Complete Undoing

FIVE

---------------------------
LEXINGTON

From an early age, I knew deep inside of me lays a serial killer with fucked up kinks and constant demands to full it's desires. The urge is tolerable most days, others it's too hard to ignore.

I'm not a total idiot, I do have some control over my Thurst. Obsession, compulsion, or fixation will not overpower me. To say it takes a lot of impulse control to sedate the beast inside is an understatement.

If my mask ever were to slip, the situation would get complicated. The Lexington everyone knows would be a lie. Which is the truth.

I've mastered hiding my true nature. So good most days, I believe it.

That's the thing about manipulators, if you can manipulate yourself, that's how you know you're a master.

My parents think that the psychologist that ran tests set me up. Mom believes that her baby boy couldn't be what they labeled me to be. He couldn't have any narcissistic, and this big ass word Machiavellianism traits.

Even went through years of treatment for social expectations. Instead of me learning to adapt, I simply learned to mimic.

By the age of fifteen, I've mimicked my mask so well I became socially accepted, fuck even worshipped on some levels.

My mom used to tell me that having antisocial personality disorder wasn't going to hold me down. That I'll be back to normal.

In a way, she's right. I might not be normal, but I'm abso-fucking-lutly better than the normal. I rise above it to repress my true form.

At least I try too. Especially on days I can cut open the skin off of animals and see what's inside. I wonder what would humans would look like, but I suppress that hunger, knowing my mother will have a fit if her baby ends up in jail.

I'd be careful, but still, the thought of my mom crying is a huge no.

So, mice and frogs will have to do until I get bored of them and go for something... Bigger.

The stench of the party that's happening around me is making my head throb. Why must Leighton insist throwing ragers is beyond me.

My two brothers, cousins, and friend share one of my families mansions outside of campus.

I've been at this God forsaken party for twenty minutes, and already I've witnessed a full-on brothel upstairs, the pool outside is full of people skinny dipping and people snorting lines of cocaine off the coffee table and off of chick's asses.

The loud music is making me want to throat push something, and I still haven't found anything worth my attention.

A body crashes into mine, and an arm wraps itself around my shoulder, and the smell of weed and alcohol assaults my nostrils.

Lance.

"Lex baby enjoying yourself?"

I duck under my cousins arm, not trusting my control with wanting to hit something or someone, and it's not going to be him.

He leans against the wall I'm occupying, hiding me from everyone.

"So having fun?" He takes an already rolled joint from behind his ear, sticking it in his mouth, lighting it. "Why are you hiding in the corner? You know nobody puts baby in a corner."