Psychopath: An individual who is incapable of feeling guilt, remorse or empathy for their actions. They are generally cunning, manipulative and know the difference between right and wrong but dismiss it as applying to them.
I strode inside the chic office with my same expression, the receptionist beforehand giving me the same frightened look as always. Doesn't matter. I enjoy when people fear me, it makes them stay the fuck out of my way. The indifferent, nearly disturbed look I give others is usually just what it takes to get what I want, when I want it. Playing with people is a hobby I quite enjoy. I've done it all, promising some bimbo the world to get in my bed, lying about coworkers to get a promotion, fuck, I've even framed innocent people for my crimes in my younger years and gotten away with it. Not that I care much for work anyways, I don't even know what I want to do with my life. Whatever is most entertaining is what I think I'll do. No one has been able to read me. Well, no one except you.
You didn't even bother to look up at me at first; you just sat in you chair, scribbling away at some documents.
Casually, I laid myself on the leather wine colored couch right next to you, my hands going behind my head currently laying on the armrest.
"So, how has this week been for you?"
"Shitty as always, you?"
"Fine I suppose, just a lot more paperwork lately since one of my interns quit."
Turning my head slightly, I saw your gorgeous face, those (eye color) hues glancing at my analytically. God you're too perfect. Well, actually, you weren't, far from it to be honest. However, despite those internal and external flaws of yours, you still captivated me, even if you could never really be mine.
After hardly scratching the surface of my dirty laundry, Petra made me start seeing you since she figured marriage counseling would only be good for two "normal" people. Petra was a touchy and annoying individual, one I truly detested in all honestly. The real reason I married her was fun, I wanted to see how far I could push someone before they left me. She wasn't my first choice, but she practically threw herself at me and I had no interest in dating. I enjoyed myself whenever she'd cry or get angry. Her flustered face was priceless, something I'd pay money for. It looked like a red blobfish with fluids coming out its eyes and mouth. Once she uncovered a fraction of my true nature, she became increasingly worried for me and put my in your psychotherapy.
When I first started to come here, you annoyed the living shit out of me. I could hardly stand to be in the same room with you, mostly because I didn't want to do this psychobabble bullshit. Your voice, your perfume, the sounds your pen made against the paper, all of that and more made me nearly rip my hair out. In time though, our visits became more frequent, our talks were calmer, and I actually came to respect you. Of all the people I've ever come across, you were the only one that could read me and my intentions like a book. Obviously, this was part of your profession, but you still managed to hold something more, something much deeper than anyone could ever teach you. You never treated like a child or client. You treated me like a person, and that included projecting a bit of your snarky self on me. Even with your incredible intellect though, I had my ways of making you silent.
"So," you began, "how many times have you lied to Petra this week?"
You stared me down with those eyes when you spoke, causing me to bite the inside of my lip to suppress my internal arousal.
"Hmm... I lied to her about getting hammered last Saturday while she had her mother over, I lied about how many times I went to jail, I lied when I told her I loved her, what else...oh! Of course, how could I forget? I lied about staying faithful to her."
Glaring at me, I offered you a smirk, one I knew you secretly enjoyed.
"Let's keep things formal this week Mr. Ackerman."
"Tch, whatever bitch. I'll have you screaming my name by the end of this session and you know it."
You voice was piercing, harshness reverberating from your words.
"Will you please shut your mouth? I'm trying to evaluate you."
"My clothes would need to come off for that. Getting inappropriate are we?"
"Mr. Ackerman I'm referring to a mental evaluation, obviously. Not such a mad genius now are we?" you asked with a smug grin.
"Shut up, I was messing with you jackass."
"I'm your therapist Mr. Ackerman, it's my job to know those kinds of things. And your joke was so humorous I'm not even laughing."
Slender feminine fingers turned to a new page in a case file I knew was mine. I'm not an idiot, so I didn't understand why you tried to hide that shit from me.
"Let's keep going shall we? For today, I want you to tell me a bit about your family. We breifly discussed a girl you considered a sister, but never anything beyond that. Care to elaborate?"
"Well to start off, they're all dead."
