Crazily In Love With a Psychopath

5

Jimin got home as usual, his luxurious house standing proudly in the affluent neighborhood. Even at 22, a fourth-year college student, he lived in opulence. He had transferred to Seoul University due to some unresolved issues back in Busan, and both he and his mother had relocated to the city, albeit leading separate lives. Despite their immense wealth, his mother frequently checked in on him. She knew Jimin wasn’t normal, had never been, but the thought of losing him by putting him in a rehab was unbearable. He was her only son, her precious Mimi, and she couldn't handle the idea of him being away.

Settling into his plush leather sofa, Jimin turned on the TV, letting the background noise fill the expansive living room. As he was flipping through channels, his phone rang. Sighing, he saw it was his mother. He reluctantly answered.

"Hi, my Mimi. Did you take your meds?" her voice was soft but laced with concern.

Jimin sighed internally. He didn’t believe he needed them, but arguing was futile. "Yes, eomma. I did," he lied, not wanting to endure another nagging session.

"Good boy," she said, a hint of relief in her voice. "How was school today?"

"Fine," Jimin replied curtly, not in the mood to discuss the day's events.

"Are you making any friends?" she pressed on, hoping for a more detailed answer.

Jimin clenched his jaw slightly. "Yeah, eomma. Everything's fine."

After a few more minutes of strained conversation about school and daily life, Jimin finally bid her goodbye, his patience wearing thin. "I have to go now, eomma. I have some assignments to finish."

"Alright, Mimi. Take care and remember to take your meds. I love you," she said.

"Love you too," Jimin muttered before hanging up, slightly irritated. He tossed his phone aside and leaned back, closing his eyes.

And then, there it was again...

Jimin stood up, feeling the familiar rush of anxiety coursing through his veins. It was an insidious, creeping sensation that gnawed at his insides, a dark hunger that could only be sated by the sound of someone’s cries. Torture was his twisted solace, a sick satisfaction he couldn’t resist.

He made his way to the bathroom, where his meds were neatly lined up on the counter. He stared at the bottles, the labels blurring as his mind raced. He knew he had to fight the urge, to suppress the dark impulses that threatened to overwhelm him. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, a reminder of the normalcy he had to at least pretend to strive for.

With trembling hands, he grabbed a bottle of Risperidone. The antipsychotic medication was supposed to help manage his symptoms of aggression, irritability, and impulsivity. He had always resented needing them, but at times like this, he knew he had no choice.

Jimin unscrewed the cap and poured a few pills into his palm. He stared at them for a moment, then tossed them into his mouth, swallowing them abruptly. He leaned against the sink, closing his eyes as he tried to steady his breathing. The pills would take some time to kick in, to dull the edges of his urges and bring him back from the brink.

He gripped the edge of the sink, feeling the cool porcelain beneath his fingers. The battle within him was a constant one, a relentless struggle between his darkest desires and the fragile veneer of normalcy he had to maintain. As the medication began to work its way through his system, he took a deep breath, trying to anchor himself in the present.

Then, he stood there, running his fingers through his orange hair. He smirked at his reflection, silently letting out a fucking creepy laugh. A laugh that traumatized the victims he killed.

"Hahahahahaha, fucking dumb bitches." He muttered under his breath before heading out the bathroom.

-------

Meanwhile, Namjoon was busy in a meeting at the university. He's a bright young man with a wealthy background. The agenda of the meeting was serious: the recent disappearance of a student named Jinsoo.

"The last time anyone saw Jinsoo was afternoon," one of the members said, flipping through their notes. "He was supposed to meet a friend for lunch but never showed up."

Namjoon listened intently, his mind racing with possibilities. Jinsoo's disappearance had everyone on edge, and they were trying to piece together his last known movements.

"Did anyone see him leave the campus?" Namjoon asked, looking around the room.

"No, no one did," another student replied. "It's like he vanished into thin air."

The tension in the room was palpable when suddenly, Namjoon's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and saw it was the dean calling. Excusing himself from the meeting, he answered the call.

"Namjoon, I need you to come to the old warehouse near the river, immediately," the dean's voice was urgent. "The police are already here."

Namjoon's heart sank as he quickly gathered his things and rushed to the location. The old warehouse was a known spot for illicit activities, but he had hoped it was unrelated to Jinsoo's case.

When he arrived, the scene was chaotic. Police cars were parked haphazardly, and officers were swarming the area. Namjoon pushed through the crowd, flashing his student president badge to gain access.

As he approached the entrance of the warehouse, he saw Jinsoo's body. It was a grisly sight. Jinsoo was lying in the sand, his body discarded like garbage. Chains were wrapped tightly around his neck, cutting into his flesh. His face was pale, eyes wide open in a final, terrifying expression of agony. Bruises and cuts covered his body; evidence of torture.

Namjoon felt a wave of nausea and disbelief. The student council had been trying to find Jinsoo, but he never expected this. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he approached the police officer in charge.

"Excuse me, Officer," Namjoon said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm Namjoon, the student president. Can you tell me what happened here?"

The officer looked at him with a somber expression. "It's too early to say for sure, but it looks like Jinsoo was tortured before he was killed. We're still investigating the scene and gathering evidence."