Lovesick Psycho

Reads: 105  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Lovesick psycho is a killer's monologue. the antihero in incarcerated and is being interviewed, revealing for the first time the horrific motivation for his shocking crimes.

Submitted: October 18, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 18, 2016

A A A

A A A


Lovesick Psycho

At this point I don't know if I'd actually done anything illegal, jurisprudence has never held much interest for me. Anyway, is following an a girl whilst carrying a kitchen knife and a hammer in your backpack technically illegal? Is carrying a kitchen knife illegal? Okay, I suppose it was concealed, but if someone buys a kitchen knife in a supermarket they're hardly going to carry it home it their hand are they? Maybe it isn't considered a weapon until it's taken out of the packaging. I digress.

To get back to the point, maybe I shouldn't talk about the first girl. Maybe I should start with when the idea first struck me.

Do you want to hear the story or not?

Right, let's continue.

It was January and I'd had a really shitty Christmas. Amanda had dumped me in November and it had nearly destroyed me. I loved her, no I mean it, I really did love her. She was my first and only girlfriend, I was twenty-three when we met and I'd never even been with a woman before. It was like she was sent here to save me from loneliness. And she wasn't just beautiful, she was sexy. I mean she had gravitas, or charisma, or whatever. She walked, talked, and dressed with confidence. I used to notice that in any given social situation people, men and women, kept vying for her approval.

I've had a lot of time to think since those days and I have a theory: Subconsciously I wanted to destroy her from the start. I was so sick of being a nobody, an afterthought, and thought that either making someone like her want me or ruining her would prove my superiority, that someone would have to acknowledge me.

No? Well you're the expert. But I've had them all in here you know. Telling me I've got schizotypal cognitions, borderline personality and any number of other things.

Back to Amanda. As you must know from the files, she was about my age and had the most desirable physique. Long, dark hair, really slim, and those eyes! Wow. Everything she did was done to perfection. Fashionable clothes that suited her, and always just the right amount of makeup. I defy any man to say he wouldn't have wanted her. But pretty soon I found an insecurity, and this is what endeared me to her: her intellect, or lack thereof.

You see, when we met, we were both working in a pub, but she'd just finished her master's degree so she'd be moving on to other things once she got the chance. And she was a bit of a snob about it. She was from a poor family but I detected a bit of embarrassment, even shame about her background, mixed with real pride about how far she'd come. She always used to go on about how she was the only one from a comprehensive amongst her course mates and how she was the only one to get a first in her degree course, and then how she went on to get a distinction as a postgraduate. I'm not sure what all that means.

No, I wasn't asking.

So, as you can imagine, I was probably dirt to her. I'd left school at sixteen, was still living at home, didn't even own my own car and my parents were probably poorer than hers. Then one quiet Wednesday afternoon, I found out how vacuous she really was. Honestly, I mean it, if she could get a master's degree Heaven preserve us. And this was back in the late nineties, so I'm sometimes glad I'm in here and not out there where things are run by people from that period and later. No offence though, I'm sure you're very good at what you do.

What happened? Well she tried to add something up in her mind: £7.99 eight times, and she couldn't do it! Seriously, this is who I was dealing with. So I simply explained that she needed to multiply eight pounds by eight and then take away eight pence.

After that we got chatting for the first time and she learned of my love of maths puzzles and that I was addicted to biographies of people like Euclid and al-Khwarizmi, who invented algebra.

Look it up yourself! I'm not your tutor!

Anyway after that she started to look up to me. I became a bit of a pet. She kept trying to get me to apply to go to college, kept bringing me literature about evening classes and all of that shit. I was even helping her fill out job application forms. Her written English, as well as her spoken English, was far from perfect. I really did impress her, but I also think she was angry at me for not trying to make something of myself. You see, she had this major hang-up about people of modest means not escaping, just accepting things even though they had talent.

No, I'm not talented. I'm just good at puzzles and brain teasers and that kind of crap. Wasted my life you say? Well, maybe, but as long as I have a roof over my head and plenty of beer in the fridge I'll happily sit in shit forever.

Anyway, I was smitten. Here she was, giving me all this attention. Wanting to spend time with me, this gorgeous, confident woman. Talk about a puppy, and I was a content puppy at that, as long as I was getting stroked.

Soon we were sleeping together. I'd almost given up hope but I was doing it, and not with some Frisian cow either. We were going out every chance we could get, and other blokes who saw us wanted to beat me to death, I could see it. I was so in love I spent thousands on her. Clothes, dinners, this white gold necklace for her birthday.

But there was this major dysfunctional element in our relationship. Amanda was high-maintenance to the point of not tolerating criticism. She took every disagreement personally and I always felt that I was walking on eggshells. I used to surprise her with gifts just to keep her excited about me, and when we argued I hated it. I would always apologise, buy her something, she would think I was the sweetest person she'd ever met and forgive me. I was always the first to text after an argument, begging for forgiveness.

This pattern wasn't too bad at first but it kept getting more and more intense, like an addiction which needs to be fed by more and more potent variants of a drug.

So keeping the love of my life in love with me was priority number one. I have always been a people-pleaser, and have never liked conflict.

