Am I Psychopath Novels & Stories

I sit on the couch and he sits beside me then shows me a contract on the coffee table. "I'll show you the contract but I need to tell you something before you decide anything," he says as he leans back against the couch. "Okay Master," I say and wait for him to start talking. "I'm only allowed to take you as my sub if I'm honest about myself. You can say no if you don't want me to be your Master when I've told you. I'm diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. Which means I don't feel empathy or remorse for anyone. I see myself as the most important person in my life which is why Marcus doesn't think I can be a good Master," he says carefully. I frown as his words register.

There's no way I'm ever leaving with him again while he's angry. “I’m sick in the head, Keila,” Sebastian claims. It's the kind of tone that doesn't hold a single hint of disguise. A voice of despair. A voice of agony. It's not the same tone I used to hear every time he promises not to hurt me again, but a sincere despair. “I’m mentally unstable. Crazy…insane…demented. I'm sick in the head, Keila. I'm clinically diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder. My whole family knows that, including Jordan. A sociopath you might want to call.”

He said grinning and then added, "Sometimes. A psychopath can be a loyal husband and a lover, a good father and everything that you dream about. Just don't peek into their basement." "Guess you forgot to add that they are also pathological liars and lack empathy." I watched his jaw tighten and his dark chocolate brown eyes staring at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking from his expressions but I sure as hell knew I'd said the right thing to tick him off. And why exactly was I finding pleasure by stepping on his foot? Just when I thought things had taken the wrong turn, his expressions mellowed. I decided to tease him further. "So which type of psychopath are you? Hannibal Lecter or Patr

“But that’s my definition of service that you were talking about. Isn’t that what you meant? I can serve you.” I can sever your head. I gritted my teeth and tried to stop myself from thinking too much. I could clearly feel that there was something wrong with me. I suddenly imagine myself severing his head and watching him scream from agony and pain, and I was there, smiling, looking at him in satisfaction as I watched his blood stain the floor. Am I going to be a psychopath? I shook my head and tried to stop myself from thinking about it. I don’t want to become a mass murderer who would murder for fun.

The charm of demons might even be a bit more alluring. "Hey so.. let's say if... i mean.. well.." I didn't know how I should even put it into words without throwing up. What kind of a person was I ? A psychopath ? Sociopath ? No , I do feel emotions so that can't be it. A sadist? Maybe. But not for everyone. Is there a term known as selective sadism? "Have you killed people?" I ask him. I didn't mean to sound offensive and I was sure that I put it in a genuine manner, hopefully.

The maniac gave us such a fright that my people still haven't gotten rid of the memory of that day, and most of them walk around Lenox on their tiptoes whenever he comes over to visit. "It betted don't be another fucking bomb like last time," Luka voices my thoughts. Great, now one of my brothers is a little mad, and the other one can read my mind. I'm fucked. "Luka, do you think I'm a psychopath or something?" Lenox gasps, and I can picture the little shit holding his hand over his heart as if someone just shocked and hurt him at the same time. Luka rolls his eyes, "As a matter of fact, yeah. Yes, I think you're a psychopath, but I can't rule out the possibility of you being a sociopath eit

He had seen me cry so much in the past few days, I can't let it happen again. “He is simply psychopathic.” “What did you say?’’

I coughed as I chased for oxygen, having inhaled most of the smoke. My phone rang. With a huff, I smirked and tapped the green button. “Indigo, I won.” “Well, thank you for keeping my night eventful. Aren’t you happy? The feeling of all that adrenaline crawling through your veins… Isn’t it exciting?” “You’re a psychopath.” “At least, I’m not so different from you… sociopath.” I might have clenched my hand tightly around my phone that the call ended upon the sudden click of the power button.

Alissa was caught off guard with his question, "I don't understand." "Why are you doing this to me?" "Doing what Aron? I am lost." "You know what I am talking about." "I really don't." "I want you, Alissa." Alissa gulped at his words, "I want you so much that it drives me crazy to think that you think of other guys when I'm there." "What other guys?" "Brandon. I don't want you to look at him, but to look at me alone and no-one else." "I don't know if I can do that Aron."

Too kind. Not like them. Not like anyone. At the asylum, they labeled me—Antisocial Personality Disorder. Obsessive. Sadistic. I know what I am. I know my mind isn’t right. I talk to myself more than I talk to people. And sometimes... I fantasize about blood. But this time, I don’t want blood. I want her touch. I want her warmth. Her kindness. I want her to treat me like I matter like I’m not just a fucked-up product