Finding a Yandere in Reverse World

Chapter 96: A Happy Campfire

[Jason’s POV]

The night air is crisp and cool against my skin as Justine and I sit outside our luxurious tent, the crackling campfire casting a warm, flickering glow across the expansive Knight mansion lawn.

I hold my marshmallow over the dancing flames, watching as it slowly turns golden brown. The sweet aroma of caramelizing sugar mingles with the woody scent of burning sticks.

Justine sits next to me, her fiery red hair glowing like the embers from the fire. She’s focused intently on her own marshmallow, her emerald eyes reflecting the inferno as she rotates the stick with practiced precision.

“So,” Justine says, breaking the comfortable silence between us. “Are you excited about the wedding?”

I nod, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, I am,” I reply, my voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. “It still feels a bit surreal, you know? Like I’m living in a dream.”

Justine grins, pulling her perfectly toasted marshmallow away from the fire. “I bet,” she says, blowing gently on the gooey treat to cool it. “You and Erica have come such a long way. It seems like she’s really matured lately.”

I sigh, my marshmallow forgotten for a moment as I stare into the flickering flames. “Yeah.”

Justine’s keen eyes catch the subtle shift in my demeanor. She laughs, a knowing glint in her eye. “You wish she hadn’t?” she asks, her voice teasing but gentle.

I run a hand through my hair, feeling a bit sheepish. “I mean, at this point, I love Erica so much I’ll accept any change,” I admit, my words coming out in a rush. “But... I don’t know. I guess I miss when she was a lot more...”

“Possessive? Intense? Psychotic?” Justine offers, her tone light but her eyes serious.

I can’t help but chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, all of that,” I say, feeling a weight lift off my chest at being able to voice these thoughts. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of how far she’s come. It’s just...”

Justine leans forward, her emerald eyes sparkling with understanding. “You miss the passion?” she suggests, her voice soft and empathetic.

I shake my head, a small smile playing at my lips. “No, the passion is still there,” I say, feeling a warm flush creep up my neck as I think about Erica’s intense lovemaking. “That’s definitely not lacking.”

Justine raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue. I take a deep breath. “I just... I miss when she scared me a little.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel a mix of relief and embarrassment wash over me. Justine’s eyes open her mouth to respond, but before she can say anything, the sound of multiple footsteps approaching from the mansion catches our attention.

We both turn to look, and I feel my heart skip a beat as I see Erica along with Vivian, Rachel, and Amelia making their way across the lawn towards us.

As they draw closer, I notice something that sends a chill down my spine. Vivian and Rachel are crying, their faces streaked with tears that glisten in the firelight. Amelia’s usually stoic expression is marred by a deep frown, her eyes darting nervously between Erica and me.

And Erica... my breath catches in my throat as I take in her appearance. Her face is a mask of grim determination, her blue eyes blazing with an intensity I haven’t seen in months.

Before I can process what’s happening, Erica is beside me. In one easy motion, she wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a fierce embrace. Her grip is almost painfully tight as if she’s afraid I might disappear if she loosens her hold even slightly.

I can feel her heart pounding against my chest, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Erica pulls back from the embrace, but her hand remains firmly gripped on my waste.

I feel my heart rate quicken, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin despite the warmth of the fire. The marshmallow I’d been roasting falls unnoticed from its stick, sizzling as it lands in the flames.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes dart between the faces around me, taking in their grim expressions.

Vivian steps forward, her usual poise shattered. Her blonde hair, normally so perfectly styled, is disheveled as if she’s been running her hands through it repeatedly. Tears glisten on her cheeks, catching the firelight.

“Jason, sweetheart,” she begins, her voice cracking with emotion. “Something... something has happened.”

My blood runs cold at her words, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight. I swallow hard, trying to find my voice.

“What?” I manage to croak out. “What happened?”

Vivian takes a shuddering breath, her blue eyes filled with a pain that makes my heart clench. “I’m so sorry, Jason,” she says, her words coming out in a rush. “It’s... it’s Brooke. She’s... she’s died.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis at her words. I feel as if all the air has been sucked from my lungs, leaving me gasping. My ears ring, Vivian’s words echoing in my mind like a nightmarish mantra.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head in denial. “No, that can’t be right. I just saw her yesterday. She was fine. She was...”

