9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The problem is I've never been good with boundaries. I know what they are, have plenty of my own, but I don't give a shit about anyone else's. Maybe that makes me narcissistic? Psychopathic? Sociopathic? Not really sure. Never cared to find out. Maybe my mother didn't hug me enough as a child. I huff out a laugh. She never hugged me at all considering she wasn't there. Maybe that's where all this anger comes from? Though it isn't quite anger. I don't feel mad. I'm just… compelled. I have urges to do things that cause people pain.

I've never thought much about it until now.

Don't really know what the fuck is wrong with me. Don't really care. Because I don't see it as a problem. Everyone else does. And that's a them problem. What others think about me isn't my concern. I love the fuck out of me, and anyone who has a different opinion is a moron. I'm cool as shit!

Now is a good time to have boundaries though. Now that I've found this Justin Lorenzetti who is way too intriguing. Tempting. Distracting. Menacing, really. He's getting in the way of literally everything I need to do. I can't focus, because I find myself watching his every move. Literally. He sits in his condo for hours and I just stare at the little blue dot that shows me where he is, imagining what he's doing.

I don't talk to anyone. I don't play games with anyone. I take jobs. Get them done. Get paid. Do whatever I want to do in my spare time, which usually consists of taking out whichever head of the family the dart lands on. Literally. That's how they're chosen. Tiny little cut outs of their faces are up on a cork board in my house. I blindfold myself. Pick up a dart. Throw it. Whoever it gets is next.

I spend my days doing things I'm good at, which happens to be killing. It's why I started doing it for money. I have my father to thank for my skills. I have many, not just bad things. I can speak three languages. Play a shit ton of instruments. I draw exceptionally well. But all of that stuff is boring. What's fun is killing. Maiming. Torturing. The look in their eyes right before they die. Now that is beauty.

But as I scroll through the boards, looking for a quick job to keep my mind from Justin, I find myself opening the app to see what he's doing. I sigh. This happens all the damn time. I try to forget him but end up unable to. I'm constantly wondering what he's thinking about and if it's me. More often I find myself sitting outside his condo, watching him with binoculars. It doesn't matter what he's doing, I want to see it.

He's too interesting to ignore.

And that's a problem.