Dealing with the Devil [Yandere x Reader]

Chapter 64 - Hang On

A full week had passed since I'd started pulling back, and it seemed that my new approach had finally reached Christian's breaking point.

I had done everything in my power to cut conversations short, to be distant, cold, and distant without ever fully stepping out of line. I was careful. I followed his rules to the bare minimum—just enough to avoid confrontation but enough to show him that I wasn't giving in anymore.

He wanted obedience?

Fine, I gave it to him—but in the most hollow, empty way I could.

And it was working. I could see it eating at him, gnawing at his nerves every time I brushed him off, every time I kept my responses curt and devoid of emotion. The control he thrived on was slipping through his fingers, and I could sense his frustration growing with each passing day.

After all, I was following the rules, wasn't I?

There was nothing for him to call me out on. I made sure of that.

I'd picked up a new book from the psychology section of the library earlier in the week—something about the mental states of those with obsessive tendencies. The book warned against using certain tactics, claiming they could provoke dangerous reactions in those with obsessive control issues.

But I didn't care. I was desperate to reclaim even the smallest sliver of control over my life, and if that meant pushing Christian's buttons, so be it.

One evening, I sat curled up in the armchair in the library, quietly reading the book, trying to focus on the words in front of me instead of the constant tension between us that hung thick in the air. I could feel Christian's presence, as I often did now—hovering, waiting, watching. The silence between us was heavy, like an impending storm.

I hadn't heard him approach, but suddenly, his voice broke the silence, quiet and almost tentative.

"Do you hate me?"

I didn't look up from my book, my tone as neutral as possible.

"No, not at all."

"Then why are you acting like this?" he pressed, his voice strained with frustration.

I shrugged, keeping my eyes trained on the page.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. You sound crazy."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. I could feel his gaze burning into me, could feel the tension ratcheting up. I knew what I was doing to him, and part of me felt a twisted sense of satisfaction watching him unravel.

He wanted control, but I had taken away the one thing he couldn't stand to lose—my willing compliance.

"You know abso—" His voice raised, and I could hear the anger creeping in. He stopped himself, catching the yell before it left his lips. I glanced up just in time to see him rubbing his face with both hands, his frustration and anger barely contained.

His breathing was shallow, his hands trembling slightly. He was angry—angrier than I had ever seen him—but for once, I didn't care.

Let him be angry.

I returned to my book, flipping the page as if he weren't even there. I could feel the tension between us like a taut string about to snap. His frustration was palpable, but I didn't react, didn't rise to meet him. I was done playing by his rules, done letting him control every piece of me.

After a long moment, his voice softened, pleading almost, as he stepped closer to me.

"Tell me what to do."

I felt the book being pulled out of my hands, and I looked up to see him standing in front of me, his expression torn between desperation and anger. He stared at me, his eyes searching mine for some kind of response, some kind of reassurance that I wasn't going to slip away from him.

"I don't know what you want me to say," I replied calmly, my voice steady despite the tension in the air. "First, I have to follow rules like a child. Then, I'm not even allowed to express my anger when I feel suffocated."

His eyes darkened with frustration.

"I don't care. To hell with those rules." His voice was low, almost a growl. "Please... just stop acting like this."

There was something in his voice that caught me off guard—something raw, broken. I looked up at him, and for the first time, I saw tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He was shaking, barely holding it together. The sight made me pause, my mind racing as I tried to figure out if this was real or another one of his tactics.

Emotional manipulation

But there was something deeper here too, something that almost made me want to believe him.

"I'll give you the world," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "Everything on a platter. I will do anything."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with desperation. He was on the edge, and I could see how much it was tearing him apart to lose control over me. But I couldn't let myself be swayed by his promises—promises that were nothing more than chains disguised as gifts.

"And yet," I said quietly, my voice cold, "I can't have freedom."

"You don't need it," he said, his tone pleading. "I can bring you everything."

I shook my head, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me.

"Then get rid of that stupid grounding and burn those rules," I said, my voice hardening with each word. "I want to be able to talk to my friends again. I want to feel like a person—not a prisoner."

Christian stared at me for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The tension in the room was suffocating, the silence unbearable. I could see the war raging behind his eyes—the struggle between his desire to control and his desperation to keep me close.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

His words stabbed at something inside me, but I couldn't afford to let them take root. I couldn't give in to him this time, couldn't let his tears and his pleas erase the suffocating reality of our relationship.

"If you want to keep me," I said, my voice steady, "then let me live. Let me be free to make my own choices, to have my own life. Otherwise, this..." I gestured between us, "...isn't love. It's something else entirely."

His face crumpled for a moment, and he turned away, running his hands through his hair as he struggled with his emotions.

He didn't respond.

He just stood there, his back to me, and for a brief moment, I saw a flicker of something—perhaps the realization that what he was doing wasn't love, after all. Perhaps the understanding that he was losing me, piece by piece.

I waited, my heart pounding in my chest. For once, I wasn't sure what would happen next.

Would he lash out?

Would he let go?

Would he finally give me the freedom I craved?

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Fine. I'll... I'll lift the grounding."

His words were hesitant, and I could hear the pain behind them, but there was also something else—reluctant acceptance. He knew he couldn't hold me in this cage forever. And maybe, just maybe, he realized that if he tried to, he'd lose me completely.

I didn't thank him. I didn't say anything at all. Instead, I turned away, walking toward the window to look out into the darkened night beyond. The room felt lighter somehow, even though the tension between us hadn't fully dissipated. It was a small victory, but it was mine.

For now.