Page 7 of Psycho

“I’m glad you didn’t kill me,” I muttered. I rather liked living, even though I was currently doing a bang-up job at it.

“I could never hurt you, Ash,” Ray whispered, his lips near my ear. “You are everything to me. Thinking of you is what got me through all this time.” A lovely sentiment. A lovely sentiment that would mean more if he wasn’t a serial killer.

But he was. He was a serial killer, my first love, and someone I’d just slept with.

I really hated myself right about now.

Ray’s body moved against mine, and I could feel his dick getting hard again. Being around me again made him horny like a teenager, I guess. His hands rolled me until I was on my stomach, and I felt him pull up the slip, baring my ass to him. I wore nothing underneath it, because there wasn’t a point.

Then again, he was the one who changed me into this.

I turned my head aside, feeling him spread my cheeks. Round two, here we come. More self-loathing, I was on my way. He pushed inside of me with a single thrust of his hips, filling me up to the brim, and I cried out, biting back the nausea I felt growing in my gut.

This was how I imagined Travis to fuck. Hard and fast, his body pinning me down and stopping me from going anywhere, not like I would. The sexy, smoking, tattooed Travis was probably a danger to himself and others when he was fucking. It was something I’d never know, now.

This time, as he fucked me, I stared at my hands, at the bandages on them. They probably hurt, but in all honesty, I couldn’t feel the pain. The only thing I felt was his cock balls-deep inside of me, and the hatred I felt towards myself for letting it get to this point. I was a shitty person, a terrible friend, and this…

This was what I deserved. Being happy, finding a special type of love with any of the guys, it was never up for grabs. I was always out of the running. This was where I belonged, with fucking Ray, in the blood and the dirt and the horror.

This was it for me.

Chapter Four – Sawyer

Holy fucking shit. My head hurt like a motherfucker, and my eyes practically burned when I opened them. For a moment—okay, for a long fucking while—I was disoriented, blinking up at a ceiling I knew but for the life of me couldn’t recognize. That ceiling…was it mine? Was it the one in my room? It looked…less white than I remembered.

Or maybe that was just my head, playing tricks on me. Maybe I just needed another round.

My vision was still hazy, and I flung my arm off the bed, feeling around on my nightstand, where I knew for a fact I had some. Oxy wasn’t the best high, but it was easy to get, and the higher dose you took, the better you felt. Or at least I did. I thought. It was nearly impossible for me to be sure of anything these days, because a month ago, I would’ve sworn I was past this.

Past the drugs. Not so much past the alcohol. And definitely not so much past the cunt, but what did all of that matter? Hint: it didn’t. Nothing fucking mattered anymore, not when life literally wasn’t worth living.

I lost Sabrina, wasn’t there for her when she needed me. I had a family who didn’t really give a shit about me, save for what I could do for them and the family business. Hiking the prices of pharmaceuticals? The Salvatores were your people. Maybe that was why it was always so easy for me to get pills.

No, I didn’t have anyone, and I made damn sure to push the few people who stuck around away. I blamed Declan for it all, but that was just me projecting the blame. I didn’t really blame Declan, because I blamed myself. I was just too bullheaded to realize it.

And Travis…I didn’t like the fact that Travis had gone behind my back to sabotage my revenge scheme. I didn’t like that he thought he knew it all. He was a self-centered, egotistical prick, and I hated him for it. I hated him for it almost as much as I hated myself, but in all honesty, I couldn’t hate anyone as much as I hated myself.

Then there was her. The girl I really shouldn’t think about, ever. The girl whose face appeared fuzzy in my head, but at the same time, she was the only one I could picture with clarity. The rest of the world was a blur, but she wasn’t. Fucking Ash. I didn’t want to think about her, didn’t want to picture her face, but I did. I did, way too often.

Ash was my downfall. She was the piece in everything I hadn’t expected, and she wormed her way inside of me in spite of my efforts to push her away. She met my antagonizing and bullying with challenges of her own, and I hated her for it.

Hate.

I did hate her.

Or maybe I loved her. I didn’t fucking know. My thoughts were jumbled and I could hardly think straight, let alone know for a fact what I felt.

My hand found nothing on my nightstand. Nothing at all. No bags, no pills, nothing but the flat surface of the wood, and I struggled to turn my head, feeling like my skull weighed a thousand pounds, as I brought my eyes to it.

I felt nothing on it because there was nothing. My nightstand was clean. What the fuck?

I sat up, nearly strangling myself because of some stupid cape I wore. The string tugged around my neck, and once I was able to, I pulled on it, undoing it and letting it fall back onto the bed. My head hurt like a bitch, and regardless of how much I tried to remember the events of last night, or even how I got back home, I couldn’t.

Last I knew, I was invited to a party. A Stanton party. I must’ve gone, because throwing my own parties was something I was fucking done with, but then how did I get back here? Did I bring some girl home? Besides the aching head and stiff body, I felt alright. Clearly I hadn’t driven back here, so someone else must’ve.

My clothes were still on, so either it wasn’t a girl or I was too out of it to fuck. Didn’t really seem like me, but maybe that was a good thing. Apparently fucking wasn’t always the answer, go figure. Took me twenty years to realize it—or, well, however many years it’d been since I’d started having sex. I didn’t remember.

The answer to everything was actually drugs, not sex. Sex was only a temporary reliever, helping you only while you were in the act itself. Drugs, on the other hand, helped you even when you didn’t have a pill in your hand or a strap around your arm. Drugs helped you feel better, helped you forget things which would otherwise terrorize your mind. Without drugs, I’d be lost.

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