"You think he'll let you?"
"You think he can stop me?"
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Margeux can't decide whether she's a sociopath, or a psychopath. Continuous events tend to sway her either way. Out of all the people she could kill on her eighteenth birthday, she en...
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REIGN TOOK ME to an apartment. One i've never been in, but it was a twenty minute drive. A quiet, twenty minute drive.
And it's not like it's awkward. Because neither of us have tried to start a conversation at all. I think he thinks he needs to be quiet. Or that I'm too on edge and I'll snap if he talks. Which honestly, I don't know. I don't know what I feel.
When we step into the elevator, no one steps in with us. It's a rather large one, bright shiny mirrors and pretty spacious. I wouldn't expect anything less from my grumpy rich boy.
The elevator goes for a long time. He's probably on the top floor. That point is proven when we arrive and instantly there's a giant window outlooking the city. Kind of like the hotel we stayed in on that mission together only a few nights ago.
I walk right over to it, standing and looking out onto the London streets. Reign has definitely picked a nicer area. The lights outweigh the littering and the tall old fashioned buildings outweigh the abandoned ones.
"Hungry?" Reign comes up from behind me, cautious as ever.
I shake my head.
"Good, I don't have any food." He lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he comes up to stand beside me.
"Why are you acting normal?"
"Hm?" He faces me.
"I just stabbed a guy in the side of his head with a pen." I state blankly.
"Yeah, that was pretty cool."
I let out a shocked laugh, staring at him, completely confused. What happened to the expression when he saw me covered in the Victors blood? He looks just as worried and freaked out as everyone there, what happened to that version of him?
A ding chimes into the unlit apartment - minus the moonlight from Reign's massive windowed walls - and his face turns a little uncomfortable as he reads whatever alerted him on his phone.
"What is it?" I ask.
"You've, uh, been diagnosed." He clears his throat.
"By Harris?"
He nods.
"Give it to me," I smile, holding my hands behind my back, "Psychopath or sociopath?"
"Why do you think it's either of the two?" He raises a brow.
"I've always thought it was one of them." I shrug.
His eyes narrow for a moment.
"What, am I wrong?"
"No."
"Come on then, which one?" I whine.
He reads out from his phone, "Sociopath with psychopathic tendencies."
