Page 87 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

I lay quietly with my thoughts for a while, then I went to the bathroom to clean up. Eventually, I fell asleep with thoughts of a rugged gentleman across the hall on my mind. But still, I kept the lights on. They helped to keep the nightmares at bay. Nightmares that I prayed would never come.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

S.K.A.M.

I’d stayed in the darkness of the trees, hiding as they had their little picnic. Feeling my stomach churn at how nauseating it all was. The cute little scene he’d set up for their date. The fairy lights and candles, such a saccharine touch that it made my teeth ache. And the champagne on ice, like they had something to celebrate. They wouldn’t be celebrating if they saw me or knew the thoughts that were running through my head. Wicked, murderous, depraved thoughts.

He'd played music through his phone, and they’d laughed and smiled as if they didn’t have a care in the world. As if he didn’t have a care in the world, because as far as he was concerned, he’d locked me up and thrown away the key. Barred me from his life like he had a fucking choice in the matter. But he didn’t. I was going nowhere.

I took my knife out and began to carve into the bark of the tree trunk I was standing behind as I watched him stand up and offer her his hand. And then they danced. They fucking danced and kissed, and I almost broke the blade of my knife with how hard I scored the bark.

I hated her.

I fucking hated that she’d come into our lives and ruined everything.

We were doing fine until she arrived.

We didn’t need her before, and we certainly didn’t need her now.

I knew I had to work quicker to put things right.

The longer she stayed, the more chaos reigned in my mind. It multiplied and grew every day, hour, every fucking minute that she was here. She was bad for me, bad for both of us.

She needed to go.

Permanently.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SIX

EMMA

Iwoke the next morning feeling a buzz of excitement at what the day would bring.

The flush of romance, that first flicker of the flame that could ignite and become so much more, was so intoxicating it was like a drug. My heart palpitated at the thought of seeing him. My mind obsessed and fantasised over every movement, look and touch, every promise of what was to come.

I fought the niggling fear of rejection, that it was all in my head, because how could it be?

This felt right.

He felt right.

Especially when he’d held me in his arms.

It felt like he was everything I was missing and all that I never knew I wanted. For once, I was excited for the future.

I climbed out of bed and turned off the lamp I’d kept on all night. Then, I headed to the bathroom, showered, and got dressed. When I was ready, I padded across the plush cream carpet towards the door, and as I opened it, I noticed something on the floor outside my bedroom, and I gasped.

There, on the floor in front of me, was a red rose with a note tucked underneath it. I knelt and picked up the rose, then the note, and as I read it, tears welled in my eyes.

Mr. Belmont,

I won’t steal your girl. But with your permission, I’d like to look after her and make her happy. I think that’s the least she deserves. You can trust me. I promise. Your girl is safe with me.

He’d listened to my story about the Valentine’s cards, a tiny story in a sea of memories from my life, and he’d done this, for me. He’d taken the time to think about what my dad would want, how he’d question the man I was spending time with and want to know his intentions.