The Chains That Bind - MLM (John Kramer X M!Reader)

Chapter 7: The Devil You Know

The air was thick with tension. John's words hung in the room, filling the silence with an invisible weight. You felt exposed, as if he had peeled away the last layer of armor you had, leaving you vulnerable in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"You've survived," John had said, "but now you must learn to live."

It was a simple statement, but it rang in your ears like a challenge. Could you live, really live, after everything that had happened? The scars on your body were healing, but John wasn't asking about those. This was about something deeper, something that gnawed at you in moments of silence. The truth was, you didn't know how to exist without the darkness that had shaped you for so long.

But this-whatever this was with John-it wasn't just about survival anymore. It wasn't even about the pain or the trials he put you through. There was something shifting between you both, an unspoken recognition that made every moment in his presence feel sharper, more charged.

As you stared at John, seated in front of you, his calm, calculating eyes seemed to pierce right through your defenses. There was no pity in his gaze, no sympathy. Just the cold, hard truth. He saw you. And somehow, knowing that unsettled you more than anything.

"Do you feel free?" John asked, his voice measured, controlled.

The question caught you off guard. Free? How could you feel free in this place, under his watchful eye, after everything you'd endured? You weren't even sure what freedom meant anymore. The tests, the pain, the constant uncertainty-it was a cage of a different kind, wasn't it?

"I don't know what freedom feels like," you admitted, your voice low, but the vulnerability didn't make you weak in this moment. It was something else entirely, something more defiant.

John nodded, as if he expected your answer. "Few do. That's why most waste it when they have it."

He stood then, slow and deliberate, like a predator who didn't need to rush. His presence was unsettling-imposing, yet strangely magnetic. You never quite knew what he wanted from you, only that there was always more to the game than what he revealed.

"You've been conditioned to think freedom is absence-absence of pain, absence of fear, absence of control. But true freedom comes from choice. And choice comes from understanding your limits, your capabilities. Your capacity to endure."

John moved to a nearby table, where a set of photographs lay scattered. They were familiar-images of your life, recent ones, snapshots of moments when you thought no one was watching. You felt the unease creep up your spine.

"You think you've been alone all this time," John continued, without looking at you. "That no one saw your struggle, your attempts to break free from the cycle. But I've been watching. Not to control you, but to see what you would do when pushed to the edge."

..............

The images made you uncomfortable, not because of their content but because they reminded you of something you had been avoiding. They reminded you that even when you thought you were invisible, John had seen you.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice tight with frustration. "What's the point of all this watching, all these games? What do you actually want from me?"

John turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "I want you to see yourself clearly," he said quietly. "Without the noise of the world, without the lies you've been told about who you are. Only then can you understand the real game. The game of survival isn't won by brute force-it's won by knowing yourself, and by making the right choices, no matter how painful."

His words hit deeper than you expected. There was something unsettling about how easily John dismantled your defenses, how he spoke to the parts of you you didn't even fully understand. It wasn't that you wanted his approval, but you found yourself drawn to his perception of you-this version of yourself he believed you could become.

"Your freedom isn't about escaping this place," John said, stepping closer. "It's about taking control. You have the power to change your own narrative. But first, you need to understand why you've let others write it for so long."

That struck a nerve. You had always believed you were a victim of circumstance, of your upbringing, of the choices others had made for you. But now John was challenging that belief, turning it inside out. Was it really others who had controlled you, or had you allowed them to, out of fear of the unknown?

"You've had control over me this entire time," you retorted, anger rising in your chest. "How is that any different from what I've been running from?"

John raised a brow, unperturbed by your outburst. "Have I? Or have I simply shown you the truth, given you the tools to make a real choice for the first time in your life?"

His words hung in the air, and you found yourself unable to respond immediately. John's calm, calculated demeanor didn't waver, but there was something different in the way he looked at you now. It wasn't just the cool indifference you had felt from him before. It was deeper-like he saw something in you he hadn't before.

...............

"Do you believe in fate?" John asked suddenly.

You frowned, not expecting the question. "No," you answered, after a beat. "Not really."

"Neither do I," John said, pacing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. "But I do believe in the inevitability of consequence. Every action you take has a ripple effect. Every decision shapes your future, even the ones you don't realize you're making."

He paused, turning to you again. "You think you're here because of what was done to you. But you're here because of the choices you've made-small, seemingly insignificant decisions that led you to this point."

John's words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. The idea that you had played a role in your own suffering was uncomfortable, but you couldn't deny there was truth in it. You had made choices-choices to stay silent, choices to retreat, choices to let others dictate your life. And now, here you were, being forced to confront the consequences of those choices head-on.

But was John right? Could you really take control now, after everything?

"You want me to believe I have power in all this," you said, your voice calmer now, more measured. "But what if I don't? What if I can't?"

John's gaze softened, just slightly. "You've already proven that you can. You've survived when others would have crumbled. You've endured, even when you didn't think you could. The question isn't whether you can-it's whether you will."

The silence that followed was heavy, but this time, it wasn't oppressive. It was filled with possibilities-paths you hadn't considered before. John's cold logic, his relentless focus on survival, had a strange appeal to it. But there was also something deeply unsettling about it, about how easily he could strip away the layers of your mind and force you to confront the truths you'd been avoiding.

"You want me to become like you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

John shook his head. "No. I want you to become the version of yourself you were always meant to be."

It wasn't the answer you expected, and for a moment, you didn't know how to respond. John's philosophy was brutal, unyielding, but there was a strange logic to it-a logic that appealed to the part of you that had spent so long feeling powerless.

..............

The door opened, and Amanda stepped inside. Her gaze flickered between you and John, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes that made you pause. A sense of recognition, maybe. A shared understanding that went beyond words.

John nodded to Amanda, and she stepped closer, her movements fluid but cautious.

"It's time for the next step," John said, his voice quiet but firm. "Are you ready?"

You didn't know what the next step would be, but something had shifted within you. The fear, the doubt-it was still there, but it didn't feel as paralyzing as before. Maybe John was right. Maybe you did have a choice. And maybe, for the first time, you were ready to make it.

With a slow, steady breath, you met John's gaze.

"I'm ready," you said, and for the first time, you felt the weight of those words.

You were ready to take control.