistening with sweat. She’s wearing a strap-on that looks comically out of place against her usually prim and proper demeanor. And beneath her, writhing in apparent ecstasy is Vivian.

Mom pumps into Vivian with a vigor that seems at odds with her drunken state earlier. Her face is contorted in a mix of concentration and triumph as she growls, “You like being fucked by your old bully, you fucking slut?”

Vivian, her face flushed and her hair a tangled mess, nods frantically. “Yes!” she pants, her voice a breathy moan. “Yes, I love it! Don’t stop!”

The scene before us grows more frenzied, the bed creaking ominously under the force of their passion. Vivian’s perfectly manicured nails rake down Mom’s back, leaving angry red trails in their wake. Mom responds by grabbing a fistful of Vivian’s hair and yanking her head back to expose her throat.

Vivian whispers, “Hit me.”

I wince in surprise.

“You want me to hit you, you filthy slut?” Mom snarls, her voice husky with desire.

Vivian’s eyes roll back in ecstasy. “Yes! Please, Emily! Hit me! I need it!”

The sharp crack of skin on skin echoes through the room as Mom’s hand connects with Vivian’s cheek. “Take it, you little whore.” Mom growls, her hips never slowing their relentless rhythm.

I feel Erica stiffen beside me, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes are wide with horror, fixed on the spectacle before us. The color has drained from her face, leaving her looking pale and sickly in the dim light filtering through the crack in the door.

Unable to bear any more, I gently close the door, cutting off the sounds of their passionate encounter. We stumble back, leaning against the opposite wall for support.

Erica slides down the wall, landing on the ground with a soft thud. She draws her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them like a child seeking comfort. Her blue eyes, usually so full of mischief and life, now look hollow and lost.

“Mom,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I can’t believe you’d let her... let anyone do that to you.”

I sit down beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch. The warmth of her body is comforting in the cool hallway.

Erica turns to me, her expression a mixture of confusion and desperation. “How?” she asks, her voice barely audible. “How can anyone be so submissive like that? How can they just... give up control? That’s disgusting. A travesty to women.”

I reach out and gently rub Erica’s back, feeling the tension in her muscles. I give her a loving look, my eyes soft in the dim hallway light.

“Hey,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Some people, like your mom and me, love giving up control sometimes. Maybe for her, since she’s a CEO all day, it’s nice to let go for a while.”

As I speak, I can see the gears turning in Erica’s head. Her brow furrows slightly, then relaxes as understanding dawns.

Suddenly, her eyes widen with realization. “Oh god, Jason,” she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “I didn’t mean... I know you’re the biggest sub in the world. I didn’t mean anything by what I said. It’s just it’s my Mom.”

I can’t help but chuckle softly, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. “It’s okay, Erica. It’s fine.”

I stand up slowly, my legs a bit wobbly from the wine. I offer my hand to Erica, helping her to her feet. She sways slightly, and I wrap my arm around her waist to steady her. The warmth of her body against mine is comforting in the cool night air.

“Come on,” I murmur, gently guiding her down the hallway. “Let’s go to bed.”