Chapter 91: He Made Graduation

Chapter 91: He Made Graduation

The Knight mansion pulses with life, the air thick with the mingling scents of alcohol and excitement. The graduation party is in full swing, the rooms filled with laughter, music, and the low hum of countless conversations. I stand in the center of it all, my head spinning slightly from the sensory overload after weeks of relative isolation with Erica.

Across the room, I spot Rachel and Tara huddled together by the ornate bar. Rachel throws her head back in laughter, her slim fingers wrapped around a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid.

My gaze drifts to a nearby corner where Nikki, Justine, and Irma are engaged in what appears to be an intense discussion on whether or not lava is wet. Nikki’s hands move animatedly as she speaks. Justine nods along leaning in close to her with a drink in her hand. Irma, for her part, seems to be in a world of her own, her eyes slightly unfocused as she nods sagely, clearly not paying any attention.

A flash of movement catches my eye, and I turn to see Louis and Skye locked in a passionate embrace near the doors leading to the garden. Louis’s hands are tangled under Skye’s ponytail while her fingers clutch at the back of his shirt.

On the plush leather couch across the room, our mothers are engaged in what can only be described as shameless flirting. Mom leans in close to Vivian, her hand resting casually on the other Vivian’s knee. Vivian’s blue eyes sparkle with amusement as she whispers something that makes my mom giggle like a schoolgirl. It’s an alarmingly common site in this house lately.

And then there’s Brooke. Listlessly standing by a corner as a floater. No drink in hand. She seems almost like a hawk watching everybody.

Erica’s hand on my back brings me back to the present moment. Her touch is gentle yet insistent, her fingers tracing soothing patterns along my spine. I turn to face her, taking in her worried expression. Her blue eyes search my face, filled with a mixture of love and concern.

“Are you sure you feel safe, Jason?” Erica asks, her voice low and urgent. Her gaze flicks around the room as if searching for hidden threats. “We can ask everyone to leave if it’s too much. Just say the word.”

I turn to face Erica fully, taking in the sight of her. Her blue eyes, so often fierce and protective, now shine with a warmth that makes my heart skip a beat.

“No, Erica,” I say , my voice barely audible over the hum of the party. “I feel good. I feel okay.” I pause, searching for the right words to express the complex swirl of emotions in my chest. “I’m happy. I finally feel ready to live my life again.”

Erica’s eyes widen slightly with anxiety. I continue, my words coming faster now, tumbling out in a rush of gratitude and love.

“I’m thankful to you for helping me get through this,” I say, squeezing her hand gently. “And I’m surprised you pushed me to get out of bed. I know how hard that must have been for you.”

Erica smiles softly, the expression transforming her face. It’s not her usual predatory grin or the sharp smirk she often wears. This smile is gentle and vulnerable.

“It wasn’t easy,” she admits, her voice low and intimate. “Fighting with the constant urge to just lock you up, especially with how easy you made it on me...” She trails off, shaking her head slightly. “But I knew you needed this. Needed to reclaim your life, your freedom.”

I take a long swig of my drink, savoring the cool burn of the alcohol as it slides down my throat. There’s only Erica, her blue eyes locked on mine, her presence both comforting and electrifying.

“Honestly though,” I say, my voice low and intimate, “if you did lock me up, I think that would be the happiest ending of all.”

A spark of mischief glitters in Erica’s eyes, a fleeting flash of desire and possessiveness that makes my heart race. But as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, replaced by a softer expression. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. Her arms wrap around me, pulling me into a tight, quick embrace.

As she pulls away, her hands linger on my arms, her touch both comforting and electrifying. “Don’t give me any ideas,” she says, her voice a mixture of amusement and something darker, more intense.

There’s a look in her eyes, a fleeting expression that tells me she’s definitely considered this before. I almost want to dare her to do it.

*****

As the night wears on, I find myself nestled on one of the plush sofas in the living room, surrounded by familiar faces and the warm buzz of alcohol. Rachel, Vivian, and Mom are squeezed in beside me, their laughter ringing out over the low hum of the party. Even Brooke joined our little circle, perched somewhat awkwardly on the arm of the sofa but with a genuine smile on her face.

Erica sits before us. She’s in the middle of what can only be described as a masterclass in impersonation, her target none other than Brooke. I watch, mesmerized and more than a little tipsy, as Erica’s features seem to morph, taking on Brooke’s characteristic expressions with uncanny accuracy.

“Ugh, disgusting,” Erica sneers, her nose wrinkling in a perfect imitation of Brooke’s disdainful look. She sweeps her gaze across our group, her eyes narrowed in mock judgment. The resemblance is so spot-on that, for a moment, I almost forget it’s Erica standing there and not Brooke herself.

Rachel snorts into her drink, nearly choking on her laughter. Vivian pats her back, her own shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles. Mom is dying laughing.

Erica’s not done yet. She straightens up, adopting a haughty pose that’s pure Brooke. “Hey, look at me,” she announces in a nasally whine that’s eerily similar to Brooke’s voice. “I work at Princess Pizza. Would you like extra cheese with that?” She mimes, tossing a pizza, her movements exaggerated and comical.

‘She is so good at imitating her voice. It’s shocking. That bit, though... Not great.’

I can’t help it. A laugh bubbles up from deep in my chest, erupting from my lips in a loud guffaw. The room spins slightly as I throw my head back, overcome by the Erica’s impression. I reach for my drink, taking another long swig. The alcohol burns pleasantly as it slides down my throat, adding to the warm, fuzzy feeling enveloping me.

To my surprise, even Brooke is laughing. It’s a bit awkward and a touch self-conscious, but it’s genuine. Her cheeks are flushed, whether from embarrassment or amusement, I can’t quite tell. But there’s a glimmer in her eyes that tells me she’s not offended by Erica’s playful mockery.

