Through the eyes of a Psychopath


She wants to leave? She wants to leave. She can’t leave.

“So I will go back to the UK and find some job I suppose…” She trails off. That means she must be unsure or lacking confidence in her decision.

I look at the red wine in her glass, barely touched. It’s not like her to leave the wine untouched and this frightens me more. Any action that I can’t predict leaves me feeling slightly nervous. I need to change tactic. You’re losing her. I down the wine in one gulp, feeling the acidity trickling down my throat. I notice her judging me. Or is that fear? Oh I do hope it is fear. I refill my glass and her words of encouragement wash over me.

“So” She continues nervously “I will see you in the UK, like we discussed. Like we planned”. Yes three weeks alone time. Who can I fuck in that time, who can I…Stop. Focus on the energy source in front of you. I down the glass of wine again. Again there is fear in her eyes. I love it when her eyes widen in fright or when I feel that nervous energy she gives off when she has no idea what she is doing. She gives of such a delicious vibe when she is frightened, like Bambi caught in the headlights. She becomes something soft and moldable, putti in warm hands. She is so easy it hurts, but sometimes she closes up and puts up these invisible barriers. That’s when I become overwhelmed with anger. She is mine after all.

I top up my glass again and think about her leaving and possibly escaping. Women can’t be trusted. I hate her. I want her and I hate her. I have yet to break her but it is not for lack of trying. I try everyday. The light is a lot less bright in her eyes. I can see by the way she walks that the confidence of being young and careless is becoming less visible. I don’t know whether I want her less now. What else can I emotionally beat from her? Yet she may realise what I am when she leaves me to visit family and friends. The people I hate the most as they are constantly in the background, giving her advice and warnings. Warnings against me of course. I hate them.

My mind is running wild. I don’t know what to do first. The sympathy plea? The crocodile tears? The threats? Scare tactics? Love bombing or drop the crazy bomb? Threaten to kill myself? Threaten her? Oh there are just so many options. Fuck it, I’ll do them all.

“Your going to leave me, I know you will. You say these things but you will get home and meet someone else” Accuse! “There’s someone else…There must be”. I feel the ice prickle my heart and I watch her as she defends herself. I know she is telling the truth but to see her emotions spill onto the restaurant table is a treat. That’s it, tell me how much you love me.

I am suitably drunk right now and I am thinking of who I could be screwing. My girlfriend is a cockblock. I want to leave and practically snap my fingers, making her jump. I want to drink more. I want whisky. I make her walk quickly back to the flat. I do not notice my surroundings only the hatred that keeps building. It’s not a far walk, thank fuck, as my throat is dry from the desire of whisky and the copious amounts of cigarettes I have managed to inhale on the short walk. When we arrive I rush towards the Red Label whisky and drink from the bottle. I look at her and feel nothing. Never have and never will. Her very being irritates me and I hate how much she feels. Her sympathy and compassion for others makes me sick and her femininity makes me gag. But oh she is so easy to destroy.

I do it all that night. I drink and cry. My performance is Oscar worthy and for a second I am confused by my act. I can’t remember if this is the part I should cry or get angry? The whisky is hindering my performance. I decide to evoke sympathy from her first but she just looks blankly at me. She has seen this performance before. Changing tactics, I smash up the DVD player and some plates for added effect. The DVD player came apart quickly but in the process cut my hand. I watch as the blood trickles down the side of my palm. I look at her sitting in bed with the white sheets up to her chest. I walk over and wipe the blood in her face, smirking as she flinches. The reaction is just what I needed and I want more. I walk into the bathroom to get a razor blade and scratch her initial into my cheek. I continue to threaten her with promises to kill myself. I can’t get enough of the attention. I want more, more, more. Alcohol, pain, control, reaction.

I do not remember what she said to me as her facial expressions changed from love to hate, fear to pity, sympathy to disgust. I do not remember as I do not care to remember. She gave me what I wanted which was an audience. Plus her feelings for me are real which put me in a position of power. You see, I feel nothing for this woman who I made fall in love with me with false promises of love and protection. I enjoy watching that sparkle of innocence in her eyes when we first met, diminish as each day ends. I can see she is dying inside, sluggish and slow and it fills me with excitement. If I could suck anymore life out of her I would but she has little to give now. So very little that I should look at something fresher, newer. All in good time.


In bed with a psychopath

I can feel your eyes upon me. I glance at you, savouring the moment. Believing that you are devouring me passionately and lovingly with your eyes. Those, piercing green eyes. But it wasn’t love in those eyes of yours. How foolish that I could be so self absorbed that I did not notice as you gorged on my soul. Tearing a piece here and a piece there as I silently basked in your fake glory. I always wondered what you were thinking as you watched me intensely. I now know that you wanted something of mine. You got what you wanted as day by day you sucked the life out of me as I cuddled up into your arms, a false sense of security enveloping me. You said all the right things. Words of encouragement followed by words of criticism. A steady stream of mind games to make me lose track, stumbling under your watchful gaze before losing my balance.

Your laugh was forced, your ways were calculated. Nothing, not anything was done out of love. Everything was payment. You were everyones knight in shinning armour. You made dreams come true but were quick to dash them.  You always wanted something. No one does anything for free do they? You deeply hated being questioned and so compartmentalised your life. ‘I box everything’ you commented once. Family, friends, co-workers all remained separated. You never mixed us together as that would be the time your lies would be exposed, the game given away. It was far too risky. You kept me to yourself. Friends became a distant memory as you inhaled my soul that I so willingly and naively gave. I gave it to you on a platter, handed you the carving knife and let you get to work.

I walked away deeply afraid that I would not make it in the ‘big bad world’ as you would often say. Holding me and brushing away my tears of confusion after another game of gaslighting, you would whisper that you were afraid for my safety should I go alone. I could never do better than you and that indeed I may very well be losing my mind. You would love bomb me to dry up the tears and bask in the glow of my hopeful love.

After years of living with someone who just wasn’t ‘there’ I escaped. You watched me board the plane. I bet you were glad to be rid of me so you could ‘play’. I bet it was tiring keeping me hauled up in that flat, watching my every move. You watched me walk through towards customs and I didn’t look back but felt beaten and raw. I bet you thought I would be back, that I would run back into your arms, so deeply afraid of the world in which you described. Then I woke up. I awoke from the nightmare of your company. I opened my eyes to a world of opportunity that had been waiting for me, wondering if I was ever going to make it. I know you waited, becoming angrier with each email and call ignored. How dare I slip away like that. Slip away to freedom without so much as a backward glance. If it wasn’t for that fateful evening where you left this world you would still be hot on my heels. I know. You bought the flight ticket in high hopes of tracking me down to continue the game you so thoroughly enjoyed playing.

It was a horrible way to go for you and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy (you were my worst enemy). You were foolish and should have know better but that is neither here nor there now. I hope you find peace and heal from the hatred in your soul. I have never known anyone to hate themselves quite like you did. May you rest in peace but I’m afraid to say it is indeed Game Over.