psycho+lemon?

It was easy for the psychopath to lug his latest catch of the night into his apartment. After all, the corridor was always deserted and the only people who lived on that floor were that divorced woman and her sixteen year old daughter next door. They never suspected anything, always thinking that he worked non-ordinary hours, which he was glad to use as an excuse.

His latest find was a young woman of about twenty; she had put up much of a fight when he cornered her in an alleyway, biting his forearm hard but she failed to escape in the end. He liked a feisty streak in his prey; it always meant that he would have more fun with them in the end. The woman was a prostitute loitering outside the bar he played the cello for on jazz nights, she had offered him her services and he had found her to be suitable prey, which obviously led to him finding a way to bring her back home without her knowing.

The psychopath was jerked out of his reverie as he heard the girl-next-door fumble with the lock of her apartment and turned to look -- she had a boy in tow. She smiled a greeting to him and politely did not ask about the woman he held in is arms. The psychopath shrugged as he entered his apartment, slamming the door.

*

"Hey, um, you sure about this?" the boy asked the girl as he lingered outside her apartment, reluctant to take his shoes off. "I mean, would that weird guy next door tell on you to your mum or something?"

The girl shook her head violently and pulled the boy into the apartment. "He rarely talks to anyone. Besides, tonight should be safe, my mum's working the night shift so she won't be back until tomorrow afternoon..." She led the boy to her room, which was rather bare, adorned with only a cupboard, study desk, wall fan and a plain looking bed. She sat down on the mattress and motioned for the boy to sit too.

He did and there was a moment of awkward silence as the boy put his arm around the girl's shoulders. "I guess we're... Pretty much alike? I mean, our folks were both divorced since we were tots, you have your mum and me, my dad and now they're both back with the person they divorced..."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I... Don't want to see my dad... I'm afraid that I'd hate him, I'm afraid that there'd be another divorce, oh God, I'm so afraid..." she hugged him.

"It's alright babe, it's alright..." he ran his fingers through her silky black tresses, trying to comfort her.

She looked up at him. "Will you... Do it tonight?"

He looked away, avoiding her gaze.

She frowned and bent forward, kissing his lips. His hands reached around her waist and pulled her towards him as her hands found their way to his head, getting tangled in his hair and they fell onto her bed, with her on him.

"Well?" she demanded.

He sighed.

*

The psychopath laid the prostitute on a leather sofa, the only piece of luxury furniture he had in the apartment he once owned with his male lover. He smiled as he looked at the various inflated plastic bags that hung from the ceiling. In each were red lumps the size of a palm, wrapped in assorted women's panties, ranging from a black thong to a white and red striped g-string to the white cotton kind reminiscent of what primary schoolgirls would wear. The psychopath grinned as he stroked the woman's breast lazily, thinking of what remained of the other prey he had caught -- their hearts and their underwear.

He lifted the black pleated skirt of the prostitute and a frown came over his face as he realized that she was not wearing any underwear. He ripped open her white blouse and found that she wore a lacy black bra and gritted his teeth. He pushed up his black square-rimmed glasses, admonishing himself for this would have to be the odd one out in his collection. He looked at the prostitute in disgust -- he did not find her beautiful, she barely passed for pretty to him. He groaned; this was another woman he would have to do in disgust. Then again, it was not as if he did not do all women in disgust.

He sat on the edge of the leather sofa, legs open, by the woman's feet and looked down. He was not aroused, as usual. Slowly, he unzipped his trousers and set about doing what he always did before touching his prey -- jerking off.

*

She was underneath him now, breathing heavily and moaning in pleasure as he bent forward and licked her nipple, teasing it. His hand massaged her other breast, inside, he was glad that she had a ample bosom and curvy hips. Her bra was pushed up above her breasts and she whimpered as he licked his way up to her collarbone and bit the skin there hard, leaving a red mark on alabaster.

"You're... Ahh... Marking me... As yours?" she asked as she moaned once more. His hand was now up her skirt, brushing against the wet spot on her panties.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Why not?"

