Confessions of a Psychopath

Emma is a psychopath who is being interviewed for psychological research by Alex McArthur. But will Alex discover more than just research as the days go by listening to every gruesome part in Emma's life.


1. 7/12/96

          What exactly is a psychopath to you? Someone who has different opinions, and people find it offensive so they decide to lock them away in an asylum. Well if it is then i'll show you how people misjudge everything and are total assholes about it, that instead of helping they make you fall deeper inside the hole. How it all started, well don't quite know maybe when I was seven or perhaps I was born this way right, I mean no one chooses the way they're born,right? Gays and lesbians now I'm talking about the real ones they didn't choose they're path, they cant control who they love so why discriminate them or in that case, me. After all we're all human right and we all know, no ones perfect there’s always something about us that makes us different in a way, even If it just one strand of hair that differentiates twins, no one is exactly the same. Now lets go back to the time when I was what you call “normal”.

        Six years old and not a worry in the world just what TV show I should watch today or what game should I play, simple questions like that, I guess no one expected me to turn out the way I am, well I guess no one did at the time but sooner or later I would have cracked. Seven years old and I had just two years in the U.S since I came from Europe. Parents, well they were thrilled not knowing of everything they would go through in the future, 26 years old still not yet adults and unfamiliar at raising a child. Yet father, ohhh dear father, he was an alcoholic as well as a drug addict I honestly don't understand how my mother could stay with him. I saw much domestic violence at home the usual you know, father would get home drunk his eyes bloodshot red and struggling to walk straight. He would wake up my mother every time, and me....well I wasn't asleep yet I knew he was bound to get home and I knew that in case he came to my room I had to hide so I guess I had a routine to sleep at three in the morning until it was safe enough to go to sleep. I'd hear the screams back and forth yelling out words which back then I wasn't quite sure what they meant like slut, bitch, etc. Then the plates smashing on the floor and the usual hard slap, the kind you would hear if you did a belly flop at the pool. During this whole time i'd curl up in my bed terrified, covered my ears and cried until the noise would stop and all that was left were the sobs of my mother in the kitchen and my fathers snores that could be heard from a mile away. Yet I was stupid enough to still love my father, I was seven how couldn't I besides he bought me anything I wanted especially toys, a child's dream right? My mom began working and I didn't see her as much anymore, she would go to work as soon as i'd come from school and wouldn't get home till four in the morning. I would stay with my father the whole afternoon, I wasn't scared he didn't treat me like he treated my mom, he would buy me pizza and play video games with me.

        That is until one Friday night he got a phone call from his friends inviting him to a casino. With both my parents working he had enough money to spend at the casino. He glanced at me playing with my toy cars and I gave him a smile, he turned around and agreed to go. They don't allow kids at a casino, bloody bastards, maybe if they did....just maybe something wouldn't have snapped in me and i'd be “normal”. My dad's friends also had daughters so we were all left in the care of a close friend, Hugo was his name, that filthy monster. This soon became a routine, every Friday my father would leave me and the two other girls who'd soon become my friends, in his care.  At first it was all good he'd let us watch cartoons, we were all pretty young the oldest was ten and me the youngest seven.  Then when he felt that he had our, he'd always wash the dishes, his wife worked so he had to do the chores around the house. Until one day the bloody bastard decided to put on some porn, ya porn in front of little girls,fucking horny idiot. With his wife not home his only company was his hand humph pathetic. I can still remember the images in my head, the moans, the disgusting liquid coming out of the mans dick, which we all know now as sperm. All three of us were terrified, I mean we didn't know what it was but we know it was wrong to watch something like that. My father was the worst of his friends, his addictions were stronger so even when his friends wouldn't go to the casino he'd go alone. That meant i'd be stuck with the disgusting monster until my father would get home. He'd put the video on, it was always the same one what a stupid jerk, then he'd sit next to me, i'd try to get as far as I could from him, but he'd stick out his cock and start rubbing it as his eyes basically ate away at my body, it was disgusting. The only safe place was the bathroom even though it didn't have a lock I would put my weight against it as I sat down on the floor crying. This went on for almost a year the fear kept me silent but I decided I've had enough when it got worse. One night he grabbed my hand and wanted me to touch his...thing, I tried to run but he wouldn't let go of my hand. So I kicked him and ran to the bathroom, as much as I tried putting my weight on the door he came in, well lets face it when the hell would a seven year old be as strong as a fucking 35 year old. He opened the door and began to lift my shirt up his hands rubbing my privates, luckily the phone rang, it was my mother saying that she'd be there to pick me up because she had gotten out early from work. By now I was crying silently on the floor, he came back to the bathroom grabbed my throat and picked me up, I barely had room to breathe, he threatened to kill me if i'd ever tell anyone about this he then let me fall to the ground and left as if nothing had happened. That day something in me had snapped, I guess I didn't feel the same, I felt dirty, filthy like trash, as rage filled my eyes an image of killing him went through my mind but just as I got up my mom pulled up on the drive way. I ignored the feeling for the time being but I knew I couldn't stand it anymore. Another week meant another Friday I couldn't take it anymore so despite his threat I decided to tell my mom just before she left for work. She was stunned, furious and didn't know what to say. That night three pairs of parents gathered around me and my friends questioning us like judges. Soon all the fathers went to kick the shit out of the molester, it was a beautiful sight the first time I had ever seen a man bleed so much,...yet it was somehow relaxing and soothing to see him in pain, I was in my car smiling at the whole scene then I realized something was different in me, I wasn't the same innocent girl anymore which really......relieves me, why the hell would you want to be vulnerable to this world, I sure as hell don't, and will never be again.

