Page 40 of Dysfunctional

He gives me a look, studying my face for several seconds. “No, I’ll be fine. I don’t do sleepovers.”

“You’re pretty detached from your emotions, aren’t you?” I ask, settling into the couch while I stretch my leg along the cushions.

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not empathetic, but I can form emotional attachments to people.”

“Unhealthy attachments.”

I smile. “If you say so.”

He sighs and heads for the door. “I’ll see you around.”

“Will you? Or willIseeyou?”

His steps come to a stop, but he doesn’t turn around, just pauses briefly before walking away.

ChapterFifteen

It’s hard liking a psychopath. They’re cold and usually don’t have the ability to recognize what their actions have done to someone. They don’t see the suffering, and if they do, they rarely feel bad about it.

Am I a psychopath? No. Some might say I’m sociopathic, which is definitely the better of the two if you ask me, but I’m not a fan of labels. I’m just me. Sure, I’m able to take peoples’ lives, but it’s not like I always wanted to. I had to. If it’s you or me, I choose me. In the case of Theo, which was the name of the man Quintin just killed, Ihadto do that.

You see, Quintin wasn’t understanding. He thought he wanted me to stay away, but that’s not true. He does want me. I had to show him why. He needed this and I provided it. Was it selfish? Sort of, but it was mostly selfless. Which is why it’s frustrating that it’s been three days and I haven’t heard a peep from him.

What else does he want me to do? Do I need to continuously present him with gifts? Does he want me to work for his attention and affection? Because I’ll fucking do it. While he was brutally fucking my mouth, he said I didn’t know what I had done. I assumed he meant I opened a can of worms. That he’d be over every fucking day unable to keep his hands off me. He thanked me, sure. With words. But that’s not really enough.

I see him at the coffee shop, chatting with the waitress like they’re best friends. I watch him go to the Thai restaurant and gossip with the waitress there. At work, he disappears inside, talks to a girl at the counter, then heads out with a crew. At night, he settles into his house, windows closed, and does something mundane probably. I can imagine him watchingWheel of Fortunewhile eating a sandwich. That’s the life he wants? To fit in with society?

On the fourth day since fucking me next to his victim, he emerges from his house, heads to work, and then surprisingly goes to lunch with the woman he works with. He’s never done this before. He typically eats alone. Sometimes he doesn’t leave the building at all, other times he drives to a fast food place, sits in a lot to eat, then goes back.

He gets in her car, both of them laughing. She drives ten minutes away to a café called Tossed that only offers wraps and salads. Luckily for me, they sit near the window. She reaches out and lays her hand on his, her head thrown back as she cackles. What’s so funny? Ishefunny? I’m sure the version she gets is, but I prefer the version I get. She gets Ezra. I get Quintin.

Ezra stands and walks away. The woman looks down at her phone, glances in the direction Ezra went, smiles, and then her head swivels to look out the window. She’s pretty. Not the usual type I go for. For one, she’s a brunette, and I’ve always liked my women blonde. She’s young, but not too young. Old enough to not be naive. Maybe close to thirty.

When Ezra returns, he places their food on the table between them.Such a gentleman.

Is he dating her? Are they fucking? Maybe just friends? Hard to tell. He hasn’t really made a move, but she touches him constantly. I think it may be one-sided here, but I could definitely understand if he wanted to fuck her.

She removes her jacket and her full breasts nearly fall out of her blouse. She looks embarrassed before she buttons the top two that came undone. A calculated move. She wanted him to look at her. To want her.

When they’re done eating, they step outside and linger in front of the building. She touches his arm. He smiles. She says something, ducking her head slightly. He reaches out and lifts her chin and replies. She beams.

My bisexuality is raging. He’s effortlessly sexy, plus I know what his dick feels like. But she’s hot too, and watching them together both fuels my jealousy, but also makes me want to see more. What would he look like fucking her? Would she wrap those pouty lips around his cock and gag on him?

When I snap out of my daydream, I notice she’s walking away, popping into a store a couple buildings down. Ezra strolls in the opposite direction, zipping his jacket up. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, leaning against the stop light at the corner. It’s then, when he’s alone, that his eyebrows drop, his lips droop in the corners, and he exhales, happy to not be putting on show.

He only gets thirty seconds before a man approaches him from the other side of the street.

Is that Will?

They talk for a good couple of minutes, Ezra’s back to me. The other man looks happy. He smiles and laughs, and then pats Ezra on the shoulder. His hand lingers too long. He walks past Ez, heading in my direction but on the opposite side of the road. I get a good look at him and try to figure out if I’ve seen him before.

He’s attractive if you like pretty boys. Soft skin. Clean cut hair. A tucked in shirt. No thanks.

But then Ezra calls out to him with a “Hey.”He takes several steps to catch up, and now I can see his face. He’s smiling again, but I don’t think it’s real. I’ve only ever seen him with a wicked smirk. A snarl. What is Ezra’s real smile? Is this man making him smile?

Anger rises in my chest, my heart throwing itself against my ribs with vicious, rapid beats. My skin bristles with red hot rage. I’m so caught up in my own fury, I don’t pay attention to their interaction. I begin to focus on him—the object of Ezra’s attentiveness.

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