She did not answer, for he had pushed up her skirt, revealing her white cotton panties. The material was thin and flimsy and he could see right through it. He gave her a quizzical look.

Her cheeks flushed. "Um yeah, I, um... I shaved..."

"Ahh..." he nodded as he bent down and licked the wet spot as she arched her back and her hands clutched the material of the mattress. He reached for her panties and started to pull it down slowly...

*

Of course, he did not jerk off until he came completely. At least, until he was hard. He pushed up the prostitute's skirt and groaned, she was fully shaven. He swore as he flipped her body around, parting her legs and fucked her. The way he would have been fucked if he was still with his male lover.

Painful memories flooded his mind as he thought of how betrayed he felt as he came home one day to find his lover having sex with a prostitute. He simply did not understand. Which part of him was not good enough for him? Or was it simply because he was male? He wondered in that repetition and felt as if his mind would burst as he took a kitchen knife and repeatedly stabbed the woman as well as his lover. Then he fell to the ground, trembling, eyes filled with tears, full of regret. His lover was dead. There was no one to love him any more. He sighed as he opened the huge freezer that he had kept and put his lover's body in. That way, he could keep his lover with him forever...

Soon, he started to rape, kill and keep the hearts of various prostitutes he met. He had to keep their hearts, because if he didn't, his lover might stray and capture their hearts. And that would not do, for his lover had to belong to the psychopath and only him.

The psychopath wondered if his lover would still want him after he was done with this girl. He smiled lazily as he brushed that thought aside -- what was he thinking? His lover would want him for all eternity. He would not abandon him. He would love him forever and never let him go. With that thought in mind, the psychopath continued his thrusting into the prostitute...

It was over in a matter of seconds and the psychopath lay exhausted on top of the prostitute, wanting to revel in her warmth but at the same time, he was disgusted by her presence.

The psychopath got up quickly and left for the kitchen, wondering if he was starting to go soft on the prostitute, for he did not bind her wrists like her predecessors...

*

"Ahh... Umm... Faster... I..." the boy was moaning, sitting at the edge of the bed while the girl was kneeling in between his legs, giving him a blowjob. All that was left on her was her bra, the rest of her clothes were thrown around the room. The light was switched off and she liked it better that way, the only sounds were the boy's moans and the faint whirring of the wall fan. "I'm... Gonna come soon..." the boy could barely make the words out.

The girl got up and sat on the bed next to him, the boy was panting heavily.

"You ready?" she asked him.

"Ahhh... I..." he looked at the ground. It all felt too weird and maybe too good to be true to him that it was the girl initiating the sex for the first time and after all, they were both virgins... He sighed. "Alright..."

*

The prostitute was awake. Slightly groggy and dazed, but no doubt awake. The psychopath swore as he took out the knife and parted her legs.

"Wait, what are you doing-" she started to protest, but was too weak to actually do anything. The drug the psychopath had used on her was strong, but apparently, the dosage did not seem to be enough...

The psychopath swore as he took out a length of manila rope from underneath the sofa and bound the prostitute's wrists tight with a clove hitch. She struggled feebly and he chuckled as he used a rusty penknife to cut the extra length of rope.

Wordlessly, the psychopath located her clit and with surgeon-like precision, he sliced it open as she screamed in pained, but of course, this was drowned out by the screams coming from next door. He wondered if she was looking on in fear, immobilized to do anything as he used the knife to stab right into her pussy, relishing the power he had over her. She screamed in pain again, this time it was more anguished and melodious one to the psychopath's ears. The blood that flowed out excited him, this one was in for more, for she showed how imperfect he was for she woke up before he could kill her. The psychopath took the rest of the manila rope and tied her body up, just above her breasts and just below, making it seem as if it was squeezed out to their full size. He grinned as he carved out her breasts and filled her bra with them, tying the bra together as he put it in yet another inflated plastic bag. The blood on his hands delighted him as he carved out the prostitute's heart, still warm for the chill of death had not taken over her. Yet.

