Controlled Freak: Part 1: American Isekai, #7

By Curtis Yost

Jamie is a young girl that has had nothing but bad luck her whole like. When her parents are brutally murdered by the police, she is sent to a foster family where her foster father abuses her.  The impact from the events in her life send her down a dark path of psychotic episodes.  Jamie must now gain control of herself and everything around her.  This leads her down a down a dark path that you have to read to believe.  The content in this book is for mature audiences only.  Some events may trigger people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Curtis Yost
• Release date: Oct 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223004196

Curtis Yost

My name is Curtis Yost and I have been creating content for over twenty years.  I never felt that I had enough life experience to talk about things.  As I got older, I realized that having fun while writing was what I wanted to do and published my first series. American Isekai was a two year planned series that is now be writen every single day until I finish it.  The books are completely character based on some of the most flawed people you could imagine to save the world.  I'm proud of it and hope that when it ends, people will want to enjoy their own dark fantasies after.

Book preview

American Isekai

By

Curtis Yost

Chapter 1

My story is not an easy one to tell. People refer to me by many evil names throughout my life. The main one that my sister in the second world referred to me as was a cunt. My own adopted brother referred to me as this before he stabbed me in the face. What a prick?

My name is Jamie McAllister. I have red hair and green eyes. My best friend growing up used to say that I had the cutest freckles he had ever seen. I do believe he loved me, but it was hard for me to reciprocate the same emotions.

The best way to start my story is to describe where I came from. My mother was a beautiful red-haired woman. She had green eyes just like me, but all her freckles were on her arm. She was a little over five feet tall and always had a cigarette in her hand.

My father was almost six feet tall. He had black hair and brown eyes. The man was always wearing jeans and a wife-beater shirt. He didn’t change his shirt much and the ones he wore were dirty.

My father was always in the apartment. He made his money in the apartment. People were always coming to his door and getting drugs off of him. The vast majority just wanted to get high off of weed, but some wanted the harder stuff.

The worst problem we had in the house was the tweakers.  The tweakers were people that would destroy the hallways.  If they didn’t get their fix, they would do things like shit in the hallways and punch things until the cops showed up.

My father was a prominent drug dealer in the area.  Everyone knew to go to him for the good stuff.  I guess you are going to do something that spat in the face of society.  You better have a good product to make it worth people’s time.

I was three years old and was told not to ever answer the door for anybody. I never did answer the door.  I saw the dangers of doing so in the form of the tweakers. I was two when I saw a man get shot in our living room for the first time. The loud noises from the gunfire had me running to the kitchen. 

My father had a group of people he would call the cleaners show up whenever someone died in the apartment.  These men in white suits would come in and get rid of ever speck of blood.  My father was merciless when he killed people.

I witnessed men their limbs cut off.  I would be told to stay in my room while the cleaners were coming.  I watched as these men’s lives slowly beathed their last breathes. 

As a three-year-old girl, I had no idea what was going on.  Later in life, I was told that those murders bathed me in their blood.  I was baptized in blood.  The true affects of what happened didn’t hit me until I formed the first group of serial killers in New York.  I’ll explain that later.

I would spend most days in a white shirt and white underwear. Most of the time I didn’t get a bath or have my clothes changed for a few days at a time. I looked like my dad in that way. My messy habits made me blend in as a member of the family. I ate Cheezy Crackers all day while watching cartoons. My teeth were still coming in.  I looked a little goofy.

I had two teeth that still needed to come in.  My tooth to right of my large front teeth was missing.  I would take the crackers and slide them back and forth to soften them up.  The cheese would be completely sucked off before I would swallow.

My favorite cartoon was either My Little Donkey or Lords of the Universe. They both had magic involved. My Little Donkey was about a group of donkeys that lived in a fairy tale land called Callipso. They would fight with the power of love to save the kingdom and win every time. As an adult, I understand that this was the stupidest fucking thing in the world, but to a child. This was a great escape from reality.

At that age, My Little Donkeys was incredible.  After a few years, Lords of the Universe was my favorite.  It still was until the day I died in the first world.  I learned so much from that show.  The thing I learned transferred to the next world.

The Lords of the Universe had a woman that was a Barbarian. Her name was Wuman. She was amazing. The power of her and her friends would defeat the evil Skullgrave. A manacle skull hellbent on the destruction of the land.

My favorite character was Brianne. She was a weather witch who controlled the weather and the storms. Whenever something happened, she would swoop in and control the storms turning the tide every time.

Brianne was a crazy redhead like me. Even though the main protagonist was Wuman. Brianne was the most powerful. She never got any recognition for doing all the hard work. The group would often consider her to be a horrible person. Brianne was the true warrior in the group, but the group didn’t see it. She never cared though and protected Wuman. Protecting her was her true duty.

The cartoons were always boosted up in sound as men came in. My father would take money from men as they went to my parent's bedroom. My mom spent most of the time naked with the men. I could hear her screaming every once in a while.

