Page 11 of The Cute Psycho

Vanya proceeds to show me every single dress, and I give my approval, letting her know she can buy whatever she wants.

I have some money stashed away, and since I don't need it for myself, I can at least spend it on her.

When she's done trying them on, we pay for the dresses and head out. Before going home, though, I also take her to a drugstore, so she can choose something for her face.

Since she's so bothered by her scar, maybe there are ways to cover it up without resorting to tattoos. Stopping in front of the makeup aisle, I help her decide on a shade of powder closer to her skin tone.

When we've also paid for the makeup, the smile she gives me could light up the entire world. So satisfied am I with the turn of events, that I start thinking of what jobs I could do to make more money.

Vanya deserves everything and more.

Hand in hand, we finally go home.

My eyes linger on the piece of the puzzle, trying to visualize the entire picture. It takes me a couple of seconds to imagine all of the possibilities and soon the entire puzzle forms itself in my mind. With a sigh, I start putting the pieces in place.

Sometimes I don't even know why I bother with puzzles, since it always takes me the same amount of time to finish them—regardless of the difficulty level.

Since my father had decreed that I'm only allowed to kill with his permission, my spare time has nearly doubled. At first I'd tried reading some textbooks to get my diploma, but even that had been too easy.

Having an eidetic memory means I only need to read something once to remember it forever. A bit ironic, considering my own memories are almost non-existent before the age of eight.

I move to the next puzzle, and I study the picture for a second, hoping this one would prove slightly more difficult than the previous one.

I'm focused on solving the puzzle when a bundle of clothes drops in front of me, the already laid out pieces scrambling around.

I frown, slowly raising my gaze to meet Father's angry one.

"Why do you have these?" is all I ask, noting it's the same clothes I'd bought Vanya a couple of days ago.

"Why..." Father sputters, shaking his head and taking a step back. "Imagine my surprise when your brother told me he saw you carrying a bag full of clothes. Girl's clothes, no less," he says, assessing me shrewdly.

Misha... Of course he'd go running to Father.

"So what?" I shrug, unperturbed.

"Son," he starts, clearly uncomfortable, "maybe we should have a talk."

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him.

A talk?

When he sees me silently watching him, he releases a fake cough, his eyes darting around suspiciously before speaking again.

"I know you're at an age where..." More fake coughing occurs. I almost want to roll my eyes at him and tell him to spit it out already. "Where you're noticing girls," he finally says, and the corner of my mouth quirks up.

So that is the crux of the issue.

My brother's conquests are legendary, if one is to believe the street rumors. There's not a girl he hasn't fucked. Of course, according to the rumors. One look at Misha and you could tell he probably paid people to spread them. And considering the coward he is, I bet he even has performance anxiety.

"Indeed," I drawl, leaning back on the palms of my hands and waiting for whatever Fatherclearlyhas to tell me.

"Maybe I should ask your brother to have a talk with you," he adds thoughtfully after a while, and my face immediately scrunches up in disgust.

"Don't worry about it, Father. I am perfectly fine as I am. And I have no interest in..." I pause, choosing my words carefully, "that, at least not yet," I say honestly.

Does he really think any girl would want to associate with me? Grown men go out of their way to avoid me. Girls react the way girls do—they take one look at me and they run off screaming.

Apparently Misha is not the only one with a reputation in the neighborhood.

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