Page 57 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

I screamed loud enough to wake the dead, scrambling up the bed, clinging to the headboard as I stared at him wide-eyed, in his blue boiler suit with the cloth sack over his head.

He took another step towards me, and I shrieked louder, my nails clawing at the wooden frame of the bed as I tried to think of a way to escape.

And then the room flooded with light, and Alex came bounding towards me in sheer panic as he raced over to the bed.

“Emma, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

My breaths were rapid, my head growing dizzy from each laboured pant I took, but as I peered around the brightness of the room, I couldn’t see him. There was no blue boiler-suited freak standing in the corner, threatening to pin me to the wall and cut out my heart and tongue. Just Alex, who was holding me now, giving gentle shushes as he rocked me to calm my erratic state. His warm embrace and the comforting smell of him helped to ease my panic slightly. But my heart was still jackhammering in my chest.

“It’ll be okay. You’re going to be okay,” he hummed.

I couldn’t help but blurt out, “He was here. I saw him.”

“Who was here?” Alex pulled away slightly to look at me.

I didn’t know how to answer him without sounding completely unhinged.

“I thought I saw someone.”

“You’ve had a rough few days,” he said. “Your body has been through a lot. You’ve been running a fever, too, so it’s probably your mind playing tricks on you. A fever dream, maybe.”

I didn’t think it was, but I didn’t want to come off as crazy, so I nodded, agreeing with him. Feeling my body growing weaker by the second.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” Alex assured me. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you something to eat?”

I shook my head.

“No, it’s fine. I just need water.”

He took the bottle off the bedside table, unscrewed the top, and then handed it to me.

As I took a huge gulp, he reached out and stroked my hair.

“It’s good to see you awake at last. I’ve been so worried.”

A wave of fatigue hit me then, and he took the bottle from me as I lay back onto the bed, unable to speak another word.

That night, I fell asleep to the feel of him stroking my hair, being there, telling me he’d always look after me. But in my mind, I could still see that darkened figure moving towards me. The boiler suit and the cloth sack taunting me that my time was coming to an end.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

EMMA

Idon’t know how long I’d been asleep, but I woke to a dark room and the feel of a warm body lying behind me in the bed. I hadn’t expected him to stay, and I didn’t move as I lay in the darkness with my head pounding like a drum.

The room was silent until I heard the rustle of the covers, and the mattress dipped slightly as he edged closer towards me. And then I felt it, the touch of his hand as it slid along my waist and down my thigh. I was still wearing the oversized T-shirt and my underwear. Without a word, he grazed the skin of my thigh with his fingertips, then slid his hand underneath the cotton of the T-shirt, moving up my body slowly, so, so slowly.

I held my breath.

I think he did, too.

The silence was deafening, erotically charged, holding so much tension as I lay still, and his hand teased my hip and then moved to my stomach. My skin prickled, goosebumps making me shiver as his fingers gently stroked me. The pounding in my head was muting now, drowned out by the feel of his touch. My breaths came in short gasps as he stroked back and forth, teasing me with where I needed him to be. I could hear him breathing deeply close to my ear, his breath tickling my neck, teasing me with the promise of kisses I so desperately wanted.

Then, sensing my need, he moved his hand lower, and on instinct, I adjusted my legs, bending my knee to give him better access. This had come out of nowhere, but I wanted it. Even in my dazed state of confusion, I wanted him to touch me so badly. I hadn’t felt a touch like this from a man in so long. I’d forgotten how good it could feel.

At first, he used his fingers to stroke between my legs, through my underwear. With each brush of his fingers, I couldn’t stop myself from letting out a breathy moan and moving my hips slowly, opening my legs wider for him, so I could feel more. I wanted more.