How to be a Sociopath (Editing)

Entry Eight

She was depressed, she hid it really well to the point that even I, probably the person closest to her, couldn't tell, and she killed herself. Those are the facts, the ones I am sure about anyway. But it's not much to go on, I still don't know why she killed herself or why she was depressed.

I woke up to obnoxious rays of sunshine raining down on me. I reluctantly got up, a sharp pain hitting me as I remembered my broken bones. I ignored it and walked to the bathroom only to hear splashes of water. Any sane person would be alert and jump to the easiest and most obvious conclusion. The problem is why would a burglar or thief decide to go for an early swim in the house they're breaking into? Katherine.

I walked out to the unkempt water and sure enough I found the her dark hair swimming around in the pool, and the rest of her too. "Katherine." I called out, she responded by jumping out of the pool and covering herself by a towel, well her bottom half anyway. She was wearing a black bathing suit, which didn't leave all that much to the imagination. Promiscuous as ever.
"Chris," she smiled, hugging me tightly. I winced but resisted the urge to pull away.
"What are you doing here?" I asked when she finally let me go.
"Can't I see my little brother?"
"Step-brother." I correct as she walked past me.
"Still brother." She pointed out, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge.
"Why are you really here?" I persisted, yes even sociopaths persist.
"Is that one of your battle scars?" She pointed to my black eye. I rolled my eyes.
"She told you." I sighed, I don't know why but for some reason I expected my mother to leave Katherine out of this. But then again, she is her favorite child.
"Of course she did. So who were the idiots?" I gave her a flat look before shrugging. "Come on, Chris, we both now you're smart enough to have already figured who those idiots are." I continued to stare at her blankly before breaking my gaze.
"Antonio Smith and Rodgers Mathews."
"Stupid names." She noted. "So I'm guessing you're going to deal with these assholes yourself? You know, since you haven't called the police." She speculated nonchalantly. In moments like these, I wondered if Katherine was like me, but then I remembered who she was and disregarded the idea completely.
"The police are incompetent underpaid idiots at this point." I responded harshly. "And they don't care if some "rich white boy" got mugged." I mimicked the words I heard one of the police officers say when they first came in for questioning, although the moron probably took me for a deaf person and figured I didn't hear him. I sighed, feeling very angry before it abruptly subsided. Katherine stared at me intently.
"Not like you to react like this. Actually, not like you to react at all. That reminds me, I heard about what happened to your girlfriend."
"Claire wasn't my girlfriend."
"Suuuure." She smirked. "Do you expect me to believe that the only girl you bother to speak with, that isn't me or mother, is just a friend?"
"Yes, because that's what she was."
"And now she's dead." She signed.
"And now she's dead." I confirmed.
"Too bad, I liked her."
"You barely knew her."
"That's your perspective." She smirked before taking off the towel and hoping back in the pool. Katherine liked being cryptic as much as she liked being a smartass, she's a bit like me but she can feel, to some extent. She can hate and love so erratically, that at times I find it so pointless and worthless and confusing as in the end, much like me, she loses interest. She's amazing in every way that's wrong, and the weird part is that she knows, completely aware of it and that doesn't make her cower or run away or try to suppress that part of her, like it would to anyone else, but it actually makes her happy. I wonder, does she gain any sense of freedom knowing the truth of what she is? Or is the freedom from accepting that fact? It's unusual but I'm the only who sees it. Because I'm the only who can.

I pulled up my hood as the door opened, letting in a wave of cold air. "Do you want anything?" I looked up, a waitress with red hair and hazel eyes waiting for me with a notepad in hand.
"Just coffee."
"Are you waiting for someone?" Why is she even asking? Well, I guess I shouldn't judge her, curiosity is part of the reason I'm doing this.
"Yeah."
"Well, I'll be back with your coffee." With that she walked past a few booths to get me my order. After a few minutes of waiting, someone finally sat across from me. I recognized his tall figure and disheveled appearance.
"I didn't expect you'd actually come, Rodgers." I said simply, looking straight past him. "That's your name, right? Rodgers Mathews."
"Listen here, brat, I don't know what you're up to, but if you ever say my name again, to ANYONE, I'll make sure that's the last thing you say." I looked down, finding a pocket knife pressing against my stomach.
"Is there a problem?" I turned my attention to the waitress from before, who was now looking at Rodgers very suspiciously.
"No."  He answered rather quickly, pressing the knife even harder. "Ain't that right, pal?"
"Sure." I shrugged, looking down at the waitress's empty hands. "Where's my coffee?"
"Oh, we ran out. I'm sorry."
"Then we should go." I said, causing a hint of surprise from Rodgers. He needed to learn to mask his emotions.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" He said, pushing me to the ground. "You must have a death wish!"
"What if I do?" I asked bluntly, taking him aback. "I want to meet Antonio."
"You're crazy..." he said, taking a few steps out before taking out a gun, pointing it at me.
"You're right I am." I spoke curtly, standing up I moved closer to him until I felt the barrel of the gun pressing against my chest. "So go ahead, shoot me."