Enclosed Perimeters (Yandere M. x F. Reader)

Nearly Injured

Steadily, he began to walk towards her, and she stood up fully and started to step away from him. "Look, Drem, I was just going to clean them up," she lied, not being able to think of another excuse. She didn't want to tell him that she was going to grab the knife because she thought that he was going to torment her with something in the garage.

His movement halted, and he maintained his stare. Despite his form having glass eyes, she could almost see the doubt filling his orbs. "I wasn't trying to escape. I swear," she added, this time her statement being true.

Tilting his head to the side slightly, it was as if he was considering her words. She hoped that was the case because she didn't desire to be stabbed with one of those knives. He moved his head back to its original position and continued to move towards her.

Tensing up, she waited to see if he would grab one of the knives. He didn't. Rather, he went past them and faced his back to her. Confused, she watched him go down the hallway and turn towards the kitchen area. A few minutes passed, but during that time she could feel the air grow cold. The chill disappeared soon, and Drem came back down the hallway in his monkey form.

A pen and paper were in his grasp, as he set them on the floor. Slowly, he wrote a one word message on the paper: sit. She didn't react immediately, and he tapped the pen to the word. Understanding that he was becoming irritated, she seated herself down, as she noted how close he stood to the knives.

Sitting cross-legged, she tightened her fingers around the bathrobe fabric near her knees. The pleasant texture calmed her down a bit, but she remained wary of the monkey a few feet away from her. Soon, the chill air returned, as the monkey sat motionless in front of the paper and pen. Another moment vanished into the past before the pen lifted itself into the air and started to scribe across the paper.

You may have not been attempting to escape, but you weren't going to clean those knives up. When you first saw me in your room, you looked relieved like you were expecting me to be somewhere else. So, you were picking that knife up for another reason other than to tidy the place up. I'm assuming that you thought I was somewhere considered dangerous to you, and you feared what I might be up to. Is that correct, my little doe? Were you picking that knife up to defend yourself, even though you knew that it wouldn't work?

"I ... I," she stuttered out, not wanting to give him any ideas. She didn't desire to tell him of her creative imagination, and the many ways that he could kill her with the items in the garage. That just sounded like suicide to her. It was like telling a killer the various types of knives in one's kitchen and giving the specific qualities of each knife. Granted, Drem probably knew about the tools in the garage, but she didn't wish to remind him of them.

Answering truthfully will be advantageous to you. Not doing so will result in something quite different.

"Why were you in my room?" she asked quickly instead of giving him an answer. It was a valid inquiry. Just why was he in her room? Was he searching for something in there, or could he have just been waiting for her?

Simple, I was waiting for you to finish with your bath, and it was entertaining to have you looking for me, so I remained where I was, though; I hope that you did enjoy your bath and that the robe is to your liking. Still, you're avoiding the main issue here. Truthfully, why were you picking up that knife?

Avoiding eye contact with him, she wished that she could think of some way to get his attention onto something else, but with his persistent ways that would be tough. She heard the pen tapping on the paper again, but she didn't look over to him. Her hands increased their grip around the cloth, and she bit her bottom lip. Eventually, she murmured, "The garage." The tapping sound stopped, and the pen wrote across the page again.

My little doe, you really think dreadful things of me. Does making your meals and giving you a nice morning present mean nothing to you? I would think that your opinion of me would change somewhat.

"My opinion of you isn't going to morph into positive thoughts suddenly, Drem. You still attacked me for most of my first week here and acted like I was only a game to you. Even now, you could just be messing with my mind. I don't trust you, and being nice to me all of a sudden doesn't influence that. You set a negative standard for yourself, and it's going to be hard to convince me of that standard shifting towards the positive end."

That's saddening to hear, but you did say that they wouldn't change suddenly. So, with time your opinion of me will shape into a favorable one. If I continue to act like this, you will like me?

"I didn't say that. Now, you're understanding my message in way that is merely profitable to you. Sure, I may not think of you as a total jerk but liking you is another matter entirely. Are we done with this interrogation now?"

Yes, I'll go prepare your brunch for you. I would like you to sit nearby, however. I can't have you running off on me, especially since you don't trust me. As long as you continue to lack trust in me, I'll have to presume that I can't trust you to stay in this house without my supervision.

Grumbling a bit in response to that comment, she stood up and grabbed her mystery book from her room. She headed into the living room area next and sat upon the couch before reading. The coldness in the air remained, as dishes and food hovered around the kitchen several moments later. At least she had her book, the scent of cotton candy and the plush robe to keep her frustration at Drem dormant for awhile.