Page 1 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

CHAPTER

ONE

Sometime in the future...

Icould be a gentleman when I wanted to be. I knew how to turn on the charm better than anyone. You see, I was a master at blending in. Acting from day-to-day like I was the same as everyone else. Running errands, making small talk, helping old ladies to cross the street. I knew the kind of things that were expected of me to paint the picture of a normal, everyday guy.

But I was anything but normal.

The feelings and emotions that other people had didn’t exist for me. My mind was a warped maze of nightmares and terror that I revelled in. And in the darkness, along with all the other creatures of the night, I came out to play. Hell, sometimes I played in the light of day, too. I wasn’t fussy.

When she arrived for our date in the skimpiest dress and flimsiest jacket I’d ever seen in the middle of winter, I offered her my coat. She was clearly frozen, but she still said no. I could tell from the way her cheeks flushed that she appreciated the gesture, though.

I walked beside the kerb, as we meandered down the street towards the restaurant. After all, it was only polite to protect a partner in that way. To be the buffer between her and the passing traffic. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. See, I knew the tricks.

As we walked, I made small talk, asking her how her day had been. And I listened intently, when she began giving me polite responses. Gently, she started to open up, telling me about her life. Apparently, her boss was an asshole who’d made her work an hour of overtime without being paid. She hated her job. Loathed it. And I nodded along, agreeing where necessary and encouraging her to stand up for herself. It was important to take note of the little things. You never knew when they might come in handy later down the line. The devil was in the details, after all.

When we approached the entrance to the restaurant, I held the door open for her. She blushed again as she walked past me, saying a quiet thank you as she bowed her head. She seemed grateful to be receiving the bare minimum. I couldn’t deny, that surprised me. This girl must’ve been on some hideous dates in the past, which was working in my favour tonight.

When the waitress showed us to our table in the dark corner that I’d picked out earlier in the day, I pulled her chair out, and she put her hand on her chest as she smiled gratefully at me and sat down.

We ordered food. I let her order first.

The waitress brought the wine over, and I let her taste it before taking a sip myself.

I was so fucking good at playing the part that was needed of me. The part I had to play to get the job done. And tonight, she was the job.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man with such impeccable manners before,” she remarked halfway through the meal as she sliced into her steak.

I threaded my fingers together, slowly placing my hands under my chin, and watched closely as she sliced back and forth over the succulent meat on her plate with the kind of precision that I found mesmerising.

“My parents taught me well,” I replied, injecting an innocent twinkle into my gaze as I smiled back at her.

My parents taught me fuck all about manners, but she didn’t need to know that. They did teach me one thing, though... how to survive in this jungle. They also taught me that no one was going to save you, and you could only rely on yourself. Actually, strike that. I taught myself that one.

“I feel terrible,” she went on. “You’ve heard me ramble on all night, telling you about my life, my asshole boss, work...”

“I’ve enjoyed hearing your stories,” I replied, cutting her off in an effort to put her at ease. “And I hope I get to meet this boss of yours one day.”

The way she grinned back at me, as a darkness clouded my stare, told me she believed what I’d said. That I was envisioning ways I could make her boss pay for how he’d treated her, if I ever met him. I don’t think she’d be grinning if she knew exactly what I was envisioning.

Fuck, I was good at this.

“Sometimes,” she mused, staring wistfully into the distance. “I sit in that office, and I just want to scream, ‘I do have a brain, you know. And I bet I could do your jobs just as well, if not better, than all you men.’ Just because my parents didn’t have money, and I didn’t go to the best university, doesn’t mean I can’t work to a high standard given half a chance. I graduated with first-class honours. I know my stuff. I just wish they’d see that and not treat me like a walking vagina.”

She swallowed, redness darkening her cheeks as she realised what she’d said. Then, putting her head in her hands, she gasped, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Don’t apologise,” I reassured her, empathy radiating in my eyes as I reached out my hand and placed it over hers. “You have passion. That’s something you should be proud of.”

“Yeah, but saying the word vagina at the dinner table on our first date isn’t the best etiquette, is it?”

She winced, withdrawing her hand from beneath mine.

I didn’t like that.

I had to reel her back in.

“And I’ve said it again,” she continued, sitting back in her chair and dropping her hands into her lap with a frustrated sigh. “I’m such an idiot.”