He placed the heart with the prostitute's breasts and a look of pure bliss came over his face.

*

"How... Was it?" the boy asked the girl, panting heavily above her. "I'm sorry we didn't use a condom..." he winced.

"It's ok..." she shrugged. "I doubt anything can happen on the first time anyway... But still..."

"Yeah?" he asked as he started to withdraw from her.

"Care for another round?" she grinned.

*

The sound of the apartment's doors could not be heard by the couple for they were too deep in the throes of pleasure to notice anything.

"Honey?" the girl's mother called out as she knocked on the girl's bedroom door, entering and switching on the light. "Guess who I brought home? Your father!"

Shocked, the couple looked up. Fear from getting discovered soon turned into shock and horror.

"Mum?" the girl asked.

"Dad?" the boy said, mouth dry, unable to believe what he just saw.

*

The psychopath had just finished his preparations, thawing his lover's body, pumping his dick with water and sealing the base. He smiled as he thought of what he was about to do and removed his glasses, for that was what he always did with his lover, to symbolize hiding nothing from each other.

"I love you," the psychopath whispered as he impaled himself on his dead lover's cock.

It began innocently enough. He was just a child, barely five with his small fingers wrapped around his father's huge thumb as they walked into a departmental store. She was on duty on that day, boredom evident on her pretty face as she uncrossed her arms and absent-mindedly tapped her finger against her black stocking clad thigh.

"Excuse me, miss," came a rich, husky voice and she looked up, coming face to face with his father. She was taken aback for a moment but quickly regained her composure.

"Can I help you?" she asked as she smiled, licking her lips, deciding that this was a fine specimen of a man standing before her. 'Who cares about that kid,' she thought of him as she unbuttoned the second button of her almost translucent blouse and leaned closer.

Slowly, his father's lips curled upwards. "Why not?"

*

He despised his father. It was not always that way actually, for distant memories of being carried on his father's shoulders occasionally surfaced in his mind, much to his own disgust as he remembered the smiles he wore on his face back then, the sounds of genuine delight he made then... Gritting his teeth as he crushed the flyer he held in his hand, walking past yet another departmental store, he looked up at the rapidly darkening sky and hoped that the weather would hold for he had forgotten to bring an umbrella again, despite his mother's numerous reminders...

*

"I'm home," he muttered as he opened the door to the apartment he shared with his girlfriend. The lights were not switched on and his heart sank as he realized that his girlfriend was working the night shift once more. Dinner in a microwaveable container sat on the table with a note 'don't go hungry!' taped to it and he smiled as he removed his coat, making his way to the kitchen.

"Today was fine, mother," he addressed a photograph of his mother smiling, stuck on the refrigerator. "I saw that bastard on the streets though, he was drunk and tried to beg for money from me..." he frowned as he fiddled with the dial on the microwave oven.

"It's retribution, mother... It's his fault for abandoning you and making you hurt like that and for causing your death..." he removed the container with his dinner from the oven as he licked his lips. "Rest in peace, mother..."

*

He did not expect the divorce. After all, he thought the salesgirl was just being friendly and even when she came over to the house to visit occasionally, she brought him toys to play with. As he swirled the blood red contents of his wine glass, he laughed sardonically at his naivet back then.

After the divorce, the picture of things finally became clear to him. He started to stalk the salesgirl, much to the disapproval of his mother. His so-called friends at school thought he was infatuated with an older woman and spread vicious rumours about him, almost causing his expulsion from school. His mother was notified and her already ailing state of health started to deteriorate but he pressed on with his stalking.

He graduated from high school, much to his mother's relief. By then, the salesgirl had left his father and had hooked up with another man. His father was an empty shell of the man that he was before, not that he really cared. His hatred of the salesgirl grew, slowly, from a tiny seed in his heart, finally blooming in the form of a dark, carnivorous flower...