My voice trails off as the reality of the situation begins to sink in. I look around wildly, hoping to see some sign that this is all a cruel joke. But the somber faces that meet my gaze offer no such comfort.

Rachel is openly weeping now, her shoulders shaking with each sob. Amelia stands rigidly beside her, her usual composure cracked, revealing a deep sadness in her eyes.

Justine has risen to her feet, her face pale with shock. She takes a hesitant step towards me, her hand outstretched as if to offer comfort, but she seems unsure of what to do.

“Are you sure?” I ask. The words feel hollow and meaningless in the face of such devastating news. But I cling to them, desperate for any shred of hope that this might all be a terrible mistake.

Vivian nods slowly, her blue eyes brimming with fresh tears. “Yes, sweetheart,” she confirms, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, but it’s true.”

The confirmation hits me like a physical blow, forcing the air from my lungs. I struggle to breathe, my chest tight with a pain that feels all too real.

“How...” I start, but the words catch in my throat. I swallow hard, forcing myself to continue. “How did it happen?”

Vivian opens her mouth to respond, but a choked sob escapes instead. Her shoulders shake as she brings a hand to her face, trying to compose herself.

Erica pulls me closer, her presence solid and reassuring beside me. Her hands come up to cup my face, gently turning me to meet her gaze. Her blue eyes, usually so fierce and determined, are now filled with a deep sadness that makes my heart ache even more.

“We don’t know the full story yet, Jason,” Erica says, her voice low and gentle. “Your mom is at the scene of the crime right now.”

“What?” I choke out, tears beginning to blur my vision. “Scene of the crime? What happened?”

The floodgates open, and I feel hot tears streaming down my cheeks. My body shakes with the force of my sobs, grief, confusion, and fear all mingling together into an overwhelming torrent of emotion.

Erica pulls me closer, pressing her forehead against mine. Her eyes are locked on mine, filled with a mixture of sorrow and fierce protectiveness that’s achingly familiar.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” she whispers, her breath warm against my tear-stained face. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The world around me blurs, the flickering firelight and shadowy lawn melting into a haze of tears. My chest heaves with each ragged breath, sobs wracking my body as the full weight of Brooke’s loss crashes over me. The grief is a physical thing, pressing down on me, squeezing the air from my lungs.

I cling to Erica like a lifeline, my fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt as if I might drown in my sorrow if I let go. Her arms encircle me, strong and steady, an anchor in the storm of my emotions. I bury my face against her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heartbeat against my tear-stained cheek.

Between gasping sobs, I manage to choke out words, my voice muffled against Erica’s shirt. “Is... is my mom okay?” The thought of her alone at the scene of whatever tragedy has befallen Brooke sends a fresh wave of panic through me. “She needs me. I should be there for her.”

Vivian’s voice comes from somewhere above me, still thick with tears. “I’m going to meet up with her shortly, sweetheart.” Her words are meant to be reassuring, but they only intensify the ache in my chest.

I pull back slightly from Erica’s embrace, my vision swimming as I look up at Vivian. “Can I go with you?” I plead, desperation coloring my voice. “Please, I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay.”

Vivian’s face crumples at my words, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. She shakes her head slowly, her blonde hair catching the firelight as it sways with the movement. “No, Jason,” she says softly, her voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come.”

Her eyes flick to Erica, some unspoken communication passing between them. When Vivian speaks again, her voice is firmer despite the tremor of emotion that still runs through it. “You need to stay here with Erica.”

At her words, something shifts inside me. The chaotic swirl of grief and confusion suddenly crystallizes into a single, overwhelming need. Erica. Her presence, her touch, her very existence becomes the only thing that matters in this moment of utter devastation.

I turn back to Erica, pressing myself against her once more. My arms wrap around her waist, holding on so tightly that I can feel the rise and fall of her every breath. I try to match my breathing to hers, desperate to find some semblance of calm in the midst of this emotional maelstrom.

*****

I lay sprawled across Erica’s chest, my body limp with exhaustion, my face pressed against the damp fabric of her shirt where my tears had soaked through.

Hours have passed since we came upstairs, though time has lost all meaning in the haze of grief that envelops me. My eyes burn, swollen and raw from endless crying. I’m empty now, wrung out, with no more tears left to shed.