Your eyes narrowed at me after speaking, as if to say, really?
"How would describe them? Your mom, your dad, siblings?"
"My dad was a bipolar asshole, but still relatively typical. He'd either be grossly optimistic or so depressed he'd drink until he passed out. It was cyclical and hell to go through. I never knew my mom; she died when I was a kid. No siblings, no anything else. I had a cat though at one point."
After a few more seconds of writing something, your eyes darted up, their attention on me once more.
"What happened to the cat?"
"My dad got rid of it because he was being a dick. I got back at him though by fucking his girlfriend. The asshole never did find out."
"Ah. How often do you engage in promiscuous activity outside of Petra?"
"How many times to we have therapy in a week?"
Deeply chuckling I noticed you roll your eyes in annoyance. You hated calling your clients by their first names. But I, of course, was an exception. When you wanted me to be.
"Mr. Ackerman, I'm going to be honest with you because I know you can handle it, you're not so easily shattered like my other clients. This has got to stop. I haven't been having the best judgment the past few months, and these little "sessions" go too far. I did it the first time because I thought you might show signs of being able to care for another person, but as we both know that's not the case. This isn't helping you in your treatment so I'm ending whatever was between us."
"Nothing was between us (first). I just wanted some fun and relief."
I saw a small glint in your eyes; one I presumed was showing signs of slight sadness. You were a rational woman, but the physical intimacy we had was rather invasive and personal. It was only understandable. I was a cruel asshole that toyed with people, and that included you, even when you were toying with me for the sole purpose of wanting information.
"It's Dr. (Last), not (first). I know that there was nothing between us Mr. Ackerman. That's why I think it's best we keep things strictly professional from now on."
Bored with your pointless rambling, I stood up from my resting position, sauntering over towards where you sat.
"You know that's bullshit."
Your eyes shifted to anywhere else in the room besides where I stood, your composure never cracking. That was, until I slammed my lips on top of yours. You didn't even fight me; your hands snaked around my neck while you moaned softly into my mouth. To think the scent on your skin once repulsed me, now I could hardly hold myself back whenever I smelled it. You slowly guided me over towards your desk, aching for me as our bodies molded themselves together. One by one the clothing dropped to the office floor, our lips and tongues never wanting to part from one another. As with every session, it ended in skin marks from sharp nails, purple bruises, hand markings from spanking, and you hardly able to breath when my hand clutched your throat. I loved the way you felt beneath me when I did that, your body erotically shaking from lack of oxygen. The noises you made when I pounded mercilessly into you were music to my ears, drinking it in like a strong shot. I never handled you with care, but it appeared as though the roughness was pleasing to your sophisticated self. You never objected, and I enjoyed myself whenever I'd release my efforts inside of you. You looked beautiful like this, all flustered and defenseless under me.
All too soon, we both caught our breath, longingly staring into each other's eyes. My body caged you, and I took in your sight for as long as possible. Every good time must end though, and I couldn't help but feel my high coming down as we independently dressed ourselves. It's rather annoying actually, but I got what I wanted, so one little action afterwards wasn't going to spoil the fun I'd had.
"Well...I'll see you this Thursday then, Mr. Ackerman."
"Tch, you just moaned out 'Levi' and now you want to do that shit?"
With a click of your tongue, you turned away from me, fixing your now messy locks back into an appropriate hairstyle.
"We're back to business Mr. Ackerman. As you said before, nothing is between us."
You were really annoying when you did that shit. Trying to work me up eh? Not a chance.
"Whatever. I'll be seeing you then, Dr. (Last)."
As I stepped outside your door, I felt nothing. I felt neither love not hate for you. Infatuation? Indeed, but nothing past that. I wanted to love you though, I really did, and I knew you wanted to love me too. However, I was just one of your clients, and I'm a psychopath that doesn't know what love is. I'll never know, and I'll never be able to feel it. I'm sure our life would be great together, you and I. It's a shame things have to be this. Maybe, off in some parallel universe, I'm not cursed with mental illness. Maybe you're in a position to date me. Maybe, off somewhere in places we have yet to discover, you'd have feelings for me that I'd return.
And I'd love you.