*

His girlfriend finally returned in the wee hours of the night, awakening him from his slumber as she accidentally knocked a glass of water off the table. He rushed to her side as she tried to pick up the glass shards, cutting her finger by accident in the process. By instinct, he caught her finger and was about to lick her wound when she snatched her finger away.

He frowned. "Is something the matter?"

She looked away, averting his gaze. "I... I..." she began and faltered.

An overwhelming sense of dread washed over him and the nausea that came along with it threatened to hurl the contents of his stomach out of his mouth.

There was an awkward silence, with the only sound being the steady dripping of the blood from her finger. "I..." she bit her lip. "I've been tested HIV positive..."

*

He lay panting heavily on the cool marble flooring, rage finally spent. He winced as he perceived the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, accompanied by the bitter taste of betrayal. She was just like his father and he groaned, realizing that he was just like his mother. Blind, so blind. A single hot tear rolled down his cheek and he hissed as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. How many years had it been since he last cried? He bit down hard at the end of his thumb in an attempt to stop himself from screaming out as painful memories from the divorce assaulted him, tasting blood once more. Trembling, he got up and caught sight of his girlfriend's bruised and battered body.

His eyes narrowed.

*

His girlfriend's dead body lay in a heap by the dining table as he poured himself yet another glass of red wine. He savoured the first sip, remembering the adrenaline rush he had felt after the kill, when he killed the salesgirl. He hated her with all his heart, his hatred was far greater than the love he had for his girlfriend.

He licked his lips with an odd sense of relish as he reminisced about the day he decided to go for the kill...

*

It was raining heavily that night, he had made up an excuse, telling his mother that he was having an overnight camp in school and would not return home. Despite his mother's numerous reminders to bring an umbrella, he had forgotten in the end so he trudged soaking wet in his school uniform, school badge removed, following the salesgirl as she walked home giddily, clutching her flimsy pink umbrella. She was wearing an almost translucent blouse again, except that it was now transparent due to the rain. From her gait it was obvious that she was drunk and he clenched his fist tight, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palm.

She fumbled with her keys and he cursed her under his breath as she finally found the right one, stumbling forward into her house. In her drunken stupor she conveniently forgot to lock the gate and shut the door. He smirked as he entered behind her, taking care to shut the door quietly. She lay spread-eagled on the leopard print sofa and he walked with lithe, panther-like grace as he made his way to where his prey was.

She did not notice his approach but cried out in pain as he pulled at her long, tangled brown tresses, bringing her head up to face him. She giggled as she got up. "Well, you're quite a pretty one, aren't you?"

He slapped her, a clear indication of his revulsion as he wondered why he was even touching this woman, no, he corrected himself, this whore who had torn his perfect family apart and caused his mother to suffer.

The smile on her face was replaced by a slight frown as she gingerly touched the red mark on her cheek. "So you're the violent sort?" she asked as she leaned closer, causing him to back away as he became aware of the overpowering smell of her cheap perfume.

Thunder boomed loudly and he jumped. She licked her lips. "You're afraid of thunder, my boy? Well, come to mama, I'll make you feel real good..."

"You're not fit to be my mother," he spat as he rummaged through his bag, finding a long string of twine. He grabbed her wrists and tied them together as she watched, amused. She lay flat on her stomach on the sofa and posed so that from an angle, one could see that she was wearing nothing underneath her tight black leather mini skirt.

Something inside him stirred.

"Well?" she asked, parting her legs. "You're just like the rest, aren't you? You're all after the same things. But it doesn't really matter, does it? I'll just discard you one by one after I'm tired of you..." she giggled.

A low growl escaped his lips, like how an animal would growl when provoked. He lunged forward and gripped her hips hard as he unzipped his trousers, thrusting into her from behind.

"No, not the back," she struggled against her bonds but to no avail, they would not come loose.

"Whore," he muttered under his breath as he thrust so hard that it was almost cruel. A thin trickle of blood made it's way down her inner thigh as she whimpered. "How many have you done before me? How many families have you wrecked?" he asked with a faint, almost unnoticeable trace of bitterness in his voice.

