2 posts tagged “psychopath”

There I was last night, lying in bed, all alone, except for the cats.  I was just about to drift off to sleep when I suddenly heard a psycho killer stomping around in my attic.  Thump thump thump thump.  Or maybe it was a monster.  Or some lingering un-laid ghost from a bloody Civil War massacre.  I hate it when that happens.

Because you know what I had to do.  I got out of bed and stood under the attic door in my pajamas, cursing Hubbicula for always being gone when creepy shit happens.  When the vampires came around in Tampa, scratching on the windows, where was he?  In Classifiedistan, being shot at by jihadis.  Lucky bastard.

So, I spent a good ten minutes debating with myself about what to do.  There was no way I could go to sleep with that steady, metronome-like thumping.  It was snowing outside, so I couldn't exactly go out and look up at the roof and try to figure out what was going on.  Finally, I concluded: the odds of a psycho killer were pretty small and the odds of a monster or the ghost of one of Quantrill's Raiders were even smaller.  As for the prospect of a skwerl or a raccoon, the thumping was just too rhythmic.  It's a well known fact that except for chipmunks, critters don't have a very good sense of rhythm.

It must be the attic fan.  It's made strange noises before, creaking, rattling, squealing, but the thumping was just too loud to sleep through.  So, I got a coat and shoes and a flashlight, locked the cats in the bathroom, and pulled down the attic stairs.  I kept the flashlight up, as a weapon and a guide, and crept up the stairs until I could hit the light switch.  No raccoon, no skwerl, no psycho, no monster, and no ghost.  Just a stupid attic fan. 

In the end, I couldn't figure out why it made a thumping sound every time it rotated, so I did what any half-sane do-it-yourselfer would.  I got some twine and tied the fan blades to its support strut to keep it from rotating.  Of course, now the fan isn't doing its job, but at least I didn't have to dream about killers walking around in my attic all night.

Courtesy of Island Girl: fQotD: How many times have you torn out someone's still-beating heart and fed it to the wolves?

At the risk of sounding like I relish it too much, I'll say...five times. There may have been other instances in which I was not aware of the damage I was doing, but there were at least five times that I knew what I was doing and did it anyway. 

1. The first serious boyfriend I ever had.  The first guy I ever loved.  I was too young.  He was too old.  I wasn't always going to be skinny.  It wasn't even a clean break.  It was more like I kept cutting off little pieces of his heart and surreptitiously feeding it to the wolves under the table.  Of course, I was doing the same thing with my heart.
2. The second serious boyfriend I ever had.  He deserved it.  He dumped me, got back together with me, dumped me, got back together with me, dumped me, all over the same bitchy girl (my roommate's sister.)  By slow, horrible, vengeful sweetness and skanky clothing, I lured him back to me, all for the purpose of destroying him.  It was bittersweet.  He proposed, I made him cry, and then...I gave him away to a friend of mine who had been crushing on him from day one.  I said, "He's free now.  If you still want him, call him up."  She did, they dated for three months.  He cheated on her and gave her an STD.  Advice: Don't take hand-me-down boyfriends.
3. A lawyer who was much too old for me.  I still don't know what I said or did to make him fall so hard, but I was only dating him for the free dinners.  He was 40+, divorced, and wealthy.  I was 18 and poor and hungry.  I could tell I was going to break his heart, but he kept buying me steaks and shrimp and chicken parmigiana, and taking me to expensive concerts.  Long after I broke it off, he kept calling me, begging me to see him.  Awkward.
4. 

   No_thanks

   3 comments
   A sweet, young accounting major with a face like a cherub.  Three months into the relationship, I agreed to meet his folks.  Over dinner he proposed to me with the family heirloom wedding ring.  My suave, 18-year old response: "Are you kidding me?"  I was so horrified, having just recently had two other marriage proposals (see numbers 2 and 3), that I nipped it in the bud pretty brutally.  My answer was something along the lines of, "Not only don't I want to marry you, but I don't ever want to see you again."
5. The third serious boyfriend I ever had.  Killer Geek, of the Legos story.  He started out as a nice nerd and turned into a psychopath.  I reached a point in the relationship where I thought, he's going to kill me one of these days.  To put it mildly, he had some issues from his childhood for which he needed serious therapy.  I got out, but not very neatly.   I moved out of our apartment in one afternoon, while he was out of town, and moved into an apartment whose address I never gave him.  Insult to injury, I ended up breaking up with him at a Pizza Hut, my people.  I still sometimes see him--he lives in the same town where we went to college, and where I still have many friends.  He is polite enough, but he looks at me with hot and vengeful eyes. 

In short: from the age of 16-20, not only was I a rather chilly little bitch, but I was apparently irresistible, in my "strangely alluring" way (as my best friend Spucko once described it).  Some days I regret that era has passed, but then I sober up and am grateful that I'm no longer under some fairy thrall that requires me to spend my days fleeing from one guy to another.