My Psychopath | h.s

Chapter 4

*Arabella's POV*

People stare. I can't blame them. If I saw a girl running full-pelt down the King's Road, I would stare too. But I still hate them. I know where I want to go, and only in my current state would I go there. I don't deserve her kindness anymore, but it's all I want right now, and I am not thinking rationally.

In secondary school I was the worst friend. I was passionate and very closed off. One second I would be screaming at you about animal rights and politics, the next I would be giving one word answers and ignoring you relentlessly.

It wasn't my fault, depression is a selfish disease. You don't contemplate that other people might be worrying about you, your thoughts are the only ones that matter.

Anastasia had been in my group, a small redhead girl who was shy and careful. She had tried to help me, but I was bored. The second a more interesting chique had shown interest in me, I was long gone. I couldn't stand the squeaky-clean teacher's pet vibe.

I only know where she lives because she had invited me to a dinner party when she returned from France to open a second jewellary shop in London. I had been in the Caribeean with Burberry, but somehow the address had stuck.

A couple of people are not subtle in their clear recognition of my face, but I don't stop.

I knock on her door loudly, out of breath and exhausted. "Arabella?" I jump and turn to see the confusion on Anastasia's face.

"Uh- hey," I say. Such an idiot. She doesn't want to see you. "Can I..." Just leave. "Um..." Get the hell out of her porch.

"Come in." She smiles widely at me and the guilt streams in as I smile back, entering her house. The hallway opens into a living room. "Sit," she gestures.

I look around nervously from my place on her spotless green sofa.

"So, what's up?"

Just say some shit about work. Don't tell her-

"I don't know what to do..." but whatever it is, I hope I end up dead. "But no matter how sad you feel, there is always someone sadder, you know? Someone living with more pain than you, but they are just getting on with it." My voice drops to a whisper. "Because they are strong." I need to stop rambling.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" she saks sweetly. But I don't want a distraction; I want to vent.

"I just think maybe I was born at the wrong time. Like, what if my soul mate is dead?" I pause. "Do you have any horror movies?" She smirks at me. We always shared our love for for being scared.

"Yes. And popcorn. Then I'll give you my advice: when you're feeling better," she says.

"Thanks." My phone buzzes and I look at the text from the unknown number.

Hey Arabella. Are you free on the 21st for our first date? It's a dinner party. -H

When and where? -A

I'll pick you up at 8. -H

I don't reply, losing myself in mindless chatter and being scared as hell.

 

*Harry's POV*

I pace the hotel room, hands tugging at my hair. SItting isn't an option, I am restless.

Fuck management.

Fuck Arabella fucking Field and her fucking feelings.

I need a different angle: use the charm I apparently possess. Anything to get me out of this hellish situation.

And fuck myself for signing that contract after barely skim-reading it. I thought I was more intelligent than signing away rights.

I am vaguely aware that this isn't normal behavior. Maybe this situation isn't actually a big deal.

This time I don't try to block off the thoughts. I can't live in confusion any longer, I need answers.

Cowardly Harry can fuck off.

I grab my computer and open up the internet. My fingers tremble as I type the words in. The words forever in the back of my mind, denying me the calmness I crave.

It takes a few seconds for me to press enter.

About 1,600,000 results for: psychopath test.