Chapter 45: Reelin’ In the Months

I find myself once again in the Knight mansion, surrounded by an air of tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. I’m sitting next to Erica on one of the many ornate couches. Erica is currently in a heated argument with her mother about something i never considered could be confusing.

Vivian’s brow furrows, her eyes flashing with irritation. “Erica, When did you become so ignorant? Italians can most certainly be Jewish!”

‘Why the fuck is everyone here? They were so cagey on the phone.’

Erica’s grip on me tightens, her fingers digging into my thigh possessively. I can feel the heat radiating from her body as she leans forward, her blue eyes blazing with defiance. She’s using me like an armrest, casually draping herself over me as if I’m just another piece of furniture in this opulent room.

“Name one Jewish Italian.” Erica challenges, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The tension in the room ratchets up another notch.

Vivian stares at her daughter, her perfect eyebrows knitting together in frustration. The silence stretches out, becoming almost palpable. I can hear the antique grandfather clock in the corner ticking away the seconds. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Ten seconds pass. Then twenty. The air grows heavy with unspoken words and simmering frustrations. I shift uncomfortably under Erica’s grip, but she doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes locked on her mother in silent challenge.

A full minute crawls by, feeling like an eternity. The ornate chandelier above us casts dancing shadows across the room, adding to the surreal atmosphere. Finally, Vivian breaks the silence, her voice strained.

“That’s not the point.” she says, exasperation evident in every syllable. “There’s nothing inherently stopping Italians from being Jewish.”

‘Is Erica accidentally right about this?’ I sit and wonder as I too cannot name a single Italian Jewish person.

Erica scoffs, her fingers flexing against my skin. I suppress a wince. “If you’re right then isn’t it weird that the room is full of family, and no one is piping up with a name.” She says, gesturing around with her free hand.

I follow her gaze, taking in the assembled group. Mom is perched on the edge of her seat, her casual clothes extremely neat. Brooke is curled up in an armchair, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. Rachel…. Just sitting there, Racheling.

‘Still kinda mad at Rachel, to be honest.’

Mom furrows her brow, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. She turns to Vivian, uncertainty written across her face. “She’s wrong, right?” she asks, her voice hesitant. “I mean, she feels wrong, but I can’t dispute her words.” Mom spoke as if she were in the presence of Socrates, and she realized her worldview was mere shadow puppetry on the walls of a cave.

‘I hate that i agree with her take a little though.’

Brooke suddenly barks out a laugh, sharp and incredulous. “You cannot fucking be serious!” she yells, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stares at Mom. “How could you possibly be buying into this shit?”

She whirls on Erica, her face flushed with anger. “Stop poisoning my Mom’s mind with your bullshit! Just because you don’t know any Jewish Italians doesn’t mean they don’t exist!”

Vivian nods emphatically, her perfectly kempt hair barely moving as she does. “Brooke’s right,” she says, her voice laced with exasperation. “Erica, darling, I’m beginning to think you and Emily shouldn’t be left to your own devices anymore. This level of... let’s call it ‘selective knowledge’ is concerning.”

Erica looks to be seething now. Her grip on my thigh tightens painfully, her nails digging into my skin through the fabric of my jeans. It’s kind of a turn-on.

“This is fucked up!” Erica suddenly explodes, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. The crystal chandelier above us trembles slightly as if cowering from her wrath. “You’re all ganging up on me like I’m some kind of moron!”

In a swift motion that leaves me reeling, Erica’s arm shoots out, her perfect finger pointing accusingly at me. “He’s the one who told me there were no Jewish Italians!” she declares, her voice dripping with righteous indignation.

I blink, utterly lost. ‘What the fuck is she talking about? I would literally never talk about that. I never bring up Jewish people.’

Mom leans forward, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Well,” she says slowly. “if Jason said it, it’s probably true. He’s always been such a clever boy.”

“What? No. Hold on.” I speak in a panic. “When did I say that?” I finally ask Erica.

