Raising a Psychopath

EIGHTEENTH

Stepping into Greg's familiar and cosy living room, the normalcy of it felt foreign.
"Right. No, of course, it's fine," Greg said, his tone soothing as I invited myself over without much of an explanation.
I couldn't possibly tell him the truth about what was happening back at my house. Instead, I mumbled something about missing him and needing a place to stay for a couple of nights.

The first night was spent in quiet contemplation, trying to stitch back the normal parts of my life. By the second afternoon, I felt rejuvenated, as if Greg's positive energy was slowly wiping clean the dark slate of the past days. I was back to being Ally Darling, the psychotherapist, not an accomplice in a vengeful plot.

However, there was an undeniable distance between Greg and me.
We barely touched, and each time he reached out, a part of me recoiled. I hated to admit it, even to myself, but Roman's presence loomed large in my mind. It wasn't anything romantic or sexual about Roman that haunted me—it was his sheer disapproval of Greg, his dislike, that tainted my perception. Staying with Greg felt like a betrayal, not just to Roman but to some warped loyalty I felt towards him. This was Roman's plan, yet here I was, feeling like a pawn in a game that was too complex to understand, much less win.

Inside, a part of me screamed at the absurdity of it all.
I was here because Roman had orchestrated it, yet I felt like I was betraying him by simply existing in a space away from him. I felt twisted up inside, like I was playing a role I didn't understand in a story that wasn't mine.

The realization hit hard—I was a mess, tangled up in Roman's dark world even from miles away.

As the hum of the television filled the living room, I found myself lost in thought while Greg was absorbed in his book. Everything around us seemed perfectly normal, a stark contrast to the chaos I had become accustomed to. There was no lingering sense of doom, just the mundane tranquillity of an ordinary evening—no whispers of death or echoes of violence. Just the everyday noise of life continuing as it should.

That illusion shattered the moment the TV show shifted focus.
"Psychopath," the word sliced through the calm, snagging my attention immediately.

The screen showed a well-dressed man, probably a psychologist, seated across from a keen young presenter. "What do you think would cause someone to go so far over the edge that they'd start to commit heinous crimes?" she asked, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and dread.

The psychologist adjusted his glasses, a gesture that underscored his next words with a gravitas that resonated deeply with me. "Well, Ms. Grigony," he began, his voice steady and clear, "there are many factors to consider. A significant one is undoubtedly the person's upbringing."

I leaned forward, drawn in despite myself.
The presenter nodded, her expression intent, as the psychologist continued. "In individuals diagnosed with mental disorders like psychopathy or sociopathy, we often see a recurring pattern from their childhoods." He raised a hand, counting off each factor on his fingers—a gesture that was unnervingly familiar. "Neglect, both emotional and physical. Exposure to anger and hate. A profound sense of detachment."Each point struck a chord, painting a disturbingly accurate picture of what I feared Roman had endured. "These experiences can push a person to cling to anyone who offers them the opposite—kindness, affection, any sense of order."

The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls inching closer as the reality of Roman's life, his struggles, and his actions settled heavily on my shoulders. Here, in the soft glow of the living room, with Greg quietly turning pages next to me, the divide between my current serenity and Roman's tortured existence felt both startling and enlightening.

My shoulders felt heavy as I absorbed the psychologist's words, a pit forming in my stomach. The concept of a 'stabilizer' versus a 'catalyst' that he explained echoed loudly against the walls of my mind, reflecting a disturbingly clear mirror on my relationship with Roman.