Page 46 of Saint

Why does he need one?

For a man with no boundaries when it comes to stalking me, I’m beginning to get the impression he only kills with purpose. Not that anything can justify it, but in his mind, he seems to.

He thinks these sick acts can be explained.

Body parts on my bed.

Cameras in my room.

Sending me pictures of his cock when he comes in his hand.

I can’t decide what was worse: the fact that he sent me the picture or the way it felt like a taunt after I’d just been trying to get myself to come and I couldn’t.

Knowinghe was watching me.

I wanted to do it for meandfor him.

I slideSafe Nowback onto the shelf and grab a copy ofMind for Murderinstead. I’m supposed to be studying for an upcoming exam on victim advocacy, but all I can think about is Saint and my growing desire to figure him out.

I need to know who he is behind the mask. And not just his face but his mind. I need to understand all his secrets.

Why me? Why the obsession? Why the extremes?

Underneath those blue Xs is someone who truly believes he has a good reason for doing what he does. And I can’t help but want to know where that stems from. Childhood trauma, sexual assault, abuse? What was his trigger?

Why do I care?

It’s a drain I’m circling.

What makes Saint a killer, his pastor me?

Did the bodies start piling up when he met me, or did this go back further?

I set the textbook down on the table and sink into a hard wooden chair. The library is quiet like it is most days because it’s cold and uncomfortable. The lights are too dim for good reading, and the seats make your ass sore after thirty minutes.

Then there’s the librarian, always watching from behind her desk. Her eyes flick up over the rim of her glasses like she’s looking for any excuse to kick us out. I might be one of the few people who find this kind of environment comforting.

Anything is better than trying to focus back at my dorm room. Saint has cameras in my bedroom, and I’m starting to guess they’re in the general living space as well. And tonight, Mila is throwing a party when I’m not in the mood to pretend I’m not spiraling.

Glancing at my phone, I realize it’s almost ten o’clock. I have an early class and should probably be sleeping. But I can’t get my questions out of my head, so I dive into the pages instead.

My studies of Jeffrey Klien examined his fear of rejection, stemming from his father abandoning him and his mother at a young age. He rationalized his actions based on the delusion that all relationships inevitably ended in abandonment. And as such, he believed force was the only means to maintain long-lasting relationships.

When interviewed, he showed no remorse for killing Prue Winters. Klien stated she was the one who “broke them first,” ultimately placing the blame on her. Klien was adamant in his disillusions of their relationship, continuing to reaffirm that they had one, even when provided copies of the protection order Winters filed against him.

The reality he created in his mind was safer than what he perceived as a threat of humiliation from her attempting to terminate their relationship.

A chill shimmies through me.

If psychopaths are incapable of love, then what’s Saint’s interest in me?

Is it obsession?

How different is obsession from love at the onset? They both start with fixation and desire. With an unexplainable need to be around someone. To spend every moment with them.

At what point is infatuation no longer love? At what point is it no longer healthy?

Is it defined by what a person will do for someone ortothem?

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