Erica turns to me, her eyes wide with a mix of triumph and something else... desperation, maybe? “Christmas Eve night.” she says, her voice softer now, almost intimate. “You kept whispering it into my ear in bed. Over and over again. ‘There are no Jewish Italians, Erica. Isn’t that weird? What does it mean, Erica.’”

I stare at Erica, and I burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the mansion’s gilded walls. “Erica, I was so drunk that night!” I exclaim, wiping tears from my eyes. “I’m sure I was just joking around.”

Erica’s triumphant grin falters slightly, but she keeps her arm draped possessively over my shoulders.

Brooke’s face falls, disappointment etched in every line. “Drunk words are sober thoughts, Jason.” she says, her voice heavy with disapproval. “You should know better.”

‘I make you a millionaire and this is how I am repaid? Judas move sis.’

Something inside me snaps. The insanity of the situation, the tension in the room, it all comes crashing down on me at once. The audacity to challenge me when I’m just sitting here of all things.’

I react. “Yeah, Brooke?” I challenge, my voice rising. “If you’re so sure, then name one Jewish Italian. Just one! Go ahead, I’ll wait.” I take the strat right out Erica’s earlier playbook, and reuse it against Brooke.

Brooke’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Her brow furrows in concentration, eyes darting around the room as if searching for an answer hidden in the ornate wallpaper. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks away again.

Finally, Brooke’s shoulders slump in defeat, mirroring Vivian’s earlier defeat. “Fuck you, Jason.” she mutters, crossing her arms and sinking deeper into her chair.

Erica’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Ha! I knew it! We’re the winning side, babe!” She wraps her arms around me, planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

Suddenly, a delicate cough cuts through the chaos. We all freeze, turning as one to see Amelia, one of the Knight family’s longtime maids, standing in the doorway. Her crisp black and white uniform is a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings, and her face is a careful mask of polite indifference.

“Pardon the interruption.” Amelia says, her voice soft but clear. “But the... guest has arrived.”

The word ‘guest’ hangs in the air, and it is heavy with implications. I feel Erica stiffen beside me, her arm tightening around my shoulders. The playful atmosphere evaporates instantly, replaced by a thick, suffocating tension.

Vivian’s eyes go wide, a look of horror spreading across her perfectly made-up face. “Oh, for God’s sake!” she explodes, her composed facade cracking. “This was supposed to be a serious family meeting, and we’ve already gone completely off the deep end!”

The room falls into an uneasy silence as Amelia’s words hang in the air. I feel my heart rate quicken, a cold sweat breaking out on my palms. Who could this mysterious guest be? My mind races through possibilities, each more unlikely than the last.

Before I can even open my mouth to ask, another maid appears in the doorway. And right behind her, looking perfectly poised in her crisp butler uniform, is Lyra fucking Bennece.

My stomach drops as if I’ve just plummeted off a cliff. Lyra glides into the room, her single visible eye sweeping over us all before settling on me. A small, secretive smile plays at the corners of her mouth.

Without invitation, she perches delicately on the chair closest to me, crossing her legs primly at the ankle.

“What. The. Fuck.” The words escape me, my anger evident.

Beside me, Erica has gone completely rigid. Her face is a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, her blue eyes blazing with murderous intent. Her grip on my shoulder tightens to the point of pain, her nails digging into my skin through my shirt. I can practically feel the fury radiating off her in waves.

Mom looks incredibly anxious as she speaks to Erica and me. “Let’s all just calm down and listen to Lyra for a moment.”

I whip my head around to stare at her, utterly dumbfounded. Has the whole world gone insane? How can she possibly suggest we listen to anything this monster has to say? This is the woman who kidnapped me, who raped me for two full weeks.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I choke out, my voice cracking embarrassingly. “How... how could you let her anywhere near me? After everything she did?”

Mom at least has the decency to look ashamed, her eyes dropping to the floor. But it’s Vivian who speaks up, her voice gentle.

