A psychopath is better than no path at all.

Chapter Two

Mother was at the hob, cooking breakfast. She was one of the only ones who would still socialise with me. Even Father's turned the other cheek to me; After he paid the bail money for the mental hospital he packed his bags and left without even so much as a goodbye – not wanting to be associated with the neighbour-hood psycho, not being able to live with the fear of being disowned by society.

He had to pay bail because they tried to cart me off to the asylum, classing me as a psychopath.

I wouldn't say I have a mental disorder, I'd just say that I'm mourning. And everyone mourns. Even if they don't notice they are.

They mourn for loved ones.

They mourn for lost opportunities.

Even the most cold-hearted people mourn. They've just learned to bury their feelings to the deepest, darkest layer of their poor, confused, and lost soul.

***

“Did you want egg, honey?” Mother questioned me.

I nodded resignedly in reply, not caring to speak at the moment - my nerves too frazzled. I plomped myself down onto on of the five stools that were by the counter and glanced around the room:-

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Black and white tiled flooring with a contrast of a painted cream wall. The one thing about my house is that it has no pictures or photographs of me on display...

Nor any mirrors.

The only mirror in the house is in Mother's room and I refuse to go in there; I don't care to look at me appearance any-more. Not since David's death. He was my life. My love. He was the only one I truly cared about for in the world except my mother and father – who one of which has now left, gone. Not even a spec of dust left in his place. - and now he's gone.

And with him he took me. He took my thoughts. He took my vanity.

He took my world.

***

Suddenly the overwhelming scent of food filled my nostrils and I looked down to discover that Mother had placed a steaming plate of bacon, eggs and sausages in front of me. I stared at it for a few seconds, lost in my own world before delicately picking up my knife and fork and slicing through the cooked goods.

“I think today may be the day.” My mother says softly.

“How come?” I asked, not really listening to her; this was her usual routine. - Trying to convince me that the up-coming day was to be the day I'd venture out of the house, out of mine and Mother's solitude.

“Oh, I just have a feeling that it is.” She replied, her usual speech carrying on like normal.

“Same old, same old.” I muttered to myself, not quite low enough for her not to hear it.

She shook her head, choosing to ignore my unnecessary comment. At that moment, a hard and sharp knock was heard at the door. My mother sighed, knowing that I'd never even dream of answering it. What was the need in socialising – pretending to care when honestly, David had taken away most of my empathy with him.

She put down the dish-cloth that she had been washing up with and called out “I'll get it” as she made her way out of the room and towards the front door.

A minute later, a smooth, deep voice was being heard speaking; “Hello, is a Miss. J. Orwell here?” The smooth voice asked, a strange darkness and mystery dripping from each word.

“Oh?” My mother's tone sounded surprised, obviously shocked that somebody actually wanted to see me, maybe even converse with me. “Yes, yes. I'm sure she is. One second; I'll go and see if I can find her.”

Seconds later she was in the doorway to the kitchen, smiling ecstatically.

I simply just quirked an eyebrow at her, knowing that her happiness will be short-lived. “You know the answer.” I stated flatly, letting no emotion slip into my tone.

“Oh come on, Joline!” My mother begged. “Please! For me!”

“No. All that you're doing is making yourself look stupid even by just asking.” I replied, not budging from my decision. “Anyway, what does he want with me?”

“I don't know but he seems nice! Come on, give him a chance!”

Before I could even think to reply a tall figure stepped through the door. “Sorry, I heard voices and just stepped in.” He smiled a smile that would make nearly everyone trust him no matter what he did. Nearly everyone.

He had that certain charm, somebody would have to be classed as incredibly stupid if they weren't ready to jump in front of a train for him once they caught sight of that trusting grin or his smooth talking voice.

Guess I was incredibly stupid then. I don't know why but but I just didn't trust him. I didn't trust his good looks, I didn't trust his overall nature. He was wearing a striped pin-suit and his brown hair had a greyish tint seeping in. To me, he reeked arrogance and a certain superiority.

Chapter Two:

“That's quite alright.” My mother smiled reassuringly, obviously already loving him.

“Pfft...” I dismissed her, irritated. “It's not 'quite alright.'! You can't just waltz into my house, my home acting like you own the place!” The mystery man simply smiled in return, much to my annoyance.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. It's just I wanted to talk to you...” He paused, glancing at my mother before continuing to say “In private.” My mother instantly understood what he was implying and left, quickly scurrying off in a hurry.

“So, who the Hell are you?” I questioned rudely, wondering why someone like him would want to visit someone like me.”

“Language.” He chuckled, obviously knowing I'd become even more annoyed. “Anyway, I'm here because I'm a friend of your diseased fiancé, David.”

My eyes widened, shocked. “So?” I asked, trying to act casual about the topic although, much to my misfortune, he had already seen right through me.

“Well.... Let me re-phrase that then.” He started, looking down at me, an evil glint in his eyes.

“And?” I asked, not getting it. “Why does that change anything?”

“Are you aware of what your fiancé’s line of work was?” He asks and I merely shake my head, recoiling backwards a few paces, being intimidated already. “Let's just say that he was in a certain collecting and distributing of goods industry.”

My eyes widened and I instantly knew what he was talking about, it all added up now. He had never talked about his career and would a lot of the time arrive home late, tired and not talk at all.

“And do you know what your 'amazing' fiancé would do if somebody didn't pay for these certain 'goods' on time?” He snickered and I felt a familiar lump form in my throat and my vision blurring. “The so-called 'love of your life' was quite the sadist, you know?” He laughed menacingly, knowing what damage he had done to me and had how far it had dug. And trust me, it had dug deep.

“No.” A strangled sob parted through my lips, no louder than the ruffling of leaves. At that, he turned on his heel and briskly walked away. I made no attempt to move. No attempt to do anything. My mind replaying the previous conversation over and over again. Subconsciously trying to find any faults in his demeanour that may prove him wrong but finding nothing.

“See you soon and oh, just so you know, that gun-shot that was fired the day of your wedding that killed David – he had nobody to blame for it but himself. After all, he should know that I'm not a man to mess with.” He tossed over his should before leaving out of my sight.