How to be a Sociopath (Editing)

Entry Thirteen

"DID I SAY YOU CAN GO OUT?" He bellowed as he kicked me to the ground, my arm landing on a beer bottle. He hit me a couple more times.
"Come on, Frank, stop it, anymore and you'll kill him." She pulled him back, trying to calm him down.
"Fine." He gritted his teeth. "But the house better be spotless by the time I come back, or I'll beat you until you're crying blood." He warned as they returned to their room. I sighed, he was going to do that any way as soon as his girlfriend left. I pulled myself, and held bleeding arm.

It was summer, and as always I was spending it with my dad. My mother was away on a business trip with Richard in Boston, Katherine's whereabouts is a mystery all by itself. I stared down at my arm, it had a nasty gash with blood sipping from it. I contemplated suturing but the only thing I have here is a fishing line so instead I just grabbed a fresh cloth and duck tape from the top of the fridge. After effectively, and unhygienically, stopping the bleeding, I threw on my hoody and left that stupid house.

The neighbourhood was no more than a hallway of similarly disorganised houses, they all held secrets as dark as my dads. You're probably wondering what I'm talking about, right? I guess I never really explained it, you can probably guess why. You see my dad confuses me because he- "Chris!" I looked back at the girl running towards. A smile crept on her face as she waved frantically. By the time she reached me, she was panting with sweat beads running down her face much like rain drops on a window.
"Why are you here?" I inquired, most people don't come through this area of town, its reputation isn't a good one.
"I was bored and wanted to see what you're up to." She spoke in between heaves of breath.
"And your parents let you?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Please, my dad is against me walking down the suburbs by myself, let alone here. Back to the point, what're you up to?"
"Nothing." I answered, losing interest in this conversation.
"Seriously? You're pretty boring for a knife-wielding student." She sighed before perking up. "Wanna know what I'm up to?" Silence fell over the atmosphere as I refused to answer, she was going to tell me anyway so there is no point. "I'm writing a book." She finally answered, probably wringing her fingers.
"What's this one about?"
"Well, you know how everyone has emotions, right? Like happiness, sadness, anger, and fear." I nodded. "So my question to you is what happens if you take all those emotions and leave only anger?"
"How's that even possible?" I asked, finally looking at her.
"It's not." She chuckled. "That's why it's a story. Do you wanna read it when I'm done?"
"I don't like fiction." I remarked simply.
"Fiction, nonfiction, what's the difference?"
"You're going to be a horrible writer." I observed.
"And you're still a jerk."
"I'm stating the obvious, how's that being a jerk?"
"Because, Chris, unlike most people you can't sugarcoat anything so you're an eternal jerk. Onto more depressing matters, have you received your school books?"
"Yes. I skimmed through them yesterday."
"I swear, Chris, you're such a nerd." A sigh escaped my mouth, my eyes growing drowsy. "What's wrong?" She asked.
"I'm tired." I turned around and began walking back to my house.
"That's it?" She called out. "You're just going to leave me here after I walked all the way from my house?!" I looked back, she didn't look angry, not in the slightest.
"Yes." I continued making my way back to my house, my injured arm aching. It didn't hurt exactly, it just felt... awkward. A tolerance of pain, you could call it, I believe if I didn't have one I'd be in the hospital by now. I don't know whether it developed over time or was there from the very beginning, but I do know that I need it. Anyway, I should probably continue what I was saying before Claire interrupted me, the reason my dad confuses me is because he has a corpse buried in our backyard.

"How'd it feel?" Dante was standing in front of me, his towering figure made him look all the more powerful. I looked around, the whole place was trashed and empty, blood splattered every where.
"Get away from me, you psycho!"  I flinched as I remembered the deafening sound of a gun shot. But who fired it? No that wasn't right the question.
"How'd what feel?" I finally dared to ask.
"How'd it feel to kill someone?" Was that the right question?
"I don't know." My gaze dropped down to my hands, a silver pistol still there. "I don't know." I repeated. "I seriously don't know." Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath before reopening them. Dante was smirking. I forced my hand up and aimed the gun at him. "But I will."