“Jason.” she says, leaning forward in her seat, “If this wasn’t of dire importance, I wouldn’t have organized this meeting. Lyra has some... information that concerns you directly. We felt it was best for you to hear it firsthand.”

Erica’s grip on me suddenly turns fierce, her arms wrapping around me like steel cables. She pulls me tight against her body as if trying to shield me from Lyra’s very presence. I can feel her heart hammering in her chest, her breath coming in short, angry bursts against my ear.

Her eyes, usually so full of mischief and warmth, have turned to chips of blue ice as she glares at Lyra. The murderous intent radiating from her is palpable, filling the air with an almost electric charge. If looks could kill, Lyra would be a smoking pile of ash.

“Jason.” Lyra purrs my name. Her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I have the most wonderful news.” She pauses, clearly savoring the moment, drinking in the tension that has the entire room wound tighter than a spring.

“I’m pregnant,” she announces, her smile widening into a Cheshire cat grin. “With your baby.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Beside me, Erica gasps, her arms going slack around me. The sudden absence of her fierce grip leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable.

My mind races, and panic sets in. ‘What if Erica thinks this is somehow my fault and she snaps and kills me? Wait fuck, it could be even worse, what if she breaks up with me over this. She might consider getting someone pregnant cheating.’ My rationality is gone as I shatter into pieces.

“I never cheated.” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper. “I never cheated. I never cheated.” The words tumble out faster and more frantic with each repetition. The fear that leaked from me was palpable.’

My hand shoots to my pocket, fingers closing around the cool metal of my pen. It’s a reflexive action born of desperation and fear.

Lyra’s brow furrows, her head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. “Why do you need a pen right now, Jason?” she asks genuine bewilderment in her voice.

Before I can respond, Brooke’s scream cuts through the tension like a knife. “Someone get that pen away from him!” she shrieks, her voice high and panicked.

My fingers tremble as I grip the pen, popping the fake top off of it quickly to reveal the hidden blade within. The polished metal glints in the dim light of the Knight mansion, a stark contrast to the ornate surroundings.

“This is your fault.” I choke out, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “You made me do this.”

‘It’s the only way I can prove to Erica that I am hers and hers alone.’

With a desperate lunge, I aim the blade at Lyra’s belly. Time seems to slow, each second stretching into an eternity. In my mind, I see Erica’s face, her fierce blue eyes filled with love and possessiveness. This is for her, I tell myself. To secure her heart. To show my loyalty beyond even a shadow of a doubt.

But suddenly, a blur of blonde hair and fierce determination rockets past me. Erica’s hand shoots out, grabbing the blade mere inches from Lyra’s stomach. Blood immediately wells up, dripping onto the polished marble floor.

“Jason.” Erica spoke softly. Her fingers are wrapped tightly around the blade, crimson streaming between them.

I stare in horror, my mind reeling. How did she move so fast? How is she still holding on despite the pain?

“E-Erica,” I stammer, watching as more blood seeps from her clenched fist. “I... I was just trying to...”

We both let go. The knife clatters to the floor, the sound echoing through the cavernous room. My legs give out, and I crumple, overwhelmed by the enormity of what I’ve done.

‘I hurt her? I hurt Erica.’

“I’m sorry, Erica.” I mumble, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I thought... I didn’t mean to...” The words tumble out, a jumbled mess of regret.

Erica’s expression melts into a deeper concern. She kneels beside me, her bloodied hand leaving crimson streaks on the marble.

“Shh, it’s okay.” she whispers, pulling me into a tight embrace. The metallic scent of blood mingles with her familiar scent of cigarettes. “I’ve got you, Jason.”

I bury my face in her shoulder, shaking. “But I hurt you. I was trying to... to...”

“To protect what we have?” Erica finishes, her voice gentle. She runs her uninjured hand through my hair. “I know. I know that’s why you did it.”

I pull back, searching her face. “But Lyra... the baby...”

