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

Chapter 28: Echoes of Normalcy

The decision didn't come easily. In fact, it gnawed at you for days, creeping into every quiet moment and filling the space between your thoughts. The air in the warehouse had grown too heavy, the weight of the past few months pressing down on you until you could barely breathe. You needed to clear your head, to step away from the chaos and the tangled feelings you'd developed toward John. It was time to return to something familiar-to try, even if only for a while, to live your old life again.

You told yourself it wasn't forever. Just long enough to gather your thoughts and make sense of everything that had happened. The warehouse, the games, John-it had all become a blur. And you weren't sure what parts of you were left beneath it all.

The morning you left, John had been in his quarters, resting. You hadn't told him exactly why you were leaving, only that you needed some space. He hadn't questioned it. Perhaps he had known this moment would come eventually, or maybe he trusted you enough to know you would return. Either way, his silence gave you the freedom you needed.

The outside world was jarringly normal. As you walked through the familiar streets, it was almost disorienting how little had changed. People went about their lives, oblivious to the horrors that had consumed yours. The city's hum seemed distant to you now, like the echo of a past life you had forgotten how to live.

Your old workplace loomed ahead, its unremarkable facade a stark contrast to the intensity of the warehouse. The building's familiar shape did little to quell the anxious knot in your stomach as you stepped through the doors. The stale air inside hit you immediately, reminding you of countless days spent in the monotonous grind of office work.

Your boss, Mr. Harper, looked up from his desk when you walked in, his brows knitting together in surprise. His reaction was immediate-a mixture of relief and confusion. "Well, look who decided to show up."

You forced a smile, trying to look as casual as possible. "Hey, Mr. Harper. Sorry, things have been... complicated."

"Complicated?" he repeated, his tone skeptical. He leaned back in his chair, studying you. "You've been gone for months. No calls. No explanation. Nothing. I was starting to think you weren't coming back at all."

"I know," you said, quickly formulating a story. "I... had some family stuff. My dad was really sick. I had to take care of him. It all happened so fast, and I didn't have time to explain."

Mr. Harper's frown deepened, but there was a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes now. "Family stuff, huh?" He sighed, leaning forward with a groan. "I get it. We all have lives outside of this place. But you've gotta understand, I can't just hold your job forever. You're lucky we haven't filled your spot yet."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But I'm back now, and I'm ready to work." You forced a smile, hoping it would be enough to buy you some time.

There was a long pause before Mr. Harper finally nodded. "Alright. You get one chance. If you pull something like this again, you're out. Understood?"

You nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I won't let you down."

With that, you made your way to your desk, the familiar environment strangely comforting. As you sat down, the dull routine of work slowly began to settle in, the repetitive motions almost therapeutic after the chaos you'd been through. For a moment, it felt good to be disconnected from the life you'd been living in the shadows of John's world.

But the calm didn't last long. After a few hours, you found your mind wandering back to the warehouse. To John. To the games. No matter how hard you tried to immerse yourself in the mundane tasks in front of you, your thoughts always drifted back to what you had left behind.

When the day finally ended, you returned home, the familiar sight of your apartment building somehow feeling foreign. You hadn't been back here in what felt like ages. As you climbed the stairs, a strange sense of dread settled in your chest, the air in the stairwell thick with the weight of something unspoken.

You unlocked the door to your apartment, the smell of stale air and alcohol hitting you as soon as you stepped inside. The place looked exactly as you had left it-unwashed dishes in the sink, empty bottles scattered across the living room floor. But something was wrong. The air was still, too still.

Your heart sank as you noticed your father on the couch, slumped in his usual spot. But this time, something was different. His skin was pale, a sickly gray, and the rise and fall of his chest-the subtle movement you had grown so used to ignoring-was absent.

You froze, the realization hitting you like a tidal wave. You stepped closer, your throat tightening as you called out, "Dad?"

No response.

Your voice shook as you called out again, louder this time. "Dad?"

Still nothing.

With trembling hands, you reached out, touching his shoulder. His skin was cold. Lifeless. You pulled back, stumbling a step as the reality of the situation sunk in. He was gone.

Finally.

For a moment, you weren't sure how to feel. There was no grief, no overwhelming sorrow. Just a strange, hollow sense of relief. You had spent years waiting for this moment, dreading it but also hoping for it. Your father had been a burden, a weight that had dragged you down for as long as you could remember. And now, that weight was gone.

But with the relief came a strange sense of guilt. You should have been there, should have done something. But instead, you had left him to die alone, drowning in his own misery.

You stood there for what felt like hours, staring at his lifeless form, your mind numb. Finally, you reached for your phone, dialing the emergency services with a mechanical detachment.

"I need an ambulance," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I think my dad's dead."

The operator asked a series of questions, but you barely heard them, your responses automatic as you gave them your address. When the call ended, you stood in the silence of your apartment, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.

Your father was gone. And with him, the last tie to your old life.

When the paramedics arrived, you stood off to the side as they confirmed what you already knew. They moved with quiet efficiency, checking for signs of life, but it was clear he had been gone for some time. One of them approached you after a while, a somber expression on her face.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said gently, though her tone was rehearsed, clinical. "It looks like he passed from alcohol-related causes."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

They left soon after, taking your father's body with them, and suddenly the apartment felt too quiet. Too empty.

You sat down on the couch where he had been, staring at the spot he had occupied for so long. The relief you had felt earlier was now overshadowed by the weight of the silence. There was no going back to the life you had lived before. Even here, in the remnants of your old world, you couldn't escape what you had become.

And for the first time, you weren't sure if you even wanted to.