“Oh my god,” Brooke manages between giggles, shaking her head. “I do not sound like that!”

Rachel, still breathless from laughter, manages to catch her breath enough to speak. “No, I mean, she’s dead on with the voice at least. Granted, you would never say some of these cringey lines.”

I nod vigorously, my head swimming slightly from the movement. “Here, here,” I agree, raising my glass in a toast.

“What a nice ring,” I say, trying not to snicker. “It really suits you, Louis.”

Louis’s grateful smile tells me he appreciates the effort. “Thanks, man,” he says, relaxing a bit. “It’s taking some getting used to, but... I’m happy, you know?”

*****

[Erica’s POV]

As I watch Jason mingle with Louis and Skye, a warm feeling spreads through my chest. His laughter, slightly too loud from the alcohol, rings out across the room.

I’m so engrossed in watching Jason that I almost don’t notice Brooke approaching until she’s right beside me. We take a few steps back from the main group, creating a small bubble of privacy in the crowded room.

“You’re not drinking today either,” Brooke observes in a hushed tone. It’s not a question but a statement of fact.

I nod, my eyes never leaving Jason. “I’m playing defense,” I reply, my voice equally low. “I love to drink, but I love Jason’s safety a hell of a lot more.”

Brooke hums in agreement. “Same,” she says simply.

“If he wasn’t roofie-proof, I don’t even think I’d let him drink,” I admit. “But luckily, all that sleepy time tea I’ve been making him drink worked out.”

Brooke nods slowly, her brow furrowing as she processes my words. “It’s insane to give someone trace amounts of a roofie,” she says, her voice a mixture of disbelief and concern. “That’s... that’s not okay, Erica.”

[A/n: Taking trace amount of rohypnol will not give you resistance to the drug. Do not take rohypnol. Do not use the drugs on others.]

I turn to face her fully, my eyes meeting hers with unwavering intensity. “It’s not like I was doing it behind his back,” I reply, my tone defensive but firm. “And it was months before Tessa came into play. I was just being cautious.”

Brooke sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping in resignation. She runs a hand through her long brown hair, a gesture that speaks volumes about her inner turmoil. “But clearly, it worked out,” she admits reluctantly. Her eyes flick to Jason, who’s still engrossed in conversation with Louis and Skye, his cheeks flushed with alcohol and laughter. “I’m so happy to not find out how bad it could have been for him had he not been... roofie-proof.”

She says that last word like it’s an awful curse, her lips curling around it as if it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. The distaste in her voice is palpable, a stark contrast to the forced neutrality of her expression.

In front of us, a commotion catches my attention. Tara, her dark hair streaked with electric blue, is swaying slightly as she approaches Skye and Louis. Her eyes are unfocused, a telltale sign of her inebriated state. As she gets closer, a mischievous grin spreads across her face, her gaze fixed on the glittering ring adorning Louis’s finger.

“Hey,” Tara slurs, her voice carrying across the room with the unintentional volume of the very drunk. “Thanks for putting a wedding ring on my saddle. It’s very sexy stealing away someone else’s property and then making them squirm for me.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. Louis’s face drains of color, his green eyes widening in shock and dismay. He shifts uncomfortably, his gaze darting between Skye and Tara as if searching for an escape route.

Skye’s reaction is immediate and fierce. Her grey eyes flash with anger, her entire body tensing like a coiled spring ready to snap. “I told you I don’t want to fucking talk about it,” she hisses through clenched teeth, her voice low and dangerous. The joy and pride that had radiated from her just moments ago has vanished, replaced by a cold fury that seems to lower the temperature of the entire room.

Jason, still caught in the warm haze of alcohol, is clearly loving the unfolding drama. His eyes are wide with excitement, darting between the three parties involved as if watching a particularly juicy soap opera. A grin spreads across his face, and he leans forward slightly, eager not to miss a single detail of the confrontation.

‘He’s probably internally monologuing about something dumb right now. That cute little idiot.’

But before the situation can escalate further, I step in. My eyes wide with anger, I bark at Tara, my voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “You want to die?” I growl, each word dripping with menace. “No starting shit on Jason’s big day.”

Tara’s bravado crumbles instantly under the weight of my glare. Her shoulders slump, and she seems to shrink in on herself, suddenly looking very small. “Sorry,” she mumbles meekly.

As I turn back to Jason, I’m struck by the intensity of his gaze. His hazel eyes are wide and wild, pupils dilated with a mixture of alcohol and desire. There’s something almost feral in the way he looks at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath.

Jason takes a stumbling step towards me, his movements uncoordinated but determined. “Umm,” he slurs, his voice husky and thick with want, “can we go make love now?” The words come out in a rush, barely coherent, but the meaning is crystal clear.

I feel a familiar heat pooling low in my cunt, my own desire rising to meet his. The air between us seems to crackle with electricity, the tension almost palpable. I can see the need written plainly across Jason’s face, in the way his hands twitch at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for me.

Brooke, standing beside me, lets out a long-suffering sigh. She pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes screwed shut as if warding off a headache. “Really?” she mutters under her breath, her tone filled with complete and utter resignation.

“Babe, it’s only been a half hour,” I say, aiming for a tone of reason but falling short as my voice cracks slightly on the last word.

‘Who am I kidding?’ I think to myself. ‘I don’t know why I’m even pretending.’

Without further hesitation, I reach out and grab Jason’s wrist. His skin is hot beneath my fingers, his pulse racing. I can feel the tremor that runs through him at my touch, see the way his eyes darken further with lust.

“Come on,” I say, my voice low and husky. “Let’s go have a quickie.” I let out a theatrical sigh as if this was some great inconvenience, but we both knew the truth. I’m about to fuck his brains out, and the thought alone is enough to make my knees weak.