Erica’s fingers move through my hair in a steady, soothing rhythm. The gentle scrape of her nails against my scalp grounds me, providing a focal point in the swirling chaos of my emotions. Her other hand rests on my back, a warm, comforting weight.

“I’m here, Jason,” she murmurs, her voice low and tender. “I love you so much. I’ve got you.”

Her words wash over me like a balm, momentarily easing the ache in my chest. I try to respond, to tell her how much I love her too, how grateful I am for her presence. But all that comes out is a choked whisper, “I love you.”

Erica’s arms tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer. I can feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat against my cheek, a rhythmic reminder of life and love amidst the suffocating grief.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes from downstairs, muffled but distinct in the quiet of the night. My body tenses, every nerve suddenly alert. I push myself up, my hands gripping Erica’s shoulders as I look towards the bedroom door.

“Can we go down?” I ask, my voice raw and desperate. “Please, Erica. I need to know what’s happening.”

After a moment that feels like an eternity, she nods slowly. “Okay,” she says softly, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “But only if you feel up to it. We can stay here if you need more time.”

I grab Erica’s hand, my fingers intertwining with hers as I practically drag her towards the door. My heart races, a mixture of anticipation and dread coursing through my veins.

As we reach the bottom, the scene that greets us in the living room is surreal, like something out of a fever dream.

My eyes are immediately drawn to my mother, standing by the ornate liquor cabinet that dominates one corner of the room. Her usual impeccable appearance is shattered. Her brown hair is disheveled, strands falling haphazardly across her face. But it’s her shirt that captures my attention and sends a chill down my spine. The once-crisp white fabric is now a canvas of crimson, dark splotches, and smears of what can only be blood covering nearly every inch.

Mom’s hands tremble slightly as she rifles through the cabinet, the clinking of glass bottles a jarring counterpoint to the heavy silence that hangs over the room. Her movements are jerky, almost desperate, as she pulls out a large bottle of amber liquid and a crystal tumbler.

Vivian stands a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if trying to physically hold herself together. Her face is a study of conflicting emotions; a flicker of annoyance passes across her features as she watches Mom with the liquor, but it’s quickly subsumed by an overwhelming sadness. The pity in her eyes as she glances between Mom and me is almost palpable.

As my eyes sweep across the room, they land on Amelia, standing quietly in the corner. Her usual stoic demeanor is cracked, her face etched with a deep sadness. But what truly catches my attention is the tiny bundle cradled in her arms.

A baby rests contentedly against Amelia’s chest. The infant’s eyes are wide and alert, a striking hazel color that seems oddly familiar. Despite the somber atmosphere, the baby appears completely at ease, one tiny fist grasping at Amelia’s shirt while the other waves aimlessly in the air.

The sight is so out of place with the heavy grief permeating the room that, for a moment, I’m frozen in place, unable to reconcile the presence of new life amidst such sorrow.

“Mom?” I call out, my voice cracking with emotion.

Mom turns at the sound of my voice, setting down the bottle and glass with a soft clink. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen from crying, soften as they meet mine. Without a word, she opens her arms, motioning for me to come to her.

I cross the room in a few quick strides, practically falling into her embrace. I cling to her tightly, feeling like a child again, desperate for the comfort only a mother can provide.

“Mom,” I whisper against her shoulder, “what happened?”

She pulls back slightly, her hands coming up to cup my face. Her touch is gentle, but I can feel the slight tremor in her fingers. “Jason,” she says, her voice thick with unshed tears. “It’s... it’s been a terrible night.”

Mom’s gaze flicks to the liquor bottle on the side table. With a deep sigh, she reaches for it, pouring a generous measure into two glasses. She hands one to me, then motions towards the couch. “Come, sit with me. We need to talk.”

We make our way to the couch, sinking into the soft leather. The familiarity of the setting feels wrong somehow, too normal for the weight of the conversation we’re about to have. Mom takes a long sip of her drink, wincing slightly as the alcohol burns its way down her throat.

“Drink,” she says, nodding towards my untouched glass.

I comply, the whiskey bitter and harsh on my tongue. As I set the glass down, I notice movement from the corner of my eye. The baby in Amelia’s arms has shifted, its gaze now fixed squarely on me. Those hazel eyes, so bright and curious, seem to pierce right through me.

“Mom,” I begin, tearing my eyes away from the baby, “please, tell me what’s going on. What happened to Brooke?”