Erica cups my face, her blood staining my skin. Her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Jason. My beautiful boy.” She whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “That baby... it’s a piece of you. I can’t stomach the thought of a piece of you dying.”

Her gaze is filled with such tender adoration that it takes my breath away. The room around us seems to fade, the ornate furnishings and shocked faces of our family members blurring into insignificance. At this moment, there is only Erica, her love for me radiating like a physical force.

“But... but Lyra...” I stammer, confusion and guilt warring within me.

Erica shakes her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “What she did was monstrous, unforgivable. But this child... it’s innocent. It’s you Jason. A part of you growing inside her.”

‘No but Erica’s reaction doesn’t make sense does it? Did i underestimate her empathy? Are children this dire for society? I don’t understand.’ Everything I think I know is breaking down around me.

Her bloodied hand finds mine, intertwining our fingers. The warmth of her blood is a stark reminder of what just transpired, yet her touch is gentle and grounding.

“I love every part of you.” Erica continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even the parts born from pain and trauma. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

I nod mutely, overwhelmed by the depth of her love and understanding.

A choked sob breaks the moment. We both turn to see Lyra, her face ashen, stumbling to her feet. Her single visible eye is wide with horror, her usual poise shattered.

“I... I had no idea.” Lyra mumbles, her voice trembling. “I knew I’d hurt you, but this... I never imagined...” She presses a hand to her mouth. looking as if she might be sick. “I’ve underestimated how deeply I broke you, Jason. God, what have I done?”

She takes a shaky step backward, her gaze darting between Erica and me. “If you could react like that... could you ever even love this child? Could you ever look at it and see anything but a reminder of what I did to you?”

Lyra’s words hang in the air, heavy with implication. She stumbles towards the door, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. “I need... I need to think.” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. “I can’t... I can’t do this...”

As Lyra disappears from view, I turn back to Erica, burying my face in her shoulder. Her arms wrap around me, strong and protective, as the full weight of what just happened crashes over me.

Suddenly, reality comes crashing back like a tidal wave. The ornate living room of the Knight mansion snaps into sharp focus, the gilded mirrors and crystal chandeliers seeming to mock the chaos unfolding beneath them.

Mom pulls me away from Erica in an instant. Vivian is at Erica’s side, her perfectly manicured hands gently but firmly prying Erica’s bloodied fingers open. “Let me see, darling.” she murmurs, her voice strained with worry. The deep gash across Erica’s palm glistens red, blood still oozing from the wound. Vivian’s face pales, but she maintains her composure, barking orders at a wide-eyed maid hovering nearby. “First aid kit, now!”

Mom’s grip on my shoulders is bruising, her fingers digging in so hard I’ll probably have marks later. Her face looms close to mine, eyes wild with a mix of fury and terror I’ve never seen before. “Where the fuck did you get that knife, Jason?”

I blink rapidly, struggling to process her words through the fog of adrenaline and confusion clouding my mind.

“I... I don’t...” I stammer, my tongue feeling thick and clumsy in my mouth.

“It was me!” Brooke’s voice cuts through the chaos, high-pitched and trembling. She steps forward, wringing her hands nervously. “I got him the knife pen for Christmas. To... to stop kidnappers.”

Mom’s head whips around to face Brooke, her eyes narrowing dangerously. For a moment, I think she might explode at my sister, but instead, she just clicks her tongue, a sound of weary resignation. “Of course you did!” Her words almost cast blame onto Brooke, like an angry father unable to reason at the moment.

In the corner, Rachel sits frozen, her face a mask of abject terror. Her eyes dart between me, the discarded knife on the floor, and the blood still dripping from Erica’s hand. She looks like she wants to disappear into the plush armchair she’s perched on, her knuckles white as she grips the armrests.

The maid returns with the first aid kit, and Vivian sets to work cleaning and bandaging Erica’s hand with practiced efficiency. The sharp scent of antiseptic cuts through the metallic tang of blood hanging in the air.

