[𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍-𝐎𝐅𝐅]
Drug cases have spread around the city of Chicago like wildfire, and Mavis Loman has been tasked with finding the root of it all. However, there is just one man who knows the ins and outs of every crime as if he w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Friday, July 14th
Dull silence is interrupted by the sound of my slippers on the marble floors of my apartment. I do not plan to go into the office today, so I gave my assistant the option of taking the day off. Of course, she declined and went into work anyways to aid my secretary in his work. Other than me, August is the only person she ever willingly has a conversation with.
It annoys me.
All of yesterday, I observed them from a distance. More specifically, I observed her.
Not once did her face change to anything other than blank. No smile, but maybe the occasional raise of her eyebrows. August never smiled either.
In my home office, I sit in the chair, ready to turn on my computer to get back to work. But I stop when I catch a glimpse of my own face reflected in the dark screen.
I can only think about what my assistant told me. Does she really have no reason to smile? I'm baffled by the fact that she goes about each day without showing even a shred of emotion.
I was taught that in order to survive in this world, you have to express some sort of emotion so that people know you're really a human. Unlike Ms. Loman, I work hard to display emotions instead of repressing them. Every day is an act.
When I was a child, I watched a little girl get hit by a car in front of me.
I didn't cry like the other kids around me did. Instead, I watched as her blood spilled onto the pavement. I was more worried about how her blood was staining the white crosswalk lines than I was about her.
My mother noticed my lack of response to such a traumatic event and took me to a psychologist a week later, saying that I was emotionless and frightening to be around. I guess that the accident was her last straw.
After a few years, the psychologist could finally diagnose me. He said I had narcissistic personality disorder, sadistic tendencies, and a high possibility of alexithymia.
I enjoyed seeing people get hurt.
Rather than emitting me to a mental hospital or continuing with therapy like the specialist recommended, my mother refused. All she had me do was take pills. They were antidepressants that I didn't even need. Even at a young age, I knew she kept me away from hospitals because of our public appearance.
She didn't want the public to see that her son was a maniac, because she cared more about that than her actual son.
From then on, my parents agreed to keep me at home and hire a private teacher until I reached high school. By then, they thought that I would've gotten better. As for those teachers, I made each of them quit. They said I was a terrifying child to work with, and my mother had to school me from there.