My father wasn’t good to her. I realized that later in life.  My mother was a trafficked whore.  He was a pimp that sold her to take care of the house.  I called him my father because they said he was.  The truth was later in life.  I wasn’t sure who my father was.  I never did find out who my father actually was.  It kind of fucked me up in the head a bit.

My father would protect his property, my mother, from whatever was going on. The life we lead was dangerous. As a three-year-old girl, I wasn’t fully aware of what was happening. I had no idea that my father was pimping out my mother for cash. They both did whatever it took to stay afloat.

My mother always had a look on her face like she was too tired to do anything. She had these black circles around her eyes. She would walk out of her room sometimes with no clothes on. I could see she was covered in bruises all over her body. I had no idea why she put herself through these things.

I would weep sometimes for my mothers.  The black and blue marks were bad enough.  She had these red marks on her body.  I tried to touch them a few time and my mother would swat my hand away.  I wasn’t allowed to touch her because it was too dangerous my parents said.

The living room I watched television in had yellow walls. The carpet was brown with these weird fluffy things that popped out of it. Parts of the carpet were torn to shreds. There were many burn spots on them from my parents' cigarettes.

My father one time got high and took his lighter to the carpet just to see it burn. The apartment was filled with smoke. It took forever to get all the smoke out the windows. My mother put out the fire. My father just sat on the couch giggling like a fucking lunatic. He found the flames that scared my mother and me to be the highlight of his life.

I know it sounds like they shouldn’t be with each other. My father was a drug-dealing loser and my mother was a prostitute. The truth was they were a match made in heaven. They both made money to pay the bills. It was a weird relationship of convenience. My parents tried to compensate for the other’s weaknesses.

There was was glass table in the middle of the room my parents had their own ashtrays on. The glass was marked up and scratched deep.  It was really hard to see through the table even though it was clear.  My father’s ashtray had a pot leaf on it that looked like it was giving the middle finger. My mother had a porno magazine logo on it.

My father would always sit on the right side of the couch closest to the window. He would smoke with his right hand. It was always easier to smoke when he was on that side. My father would smoke so much that I would get high often from all the smoke in the air. He would put his left arm around my mother and take control of the television remote.

My father would pull my mother in. I think she liked these moments with him. My father always acted like he was protecting her. With all the guns he had in the apartment. He certainly wasn’t a force to be reconned with.

The Johns would often try stuff to test the waters but would regret it right away. They kept coming as my mother was a very attractive woman. She was in her early twenties. I guess that was the peak age. They would describe her as hot and tight.

The kitchen was right behind the couch. The floor had a yellow tint to it. I can’t remember if it was white and turned yellow over time. I just remember it being yellow. There were burn marks in the linoleum.

There was a gas stove that barely worked. My macaroni and cheese would take thirty minutes to be cooked. I thought this was a normal amount of time until later on in life. I think the time had something to do with my father. He somehow dumbed it down so he could use it to light his joints.

The refrigerator was really old and had a metal frame that could deflect damage. My father often hit the fridge to get the light to turn on. It kept the food cold. My parents had a compartment in the side of it to hold the cash they received. The inside didn’t have a lot of food so it was easy to rip apart.

The only thing the fridge did was hold our leftovers. When you live in the city, a delivery service was always available for any food you wanted. I could never tell between Tai, Chinese, or Vietnamese food. My parents always could. I would sit there and eat it straight from the box. My shirts were completely stained from all the sauces that would spill all over me.

The cupboards only had three plates. One for each of us. The dishes were always clean since we never used them. I believe it was just for show. I would watch television and eat on the floor as well. There were so many stains on the carpet. I think the color of the whole rug was beginning to change.

There were two bedrooms. My parents had a big bedroom that seemed glamorous. At least glamorous for us, my father made it seem nice for the Johns. I had the room next to theirs. It was just big enough for my bed and a few toys. There were no windows in it. At some point, I think it was actually just a glorified closet.

At night the door would be locked, I had no light to see and would only hear things in the dark. My parents believed I was asleep, but would often hear my mother screaming as some of the large Johns would give her a good fucking. The squealing would often scare me.  It was like I had a link to her and could feel the pain that she was going through.

I know what you're thinking. Why give all these details about my three-year-old self? Why would you care how my apartment looked? Here is the truth. I am painting a picture of my origins. This was the type of life that began my journey. These were also the good old days.

Anyway back to my night of sleep. I had a glow worm nightlight that would make images on the ceiling. It would automatically go off after thirty minutes. I wasn’t able to turn it back on. My parents didn’t have the money or the means to get batteries for the device.

In the year 1997, my parents were making more money than you could think. Unfortunately, there was quite a bit of risk in it. They were smart about it. There was a savings account opened in my name. So when I turn twenty-one years of age. I will have access to a small fortune.

My parent’s used me for this.  They had full control over the accounts.  Hundreds of millions of dollars were dedicated to me.  They couldn’t be touched by the government at all because it was under my Social Security number.  My father was many things, but dumb wasn’t it.  This money later in life help me fund certain terrorist operations in the city.  I’ll get into that later.

