Page 43 of Psychopath

“You can’t be serious?”

“I am, Damon.”

Damon strolled into the hall, flashed a look at the bagged possessions in the kitchen, then shook his head. “Keep them, so you remember what you had and what you lost. What you gave up for this.” He kicked the doorframe, and the wood crumbled. “We used to be good together.”

“We were,” Quinn agreed. “But not anymore.”

Damon shook his head as he slid his trainers back on. He left the door wide open as he left and revved his car loud enough to anger the neighbours.

Quinn retreated to the living room and pushed the Scrabble box back beneath the coffee table with his foot.

On Friday, Zane strolled into the room with a fierce frown tugging at his brow. He spied Quinn’s watch, then sagged.

“Thank God for that.” He exhaled.

“Still the blue one.”

“I was worried Damon would’ve wrapped you around his finger, and his watch around your wrist.”

Quinn clutched the watch and shook his head. It had been almost a week, and he still felt conflicted.

“Don’t,” Zane said softly.

Quinn glanced up and lifted his eyebrow. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever he said, don’t dwell on it.”

“He said I’d changed. I’d become boring, and, well, maybe he’s got a point.”

“You’re not boring.”

Quinn snorted. “You don’t know me, Zane.”

“I find you fascinating.”

“Why?”

Zane shrugged.

“I read far too many fantasy books; I enjoy playing Scrabble even if I’m playing alone. I rent a decrepit house in a tiny village no one has heard of because it’s all I can afford, but I don’t hate it because I grew up in a tiny village and I find it homely. My weekdays are spent here, talking to violent offenders, and by the time I’ve written everything up, I’m so tired I sleep most of Saturday away. Sunday, I do the weekly shop, and then I go home and watch TV on the sofa until Monday… He kind of has a point.”

“Do you feel boring?”

Quinn frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t until he said I was, and now I can see it. He’s this big personality, this social butterfly. He drives into the city several times a week. We weren’t compatible, not long term, I get that now, but…”

“But?”

“I feel like there’s something wrong with me? Like I shouldn’t be content with the house, the village, my…books, like I’m not a typical twenty-three-year-old.” Quinn wiped a hand down his face. “Like I’m not normal.”

“Fuck being normal, whatever that even means.”

Quinn groaned. “And I really should not be talking about this with you.”

“Am I not an excellent listener?”

“You are.” Quinn smirked. “But it’s in—”

“—appropriate,” Zane finished with a smile.

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