The Parasite [Yandere x Reader]

Chapter 44 - (The Clothes)

The hot water beat down on my skin, but even its warmth couldn't penetrate the cold that had settled deep in my bones. I stood there under the stream, letting the steam fill the bathroom, trying to clear my mind—though that felt impossible now.

My parents were dead.

My old life was a distant memory, swallowed up by the nightmare I was trapped in.

I closed my eyes, letting the water flow over my face.

Damian.

His name alone sent a chill through me. He had become the very center of my world, dictating every move I made. How had it come to this? How had I let him get so much control?

The memory of his hands on me, lifting me into bed like I was some fragile doll, flashed in my mind. His smile, so genuine yet so twisted, haunted me.

You know I would never hurt you, he'd said.

The lie was so blatant, so transparent, yet it still echoed in my ears, planting doubt in the cracks of my sanity. Was I losing it?

Maybe I already have.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to wash my hair, clean my body, move like a normal person. Every action felt mechanical, like I wasn't even inside my body anymore. Maybe if I played along, I could buy myself time, figure out a way to escape. Or maybe I was fooling myself, giving into a lie just to survive another day.

When I finally turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, the cool air hit my damp skin, snapping me back to the present. I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around myself as I wiped the fogged mirror.

For a second, I just stared at my reflection, barely recognizing the girl looking back at me. I looked so... hollow.

Empty.

Like a shell of who I used to be. I swallowed hard, trying to push back the tears threatening to fall.

Crying won't help me now.

As I opened the bathroom door, a wave of unease washed over me. Damian was standing just outside the door, his presence filling the space like a looming shadow. My heart lurched. He wasn't supposed to be here.

He wasn't supposed to just... be there, waiting.

"I picked this out for you," he said, his voice soft but firm. His hand moved, gesturing to the outfit laid out on the bed—a carefully chosen dress, shoes, and even jewelry. Everything about it was pristine, deliberate, like he had planned every detail of how I should look today.

I stood frozen, clutching the towel around me.

He picked out my clothes?

"It's perfect," he added, stepping closer. His gaze lingered on my face, searching for a reaction. "I thought you'd like it."

I glanced at the dress, my stomach twisting. It was beautiful, yes, but it wasn't me. It wasn't something I'd ever choose for myself. Yet, there it was, waiting for me like I didn't have a choice in the matter.

My voice caught in my throat.

"Why... why did you pick this out for me?"

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion, as if the question didn't make sense to him.

"Because you deserve to look beautiful. I want to take care of you. Isn't that what you want?" His smile returned, that unsettling smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Beautiful?

I felt a bitter laugh clawing at my chest, but I swallowed it down.

Beautiful for what?

For him?

"Go on," he urged, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Put it on. I want to see how it looks on you."

I hesitated, my hands trembling slightly as I stared at the dress.

Do I refuse?

Do I fight back?

But what was the point? He had already proven that he could control everything. My thoughts scrambled, trying to find some sense of power in this situation, some way to turn it to my advantage. Maybe playing along was the only thing I could do right now. If I didn't, what would happen next?

I slowly moved toward the bed, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. I grabbed the dress, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric. It felt wrong. Everything about this felt wrong.

But I put it on.

Each movement was methodical, as if I was no longer myself but someone playing a role, following a script I didn't write. When I was finally dressed, I turned to face him, my heart thudding in my chest.

"Perfect," he murmured, his gaze raking over me. "Just perfect."

I wanted to scream. To tear the dress off, to throw something, to tell him that nothing about this was perfect. But I stayed silent, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile instead.

Play along.

Just play along for now.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, his hand grazing my arm. "Shall we go for a little stroll? The weather's beautiful today."

I nodded mechanically, my mind racing.

Play along.

You'll find a way out.

You have to.

But as I followed him out the door, the weight of his control pressed down on me, and for the first time, I wondered if I was too late to escape. If I had already lost too much of myself.