A little something

messed, shortstory, writing

The tear that leaks from my eye feels like a lie. Am I crying because I care? Or is that just what is deemed socially acceptable in this situation? Can psychopaths feel? I’ve been told my whole life that this wasn’t possible. That I lacked the ability to love, to empathize. So why is it now that my so called emotions are bleeding into a physical response? My heart clenches in my chest. I don’t seem to have any control over my reactions.

She shivers, her lip quivering. I want so bad to reach out and touch that lip with my finger, to pull it away from her teeth as they dig into her plump, rosy flesh. But I don’t. Sexual attraction is one thing I do feel, but it doesn’t feel right in this moment. Her shoulders are hunched, spasming with her sobs.

“Please, Jacob, don’t leave me. Don’t do this. I know we can fight this, together. I love you.” She nearly shrieks. Her bloodshot eyes try to seek mine out, but I deny them. The familiar desire starts building within me, hearing her cries and wails. Watching her become the vulnerable and weak version of herself. So different from the woman I met as a child. When my impulses were so fragile, undetermined. But I’m a man now, and I know what I want.

As much as I want to love her, to make her mine…I’d rather kill her. And that’s why we’ll never work. I have to leave now before I drain her of her life force and take it within myself.

“It’s over.” I love you, I think. The only time I’ve ever had that thought.

I walk away, wiping the one and only tear I’ve ever shed. I pull my hood over my head, hiding the human part of myself and embracing the monster. It’s time to hunt, before I turn the woman I love into my prey.


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