Erik

Thanks to Vice Principal Dickhead, I arrived to first period fashionably late while the teacher was in the middle of calling roll. I silently stood in the doorway while the students gawked. All eyes were on me, except for one set of delicious brown eyes that were buried in her chemistry textbook.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me!

Her blatant refusal to acknowledge my presence pissed me off. It was as if I didn't exist. I wanted to make a scene to catch her attention, but the vice principal already had it out for me, and I didn't want to give him a reason to send me packing.

"You must be Erik King. Vice Principal Smith gave me a head's up that you might be running a little behind. Please find a seat."

I was relieved to find a seat in the same row the girl occupied. Like a good little girl, she sat closest to the whiteboard to fully immerse herself in the lesson. I was 100% sure she was intelligent. Not as brilliant as me, but she was certainly up there.

I danced my fingers across the top of her desk, causing her to quietly gasp in shock. A rush of adrenaline shot through me when I noticed her shiver. She was nervous or afraid–quite possibly both. I was aching to touch her, but this would have to do for now.

I perked up when her pencil rolled onto the floor.

This is the perfect opportunity to get closer to her. Perhaps...too perfect. She's doing it again–deviously luring me in under the false pretense of an innocent coincidence. No matter. I will answer her call. She will have to pay later for making me vulnerable and susceptible to her teasing.

I crouched to the floor and retrieved her perfectly sharpened standardized test-approved number two pencil that rolled towards her pale pink backpack. I rolled my eyes once I noticed the 'Jesus Loves You' keychain attached to one of the zippers.

He doesn't, but I can love her.

I paused, pencil in hand, and had to drag myself back to reality.

Why am I having these thoughts? Am I even capable of love?

My therapist danced around the question during one of our sessions, most likely not wanting to discourage me from forming personal bonds. The textbook answer was no. He mentioned that I could act like I was in love, and from the outside looking in, it may appear I was in love, but that's what it would boil down to–an act.

"When love is a feeling of fondness, tenderness, and a connection between human beings, then no Erik, a sociopath cannot love."

"Put that gum in her hair, and I promise I'll stab you in the jugular with this pencil, and she'll be writing her chemistry notes with your blood," I whispered to the asshole truck driver from earlier, who sat directly behind my girl. My guess, he only sat behind her to torment her.

Not under my watch. I'm the only one who can make her cry in anguish. I marked her, and she's mine to do what I want with. She and I can coexist in perfect harmony as long she understands our roles of predator and prey.

To my narcissistic surprise, he wasn't fazed by my less than subtle threat and proceeded with his plan. Too bad for him; I loved a good challenge.

"Hey," I said, addressing the spineless girl. "Get your shit and move to the back."

I nearly moaned in satisfaction when my pet flew out of her seat and raced towards the back of the classroom. I caught the scent of her delicate floral perfume as she passed me. I wanted to lay in a field of whatever she wore and roll around in it.

"Mr. King, we do not tolerate bullying. Please find a seat, or you'll be sent out of the classroom!" the teacher screeched.

"Bullying? I thought you Texans had thicker skin than that," I chuckled as I slid into the seat previously warmed by the girl's ass.

"This is your first and final warning," she threatened.

"Understood," I confirmed, giving her my signature smirk that would make it difficult for her to stay angry with me. I often used it on my mother; ten out of ten, she'd cave.

"Good. We'll continue roll call now. Tucker Harrison?"

"Here!" the bag of dicks loudly announced behind me.

"Jezebel Holmes?"

"Here," I heard the soft voice from earlier call out from the back.

Jezebel. Of all things her parents could've named her. She is far from a Jezebel...or is she? I could be wrong, but I'm never wrong. Then again, it is barely 8:30 in the morning, and I've already come up with eight different abduction scenarios in my mind.

Jezebel was practically begging to be mine. The way she licked her bottom lip upon our first meeting was the loudest 'come hither' I'd ever heard. She purposely dropped her pencil on the floor, forcing me to submit on my knees before her. She obediently listened to my command, playing the part of the obedient submissive I required. Naming her Jezebel was a colossal mistake. Siren was more fitting because, in a span of thirty minutes, I questioned myself more than I ever had. I considered committing several felonies, including murder, abduction, and false imprisonment and asked myself if love was an attainable goal for a sociopath.

I can't believe I'm saying this...but...I need to schedule an appointment with my therapist.

The teacher turned to write notes on the whiteboard when I felt it.

"Welcome to Texas, motherfucker," Tucker chuckled as he worked the gum into the strands of my hair.

I zoned out the rest of the class period as I thought of several ways to put Tucker into the ground. Not only did he disrespect me, but he disrespected my girl, and I couldn't stand for that. The frustrating part was that I would have to wait several weeks or a few months before I went in for the kill. It would be highly suspicious if Tucker was found butchered on the exact day words were exchanged and boundaries were crossed. I had to do the unfathomable. I had to become best friends with Tucker Harrison.

As they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

08/10/2022

Author's Note

Just...don't fight it, Jezebel. 

Tucker...count your days. 

Erik is just as delusional as he wants to be.