She did not answer as a flash of lightning illuminated the night sky and there was yet another loud clap of thunder. He did not jump this time, for he was too blinded and consumed by his hatred to remember anything else, including fear. He pulled out a swiss army knife from his pocket and sliced off a piece of skin from her back and she screamed in agony but the thunder drowned out her cries.

"This is the kind of pain my mother felt when you tore my perfect family apart," he said through gritted teeth as he pressed the cool metal blade against her flesh, then he started carving out a broken heart on her skin as he continued with his thrusting. His breathing was harsh and erratic as he reached for the nearest irregularly shaped object he could find, a huge, broken glass shard from a vase and used it to penetrate her.

She opened her mouth to scream but he tore off a strip of material from her skirt, using it to gag her as he stabbed her repeatedly, flying into a frenzy until at last, he lay spent, atop her, laughing maniacally as the thunderstorm raged on outside...

*

He was roused from his reverie by a telephone call. He groaned as he made his way to where the telephone was and answered it.

"Hello, this is the National Blood Bank and we are calling-"

He slammed the phone down on the receiver and swore.

*

He swept all his girlfriend's belongings off the dressing table by the bedside in the bedroom the two of them once shared. One by one, he methodically smashed the crystal figurines that she had bought each year to commemorate each year they had been together, starting with the first. There were shards of crystal embedded in his hands and blood was flowing freely but he was oblivious to it all. He opened the wardrobe and threw out all her clothing, including the sweater she loved to wear, the one that he smelled every time so as to feel her presence beside him each time they were apart.

A small, red, leather bound book fell to the ground.

He frowned as he picked it up, flipping through the contents. The words were written in his mother's hand and he froze as he perused the contents carefully.

"I've been diagnosed HIV positive. Because of that woman he had an affair with."

The book fell from his hands and the loud thud reverberated throughout the silence of the room.

He opened his mouth to scream but somehow, he found that he could not make a sound. And when the full force of the realization hit him, he reared backwards and fell to the ground, immobilized by what he knew. He felt tears welling up at the cracks of his eyes but no, they would not fall.

Slowly, he started to giggle and his body shook as he burst out in a fit of hysterical laughter. "It's all my fault..." he whispered amidst choked gasps for breath to no one in particular. "I'm just like him and it's all my fault..."

*

She was into the tenth year of her counseling job at a centre for troubled youths and today was her day off. As usual, she was doing the laundry, hanging out the clean white sheets of her curtains out to dry when she heard footsteps.

He exited the staircase, swaying unsteadily, making his way past her, crimson slithering like a snake entwining itself around his arm. She frowned as she turned to look at him, wondering if he would be a potential troublemaker. He ignored her presence and continued walking towards the edge of the rooftop, where a small division separated one from earth and hell.

When it became apparent that he would not stop, she panicked and being careful not to alert him, followed him.

He got on the ledge and sat down.

"Hey," she said in an almost murmur and he turned to face her, pain evident in his eyes and tear stained face.

She stepped back, unprepared for the raw display of anguish. "Is there... Something wrong?" she asked in a tone she often used with the troubled youths under her care.

"Wrong?" he laughed sardonically. "Everything in this world is wrong. Define wrong."

She shuddered as she felt the hair at the back of her neck stand on ends - something from this man was giving her the creeps but she just could not pinpoint what it was. "Death's not the only way out," she said in a shaky voice, almost sounding unconvinced by what she just said.

He smiled, a grotesque smile that stretched his lips at an unnatural angle and he stood up on the ledge.

She decided that there was something inhumane about him but nevertheless, pressed on. "So please," she said, almost begging, with a pleading look in her eyes. "Can I help you?"

He howled, a long lonely cry that one would hear from a wolf who had been lost from it's pack and had spent too many years alone and she backed away, in fright, perhaps.

He threw himself over the ledge.