Page 3 of The Cute Psycho

"Why didn't you ask when I killed the first man?" I mutter under my breath. I'd already accidentally killed one man in the morning. It would have been easy enough to perform an experiment then. But when Vanya gets something in her head, it's hard to dissuade her.

"He wasn't interesting." She shrugs, going around me to plop herself on a chair. She's looking curiously at the body, her black eyes focused on the blood pooling on the floor.

It's a condition we both share... this thirst for blood.

I get to work, opening up the chest, the flaps of flesh folded on either side of the body.

"What now?" I look up briefly and Vanya purses her lips, regarding the open cavity with interest.

"The stomach. Let's see what he had for lunch!" She jumps up, her feet connecting with the wood floor and making a harsh sound. Her lips stretch into a wide smile, signaling the excitement is getting to her.

I shake my head slowly, but a smile plays on my own lips.

I tug the stomach out, severing the connective tissue until I can remove it. Placing it on the floor, I take the knife and I make a few incisions, the pouch immediately giving way to the sharpness of the blade, the contents spilling out.

Digestive fluid and bits of undigested food inundate the floor. I move slightly to the right to avoid getting anything on my shoes. Vanya too scrunches her nose once the smell hits, but still, her eyes are glued to the barely recognizable pieces of food.

"Whoever gets the most right wins." She crouches next to me to move the pieces around, trying to make out what they are.

"Sure," I agree, even though we both know shewillwin. When have I evernotlet her win?

We spend the next hour debating what each crumb could be, a green particle proving to be particularly elusive.

"Broccoli," she leans back, confident in her answer.

I shake my head, but I don't say what I'm thinking—broccolini. Instead, I use the knife to move a piece of the stem toward her, knowing she will put two and two together.

Her eyes widen and she smirks at me.

"Broccolini! I win!" She springs up, jumping around the room and gloating about her small victory.

My eyes swing back to the mess next to me, and I drop the utensils. Using my bare hands, I cup the heart, ripping it from the chest. My thumbs are in position and I start pumping, curious how much blood is left inside and how it will react to an outside force.

Blood comes out in spurts, a squeaky sound permeating the air. Vanya and I stare at the poor, abused heart for a moment, before we both start laughing.

"It sounded like a fart." Vanya crouches on the floor, holding onto her belly with one hand and wiping tears from her eyes with the other.

I can't help but join in.

Our jolly time, however, is cut short as we hear the floor creaking.

"Someone's coming!" Vanya immediately composes herself, rising to look around for a hiding place.

She spares me a glance, her finger going to her lips to tell me to keep my mouth shut.

No one can know she's been with me—least of all our parents.

Eyeing the big closet, she opens the door and sneaks inside, leaving me in the middle of a bloody mess.

When my father opens the door, his expression is already resigned as he takes in the disaster.

He doesn't waste any time grabbing me by the nape and dragging me out. I don't react, not even when his fingers dig painfully into my skin.

We make it to the basement, and father flings me to the ground in front of him.

"If you're such a fucking psycho, better put those urges of yours to some good use." He nods to the man strapped to a chair. His face is already busted, purple swelling taking away any semblance of humanity from him.

"Let's see what you've got." My father folds his hands over his chest, taking a step back and looking at me expectantly.

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