Psycho Inside Me
Bonnie R. Paulson
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I killed my first victim at thirteen years old – my age, not his. He was going to rape me, him and a couple of his friends. And so, I killed him. And then… I killed again. And again.
At seventeen, I’m killing four to six times a year – maybe more. Don’t stress out. I only go after the pedophiles and rapists. There are more out there than I could cover in a lifetime.
Saying I did this on my own would be selfish. Enforcing justice holds a glory all its own. But now, my lifelong friend and backup, Deegan, has been arrested. I have to decide if I want to give myself up and take his place or leave him with all the damning evidence. I don’t want to stop killing. But if I let him take the fall, I can’t kill anymore. And I need to keep doing that.
But the worst part of it all? I love him.
We stopped beside my bike. I ran my fingers through my loose hair. “Thanks for the flower.”
“Of course. Together, right?” He leaned with one arm above his head on the wall beside the bike rack. “I don’t think the two crimes will be linked. The techniques and circumstances were too different. We should be in the clear.” The late springs sun already worked on kissing his blond hair lighter in spots. I couldn’t stop staring.
“I wanted to talk to you about that.” I folded my arms and titles my head.
He brushed his bangs from his eyes. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I was thinking it’d be good to, I don’t know, continue?” I bit my lip and looked down. How was I supposed to propose we find other sickos? He’d never shown anything other than guilt regarding our actions. While I had more complex emotions surrounding the circumstances, I didn’t doubt the sincerity or weight of the feelings he had.
The silence drew my gaze. We stared into each other’s eyes. He spoke first, his voice soft. “Do you really want to do this?”
I shook my head no while saying, “Yes.” Pressing my fingers to my forehead, I stopped moving. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I want to do this, like I want to? It’s more like I almost feel like I need to. Two people who no longer can hurt anyone else.” Despair welled inside me. “You think I can sleep afterwards? I feel sick, can’t eat. But then I saw Kari’s face when she heard he was gone and I… I felt a sense of accomplishment, like I’d done a good thing.” I covered my face, breathing deep – the hot air recycling back to warm my skin. Sliding my fingers onto my eyelids, I pressed up onto the upper curve of my eye sockets. “But how can what I’ve done be good, right? It’s wrong to kill. It’s wrong to feel good about it. It’s wrong to think about a possible next one.” I dropped my hands.
Deegan watched me, his eyes sad and his lips curved in a side smile that held no humor. “I don’t know how much of what we’ve done is necessary, you now?” He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and hunched his shoulders. “Do you know how many of these guys get off everyday? Or they get such light sentences and then they’re released to go hurt more kids again.”
I spun from him, raising my hands and beseeching the sky. “What are we doing? Murder is wrong.” And to so bluntly use the word slapped me across the face. Murder.
About the Author
There are people who know a lot about a little, we’ll call them experts. Then there are people, like Bonnie, who don’t specialize, but rather gather information like pebbles in their pockets and drop them like Hansel & Gretel in the stories they write.The question is, do you want to follow them back?Certified as a Radiologic Technologist, Bonnie prefers a touch of medical in her storylines. Don’t be surprised if romance somehow runs through a hospital or comes in contact with a paramedic. It’s just how she rolls. And you know there’s nothing more romantic than an 18 gauge needle poking your vein!
She and her Hubs delight in dirt biking, snowboarding, fishing, cooking, eating, spending time together and more with their adorable children.