The reason I bring this up is because the August 06, 1997, my parents got into the fight of their lives. Everything seemed normal.  I was talking my cartoons and my mother was getting ready to fuck men for the day.

The light was bright outside. The heat was causing people to stay indoors. My parents had fans running. We couldn’t afford to run the air conditioning. My father would say that air conditioning was for the rich and powerful.

A knock was on the door. My father wasn’t expecting anyone and was cautious. There were rules when people came to the house.  He could get you anything you wanted, but had to go through certain channels. My father had enough drugs in the kitchen to kill an army of men.

My father loaded his guns. You could hear the clicking sounds. I didn’t know nor care what was happening. He gave my mother one of the guns that he had loaded. They weren’t sure what was happening but were ready for a fight.

A voice came through the door. It said, This is the police. I’m going to need you to open up. We have a warrant out for your arrest.

My father said, Fuck these guys.

My father grabbed my mother by the head and pulled her in.  He looked at her with bloodlust and furry in his eyes.  I could sense that this was going to be a bad day by his emotional response.

My father said to my mother, This is do or die time.  This will be the moment when we show these fucking pigs who is boss.

My father looked out the living room window. A group of cops were outside watching the fire escape. The apartment was completely surrounded.  The door was blocked by the cops. This was a real shitty situation. My father kept yelling FUCK over and over again. I could see he was in a panic. There seemed to be no way out of the situation.

Watching my parent’s scramble around in a panic put me in a panic.  My eyes were big and completely unprepared for what was to come next.  I was just watching my parents get ready for war.  After watching all the people my father killed, the blood spilled today would be what shaped me for the rest of my life.

My mother put on some clothes. She ran over to me and picked me up. She was running over to my bedroom. Her heart was racing so bad that I could feel it. Her heart hit me so hard that I was gaining a concussion. My mother’s sweat and tears were running down her face. I could feel the wetness of her tears dropping across the side of my face.

My mother put me on the bed. She said, Do not move from this spot for any reason. Do you understand me?

I nodded my head yes. I was used to this type of scenario my father had killed a few people already in front of me. Something did change this time as they didn’t usually put me in my bedroom. No child should ever be put in this type of scenario.

I heard gunshots going off. My father started off with his shotgun through the door. You could hear the wood splintering. The voices on the other side were yelling. One of the officers was crying out in pain. This was the moment my father thought he was in control.

My father knew nothing of control. His sporadic behavior often put my mother and I in danger.  He was mentally ill on a scale that people feared him not for what he would do.  They feared him for not knowing what he might do.

My father yelled, You think I’m going to lose this fight. I will blow this building up before you take me alive. This is my town mother fucker.

The officer on the other side said, We don’t want to hurt you. If you continue to resist, we will be forced to use maximum force.

My father shot off another round. He was prepared to let his life be forfeited that day. I had no idea what for. There was literally no reason to do it in my eyes. The stress was causing me to cry. I was overwhelmed with emotions. My chest was feeling empty.

There is this weird feeling you get when your truly afraid. There is a moment when you feel like your at the top of a roller coaster and your dropping from the sky.  You want to run and get away, but have no choice but to face what is in front of you.

The officer behind the door heard me crying. The walls were a bit thin. The officer asked, Do you have a child in there?... Do you really want your child to know that their parents died today for no reason? Why are you putting your child in danger?

My father yelled, Fuck you! You are in my apartment boy! I’m the king of this castle! You think I’m going to let you pass! I am still standing! This is my family! No chump cop is going to take that away from me!

I looked over to my right. Someone was taking an axe to the side wall. I cried out, Mommy!

My mother ran to my room. She opened the door and saw a hole in the side of my wall. It was large enough for a tear gas grenade. The tear gas was dropped in where there were no windows. My mother wasn’t given a choice. She picked me up and brought me out into the kitchen.

My father was standing strong. He was staring at the door so intensely that the men on the other side should be afraid. My heart was racing. I watched my mother carry me around the kitchen. She seemed lost and kept kissing the top of my head.  My mother kept spinning around in circles.  I think she was looking for a way out.

My mother looked at the refrigerator. She set me down on the floor. My mother opened the door and ripped out the metal grates used for shelves. Tai food was thrown all over the ground. There were three grates. She threw all three of them into the living room smacking against the table in the middle of the living room.

The table in the living room got smashed by the grates. The glass shattered and flew into the air. Some of the shards hit my dad. The glass hit his pants and cut him a bit. He was so intense looking at the door that he didn’t even notice the cuts.  I would say it was because he was so strong.  My father just had enough meth in his system that he couldn’t feel a thing.

My mother grabbed me and put me in the refrigerator. The hard exterior was the best protective place to be. The tear gas was working its way out of my room and into the kitchen. I could hear my mother coughing from it. I tried to get out of the refrigerator, but my mother was keeping it shut.

My body was getting cold. I wasn’t sure what to do. I was in my underwear and a white T-shirt. My arms crossed as I tried to get warmer. This was a terrible place to be. My legs were getting