Well, you say that, but I never enjoyed killing them did I? Everyone says the murders were out of character.

What changed? I discovered I enjoyed having power, and my love of power was stronger than my terror at the thought of losing her. I can't remember what it was but we fell out over something very trivial just before we were due to go out. She got angry because I wouldn't say she was right, so she asked me to leave. So I did. And I don't know why but I decided I didn't have to see her again(she had found another job by then so it was a real possibility).

And for about four weeks, I didn't go round, didn't phone or text. I made no effort whatsoever. And if things had stayed like that, I wouldn't be here now. I was over her because I knew she was stewing, wishing I would contact her all contrite and apologetic; dying for me to do so. I would have had the satisfaction of that feeling of dominance for the rest of my life and I wouldn't have killed anyone either.

I assure you, I am very serious. In a way the killings are all Amanda's fault. Okay, that is a bit of stretch. I'll give you that. But the truth is after those four weeks, she texted me on the pretext I'd left some bottles of wine at her house and I was welcome to pick them up. This was the critical point because if I'd ignored her or at least not gone back to her, all those other girls wouldn't have had to die. Let's not throw accusations around or blame anyone but that's the truth.

I decided to play a little game: I told her to keep the wine and to enjoy it. I knew this would be agony for her because she had this thing about propriety, she was self-aware enough to know that she could be obstreperous, but she always wanted to keep her cool. It's the escape from her background thing again. Losing her temper with someone, which she did a lot, while the other person remains polite and dignified really pissed her off. She'd be full of this impotent anger towards herself.

Anyway, as I predicted, she immediately texted back asking to take me to lunch. We were back on.

The sex was as good as ever. And the bickering was as furious as ever, but there was one crucial difference. Right or wrong, I never gave in. No more apologies, no more gifts. I was strong and she was weak. It's true what you people say about relationships, the one who cares the least has all the power. But, the problem was I did care, and I did love her, and I did take my stubbornness too far.

She ended it. The bitch had won. She dumped me. I guess she'd had enough of the new me. I just didn't see it coming. To this day I think that getting me to take her back was just a trick so that she could finish with me on her terms.

How do you think it made me feel? I'm in here aren't I? And everyone knows what I did.

So, I was dumped. No more sex, no more someone caring about me. The best thing that'd ever happened to me: gone. I was a wreck because I worshipped that woman and had nothing in my life that didn't revolve around her. Even when I played my power games, she was sort integral to it.

I moped around in agony for a few weeks. I got the sack and had to look for another job because I didn't give a shit about anything, yet at the same time everything reminded me of what I'd lost. I was back to being a nothing, one of life's victims, never taking the initiative in anything and never, ever being noticed.

Pretty soon I did get angry. How dare she think she could make me feel like this? Who did she think she was? I felt humiliated. So, naturally, I decided to kill her. Not just kill her, but kill her in a way that let her know I'd beaten her, that I'd won.

Well, that's your opinion, but I do think it was a rational decision to make. You feel bad so you do what will make you feel better.

The question was: how the fuck was I going to get away with it?

Which brings us to that cold January day.

So, I was sitting in a burger bar, people-watching through the window. Do you know the city? Precinct Place? Good, so you can picture the scene. Multitudes passing by, visiting shops, catching buses.

Well, I was enjoying my cheeseburger when I saw this angel of a girl. She must have been around seventeen with long brown hair, immaculately dressed. She was chatting with a couple of her friends at the benches outside. It was her body language as much as anything. I couldn't hear what was being said, but I knew she was setting the agenda.

I mean I could imagine that she was the one who decided which shops to visit, which film they'd go to see. Her opinion was the only one that mattered when buying clothes. Alpha female bitch. Totally captivating.

Just like Amanda. The same, what's the word? Profile, yes I like that.

No no no. I did not harm her. She's probably married with kids by now. But when they started walking, I decided to follow them. Follow her.

As it happened, they went straight to the bus stop. I kept my distance, but she was always in sight. I even caught the same bus, getting off four or five stops later. She was beguiling. I was falling for this girl. It was on that bus that I had my epiphany, my eureka moment. I knew how I was going to kill Amanda and get away with it.

Here was my plan: what if loads of confident, slim, brunettes of a similar age were targeted by a serial killer over a period of time? And what if Amanda happened to be one of them, say the fifth victim? They all have the same profile, the killer never changes his modus operandi ( I have no idea why I chose the hammer and kitchen knife).

And who am I? I'm just the distraught ex-boyfriend of the fifth victim and I have no connection to any of the others. Amanda isn't special, she's just unlucky, picked at random by some sick bastard like all the others.

And that was how I started my journey. I just needed to select my targets and bide my time. Get my weapons and go hunting; shopping malls, nightclubs, train stations.

Yes, that's the only reason they had to die: to hide my real target. I'm not some kind of pervert you know.

Well it seemed like a good idea at the time!

Regrets? Yes I have a major fucking regret: I was caught before I got to Amanda wasn't I?

 


© Copyright 2017 ants.nate. All rights reserved.

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by ants.nate

Lovesick Psycho

Short Story / Horror

Popular Tags