Page 58 of Dysfunctional

But I didn’t kill them because they traumatized me. I just did it. And that’s when I started looking into psychopathy and personality disorders. It’s genetics usually. Nothing I could do about it. They didn’t get me any help, so who’s really to blame?

Kaspian, however, he’s different. He’s the other side of my coin. Similar, but not quite. After searching through every drawer, cabinet, and cliché hiding place there is, I finally find something. A small locked box hidden in plain sight. I almost didn’t even notice it.

On his dresser is a lamp, some cologne bottles, a half empty water bottle, jewelry, a folded shirt, a bowl with random receipts and cards, and a box. It looks like it could be used to hold jewelry.

I find a safety pin amongst the clutter, but it doesn’t work to open the lock. I eventually find something in his kitchen to get it open. When I look inside, there are several old photos, some folded papers, and a mini notebook. There’s one photo that nearly rips the air from my lungs.

What. The. Fuck.

ChapterTwenty-Two

Iknew not to trust him. I know how people like us survive on lies. It’s our life’s blood. I’m also aware that he’s pretty smart, but I didn’t see this coming. I didn’t expect this twist.

I had planned on going back to the sip and paint class to see where they went afterward. I had even thought about staying in his house to confront him when he got home, but I wasn’t altogether sure that Willow wouldn’t be with him. But mostly, I’m aware that being near him right now isn’t safe for either of us. I’m too surprised. Angry. Confused. I need time to think and plan.

He texted me Sunday and I ignored it. That won’t be too surprising to him, but he’ll only put up with it for so long before he shows up.

On Monday, I stop at the front desk and talk with Willow for a few minutes.

“And of course it was raining, so my hair got all frizzy and crazy, but it was fine. We had a good time. He can actually draw pretty well. Me, on the other hand, not the best.” She laughs. “Anyway, after that, we stopped by Sundae Scoop to grab some ice cream.”

I nod along, pretending I’m interested. “Sounds like fun.”

She looks up and smiles at me. “It was.”

“So you got to know him a little better?”

She tilts her head from side to side. “Kinda. He doesn’t talk about himself much. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to say anything deep.”

I bet.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I know much about him either,” I say, turning into another town gossip. But I need information.

“Really? So it’s not just me?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I hear different stories. I’m not sure where he’s from or what his family is like. People say he’s told them different things, so maybe he just had a bad childhood and has disassociated from it.”

She leans forward, brows furrowing. “That’s interesting because I knew someone who met him before and she said the same thing. He said he was from one place and then the next time they spoke, he said another place. He covered it up by saying he had lived in both, but it’s kinda strange.”

“So, he never brought up his family or anything like that with you?”

She sighs. “I asked a lot of questions, but he’d make a joke or skirt around it. All I got was that he has one sibling—a younger brother. He said he talks to his parents maybe once a month. I kinda sensed some bad blood.”

Different from the details he told me.

I don’t want to come off too inquisitive. She doesn’t need to know why I’m so curious, but maybe if she sees him again, she can ask more questions. Perhaps I can learn through her, even if he’s feeding her partial bullshit. Sometimes the truth slips out in small details.

I sigh. “Well, it’s probably not a big deal.”

“You’re right.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Of course,” she chirps.

* * *

At lunch,I step outside and have a smoke. It’s cold and snow has started to fall. It’ll actually start accumulating by the end of the month, or for sure by early December. I pull my hood over my head and inhale another lungful of what’ll surely kill me earlier than I’d like, but I can’t stop. It’s a habit, like many that I have, that I can’t seem to break.

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