𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇 (Ash Trilogy #2) ✔️

1

I've known from a very young age that there was something wrong with me.

When sitting in class, my classmates would all talk about how much they loved their families. Their friends. Their pets. Their faces lit up as they went on and on, talking about how happy these things made them.

And then it got to my turn. I was 7, and it was the middle of winter.

I said going out to the forest in the back of my house made me happy. 

But I left out the fact that I was out there killing animals.

Then, the years went on and on. I grew up. And my urges shifted. I no longer wanted to continue killing deer. I no longer wanted to secretly be killing animals in the woods, and washing myself off in the lake before returning home.

I wanted to kill a person.

And ever since I had that thought, it's consumed my entire brain. When I sit at a coffee shop and stare out at all of the shitty people walking around in this shitty world, all I could think about was killing them. Watching somebody beg for their life at my hands. Have red stain my face while I fucking smiled.

I hate the world I live in. Everything makes me sick. Nothing ever changes and everything feels meaningless. The world is an evil place, and I feel myself getting further and further sucked into the dark parts of reality.

And I've decided,

I need to act on these urges.

"I'm going to miss you so much!" my mom says while hugging me so tightly I can barely breathe. "I already have a calendar on the fridge counting down the days until you come back."

"Sienna," my dad scolds. "Let him go - he can't breathe."

My mom releases me and laughs over the sound of the busy airport around us. She apologizes, "I'm sorry. But I know you can take care of yourself, Saint."

I force a smile at my mom and nod.

I love my parents. I know that I do. But I don't feel it. I don't genuinely smile at them, every smile I've ever done in my life has been forced. I don't smile. I don't feel happiness. I don't feel anything. 

I only ever feel numb.

"I'll be back at the end of summer," I say to my parents. "But I need this trip. I think it'll be good for me."

It'll be good for me to kill. To finally act on the urges that I've felt for years. But my parents think that I'm just going to see America for the first time. We live in France - in a small town. That's what's been keeping me from killing here. Everybody knows everybody. 

"I know, I know," my mom nods. "Just remember to be careful there, and stay out of trouble."

I'm going to cut someone's throat out of their neck.

I'm going to suffocate somebody so hard their eyes pop out of their face.

I'm going to kill until my entire body is stained in blood.

"I will," I force a smile.

I know all about the history of mental illness that runs in my family - courtesy of my dad's side. His entire family was filled with psychopaths and sociopaths, and from the stories I've heard, my dad is equal to one. My dad forced my mom into a marriage after stalking her for years and killing any man that ever spoke to her.

Is that what love is?

"Okay, I love you!" my mom smiles widely, the happiness in her tone reaching her vibrant green eyes. Despite the circumstances of their marriage, there is nobody that makes my mom happier than my dad. He'd do anything for her - and he has.