“Jason.” Erica’s voice is soft but steady, drawing my attention back to her. Despite the pain she must be in, her eyes are clear and focused on me. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

*****

[Erica’s POV]

I lay with Jason on me, his naked body a comforting weight against my chest. His breathing is deep, and even his face is peaceful in sleep. My bandaged hands rest protectively on his back, a dull ache throbbing beneath the gauze. But the pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming love and possessiveness surging through me as I gaze down at him.

The events of the day replay in my mind a whirlwind of chaos that somehow led to this perfect moment. I can still see the wild desperation in Jason’s eyes as he lunged at Lyra, the glint of the blade as it arced through the air. The memory sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

To think, my sweet Jason was willing to kill his own unborn child just to prove his devotion to me. The thought makes my heart race, a heady mix of triumph and possessive joy flooding my veins. I’ve never felt more alive, more certain of anything in my life.

My fingers trace lazy patterns on Jason’s back, reveling in the warmth of his skin. He shifts slightly in his sleep, burrowing closer to me with a contented sigh. I press a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

Everything played out better than I could have ever imagined. Lyra fled in horror, the shocked faces of our families, Jason turned to me for comfort and reassurance. It’s as if the universe itself conspired to bind him to me even tighter.

I chuckle softly, careful not to wake Jason. Lyra’s face flashes in my mind that look of utter shock and horror when Jason lunged at her. God, what a fucking idiot. Did she really think she could waltz in here, drop that bombshell, and not expect consequences? The moment those words left her perfectly painted lips, I knew exactly what Jason would do. My sweet, devoted Jason, so wonderfully, laughably predictable in his love for me.

It’s almost poetic, really. Lyra thought she was so clever, using that baby as a way to worm back into Jason’s life. But she grossly underestimated the depth of his loyalty to me. The second she announced her pregnancy, I was already moving, knowing Jason would reach for that knife, he thought he had kept secret from me. I could practically hear the gears turning in his beautiful, broken mind. ‘Eliminate the threat to the relationship.’

My fingers rub over the bandage on my palm, a badge of honor from stopping Jason’s blade. The dull throb of pain is a constant reminder of my victory. Lyra’s plan backfired spectacularly, driving Jason even further into my arms. Now, he clings to me like a lifeline, guilt, and gratitude mingling in those captivating eyes of his.

Of course, I lied to him about wanting the baby to live. The very thought of Lyra’s spawn, a product of violating Jason’s, makes my skin crawl. But Jason doesn’t need to know that. As far as he should be concerned, the only truth in his life is me. Nothing else matters.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake Jason, and my gaze falls on the ornate mirror across the room. In its silvery surface, I see our reflection - two bodies intertwined, inseparable. The sight fills me with a fierce joy, a possessive pride that burns white-hot in my chest. This is how it should be. Just us, together, against the world.

As I watch our reflection, my thoughts drift to Lyra. I imagine her alone in an apartment, pacing nervously, jumping at every shadow. Does she realize the danger she’s in? Does she sense the sword of Damocles hanging over her head? The thought sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

I know I should be out there right now, ending this threat once and for all. But that will have to wait. Jason needs me now. Needs my strength and comfort as he processes the day’s events. In a few days, when he’s calmer, I’ll make my move. I’ll stage a suicide, make it look like the guilt and horror of what she’d done finally caught up with her.

The thought of taking a life should terrify me, but instead, it fills me with an electric thrill. I remember watching the video of Jason killing Lindsey, the raw power and intensity in his movements. It awakened something primal within me, a hunger I didn’t know I possessed. Now, I understand. I can do this. I want to do this. I need to do this.

To eliminate someone who dares to threaten our happiness, our future it’s not just a necessity, it’s a sacred duty. My fingers twitch with anticipation, already imagining the feel of Lyra’s fragile life slipping away beneath them. I simply cannot wait.

Jon Favreau