Page 76 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

It was my turn to sneer at him.

“I’m not leaving. I have a performance booked for Milan next week.”

“I thought you’d say that,” he replied casually, like he always had the answers. “So I’ve arranged for you to be escorted to Italy and back. I know it’s a commitment you need to keep. But you will go into rehab. After your Milan show, there’ll be no more performances.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll drag you to rehab myself. Or call the police.”

“Oh, Alex.” I tutted. “You disappoint me. The police? Come on. We both know that’d be suicide for both of us.”

“At this point, I really don’t care. I’ll do whatever I can to get you out of Emma’s life.”

I gave another low chuckle. “I leave, or your face is the last thing I see before all the hellfire and purgatory. Mind you, that second option sounds kind of fun to me. It calls to my twisted side.”

“Don’t fucking try me,” he seethed.

I glanced toward the bathrooms and asked, “And my date? What happens to her? I can’t leave the poor girl stranded.”

Alex glanced around the restaurant, flagged down a passing waiter, and asked him for a piece of paper from his notebook and the use of his pen. Then he scribbled something down, took his wallet out, threw a wad of cash into the middle of the table and placed the note on top.

“Sorted,” he snapped.

“You do love taking charge, don’t you.” I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows as I asked, “Is that why you like Emma, because she has a vulnerability to her? She’s all alone with no one to help her. The perfect damsel in distress. But don’t worry, Emma... Alex is here to save the day. He feeds off the kind of bullshit your life seems to wallow in. He fucking revels in it.”

My eyes turned darker as I fixed him with a knowing stare. “She’s like a magnet for you, isn’t she. Admit it. You can’t help yourself. You thrive off her need for attention.” I clicked my fingers trying to find the right words. “What is it called? It’s not a God complex. What’s the word I’m looking for?” And then I pointed my finger at him and smiled as the words came to me. “A saviour complex. That’s what you have. You live to save others. You tried to do that with me, but with her, it’s so much more rewarding because you get to fuck her at the end of it. I only made you some art to hang on your walls.”

“Fuck you,” he hissed.

“You hate that I’m telling you the truth. She brings out your nurturing side, but let’s not forget... that’s not all you are. And after what I’ve seen tonight, I can see she brings out your dark side, too. But does she know that? Does she realise what you are?”

“I’m done with this conversation. You need to leave and get in the car.” He went to stand up, but my words stopped him.

“You already said that, and I hate to disappoint you, but I’m still weighing up my options.”

He gripped the edge of the table as he leaned over it.

“You have no other options. Leave, or I will make you leave.”

“How’s Alma, by the way?” I mused, changing the subject to something I knew would rile him up even more. “Is she still making the best cups of tea in the county?” I cocked my head and smirked as he struggled to hold himself together.

“I knew you were behind that bullshit. I fucking knew it.” His knuckles were white, clamped to the table like he might do a Hulk and pick the damn thing up before throwing it across the restaurant.

“You still sacked the poor old girl, though, didn’t you?”

“Obviously. I didn’t know it was you, at first. I couldn’t believe you’d be so fucking petty. But if I had known, we’d have had this conversation a hell of a lot sooner. Why did you do it? Drugging Emma... that was so fucked-up.”

The twitching in his jaw and his death-like grip on the table told me I’d hit the nerve I wanted to hit.

“What else was I supposed to do?” I hissed.

But I had a few more aces to play, and I carried on goading him.

“I was impressed you found the attic space at Emma’s, by the way. The people on that block are way too trusting. Did you know her neighbour, Ethel, watches five hours of gameshows every day? And Meg and Charlie really need to invest in some new Christmas decorations. The ones they have stored up there are absolutely shit. Oh, and don’t even get me started on Kevin at the end. He was so grateful for the mural I painted in his bedroom, and the coke I gave him to help him through the day, he offered me a spare key so I could come and go as I pleased. Like I said... way too nice.”

“You fucking bastard,” he snarled. “I want that key. I want it now.”

“I don’t have it on me.”