Psycho Novels & Stories

Vincenzo Dante Volkov: “Mr. Volkov,” The psychologist doctor began, his tone carefully measured, “your wife is experiencing a severe psychological response to trauma. It’s beyond normal grief or guilt—it’s manifesting as trauma-induced psychosis.” “What the hell does that mean?” I barked, gripping the edge of the desk. “She’s seeing things! Hearing voices! Is this permanent?”

An odd video had caught my attention, my eyes glued to my cell phone screen, watching every movement of the lady who performed and the words that were being displayed on the screen when tears rolled down my cheeks. My hands began to vibrate, my teeth gnashing against each other. with the last restricted strength in me, I type a message which says. {Having a mental breakdown. Talk to you later} This same message was forwarded to four of my closest friends and the same people I was speaking to, this act of mine was done to make sure no one was alarmed by why I was no longer responding to my messages. Images began to flash before my eyes and my system became weak, so weak that I could not respo

Sometimes elevated and others irritable. The second one was Schizophrenia, which caused distortions in his emotions, thinking, and self-behavior that can result in a loss of memories, suicidal thoughts, and a blurred sense of identity. Which was the case in front of her. Nyx was switching to an alternate identity. He was feeling the presence of two or more people talking or living inside his head, and he may feel as though he's possessed by other identities. Each identity may have a unique name and wants to be dominant over the other. Which prouve Dr.Jimin's information. But maybe they should kiss their luck because Nyx was trapped between just two personalities, not more.

He asked cluelessly, as his heart unknowingly started beating abnormally. Just before the guy answered, he clicked his tongue, cutting his response, "What is that?" He asked, and was rather surprised by himself. Confused about why he became nervous and sweating cold. Noah sighed heavily, as he regretted asking further questions at the smaller. Nonetheless, he answered honestly, as he noticed the smaller's discomfort. "A psychotherapy, that's what Luca's patient needs to undergo, Blake. Wait, don't tell me you don't know that Luca, your boyfriend is a Psychotherapist." Noah explained as the smaller nodded slowly. "So, t-that mean

Rye grabbed Khali's hand, squeezed it a little bit, and got away. "Are you alright, man? You don't seem to be on your own?" Yachne asked Tristan Brent tapped his shoulder. "Huh?" Tristan's reaction "What are you thinking, mate? You've been like that since we left the resort," said Brent "I feel like I've done something I don't remember," said Tristan. Tristan caught his head. Khali looked at Tristan in secret, and she came into his mind. Mind manipulation, she can subject the target to any object she wishes. Tristan stood up and danced in the middle with the many people there.

He ran spectral analysis, then ran it again because the shape didn’t make sense the first time. “Jack,” he radioed, “this cocktail isn’t just for fun. There’s a trigger compound I don’t like, nested in a lipid carrier that rides straight for the brain. It scrubs out in under six hours. Leaves nothing but the memory of heaven and a fingernail of hell.” “Street effect?” Jack said, already knowing and hating the answer. “Hyperacuity,” Pauly said. “Rage if provoked. Paranoia if left alone. Psychosis if you’re unlucky. And a craving like a sermon. It’s weaponized perception.”

He looked too calm, like the chaos he’d caused didn’t matter. He was tall. Clean-shaven. Cold. Older, but in that maddening, dangerous way. The kind that made your heart skip, both in fear and in admiration. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. Then came the words, low and smug. "Pretty doll, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead." That voice was deep and threatening. Oh my God. This man was a psycho. How could he talk about killing someone like it was entertainment, something he did when he was bored?

she said firmly, trying not to stare at his naked chest—look lower, as his smirk always deepened every time her eyes accidentally flickered down. “Sure you don’t,” he murmured, his voice dripping with teasing satisfaction. “That’s why you’re still sitting on the bed and staring at my cock.” She blinked, realizing she hadn’t moved. “Oh, shut up.” He laughed again, deep and low. Mirabella jumped up from the bed, snatching her pillow and throwing it at him. He caught it easily and grinned. “Physcho,” she muttered as she made her way to the door. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching her go. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry, baby.”

As she took a step forward, ready to fight, inducers were fired into her body to make her sleep. She turned her eyes toward her gang, trying to fight the sleep. Anger rose as she was about to lose control. Then another inducer pierced her body. She fell. Before she hit the ground, they pushed a floater toward her. Silence followed as her eyes closed, breaths controlled, bodies shaking with fear. Someone whispered, “She’s a psychopath. Don’t you know her nickname?” Another followed, “She’s called The Psycho Queen.” “Damn! Who’s gonna carry her now? Absolutely not me,” a bald man said. “That girl terrifies me. I can’t get over whe

All I see, all the audience sees, are words scratched with red ink—words that cover the original painting. Sick. Mental. Delusional. Psycho.