      Nine years old and that little voice in my head was pretty calm since that day. Parents still fighting, today I see my mom get a fan thrown at her by my father, the fan broke right on her stomach, her pregnant stomach, the one carrying my first little sister, I already had a younger brother but it wasn't the same, I wanted a sister. Three months later my mom had a miscarriage, that was the day I started feeling hate towards my father. I know that it was because of him that my mom lost the baby, he had hit her so hard in the stomach that something happened with my little sister. Hatred went through my mind any time I saw him and that was the first time in a long time that I heard the little voice in the back of my head. It was a strange feeling, I wanted to do something, a feeling that made me wake up in the middle of the night grab a knife and stare at my father for ten minutes. I was 9 though, so I never built the courage to do anything, and the voice slowly went away. I remember in the morning I went out back of the apartments I lived in, there was a kitten there, it looked like its leg was broken so I went over to pet it. Stupid cat its his fault I mean why the fuck would he scratch me it makes no sense! So again that voice inside my head came back not really a voice but a feeling, that I hadn't gotten used to, in the back of my neck. not pain but somehow it was an urge to do something a desperation sort of like anxiety. So I grabbed the stupid kitty by the neck and stomach, I really didn't mean for that to happen I was just trying to squeeze it a little to show him never to scratch me again, but...I guess...he was too fragile. Before I knew it something had cracked, it was a loud crack like bone, I think I did squeeze it too hard humph but seriously that's what he gets for scratching me. So it just laid there a lifeless body in my hands like a rag doll. At first I was scared of course, I quickly let go of it expecting it to runaway but it just fell to the an idiot, I poked it, pushed it, and tried making it stand but it no longer did and that's when I started to laugh. It is just so hilarious i thought, how the stupid cat woke up that day not knowing it was going to die and yet it did, it cracks me up just remembering the stupid cat thinking it was so awesome yet it wasn't.

       Fifth grade came, I was 11 and life couldn't be more miserable. By now my mom had just given birth to my new baby sister! Little did I known what I was going to go through, so how pathetic of me to think that my father had changed, what a total dumb ass. I had only a few friends three to be exact and soon I was going to lose them those bastards they never liked me anyway they just wanted the answers to my fucking test, doesn't it crack you up how someone can go to the extent of pretending to be your fucking friend just to get an easy A! Well they're the losers not me! My mother had to continue working, and guess who was supposed to be in charge of the newborn, well originally it was supposed to be my father yet he was never there, he would be out drinking while an 11 year old had to learn how to change diapers and make a baby stop crying. I had no fucking idea what to do so I began to stress out. Between school and taking care of a baby I started to care less of my appearance which meant dark circles around my eyes pale skin and many bumps on my face, people started calling me a zombie because I got so pale and skinny, well what the hell did they know fucking idiots should have killed them all. My father would wake me up at three in the morning to rock my sister to sleep while he'd fall back asleep, what a bastard, but soon I would get him.

         I became a bitch to everyone, my suppose friends cried when I told their boyfriends how they were whores and I turned them against each other, to me it was such a spectacular sight, I was slowly tearing their lives apart, it cracked me up every time. Of course I ended up alone in the end but it was worth it. Being home was horrible I had now turned "Gothic" or whatever you'd like to call it I frankly don't give a fuck. But, I hated my life, I hated my father, I hated everyone, the mere presence of someone talking to me made me barf, I wanted to turn around and strangle them. By now I hated my father completely I wished his death and would draw him dying in my scrapbook, I would pray to god that if he killed him that instant I would laugh at his suffering and praise god forever. It got to the point where I started to dream of killing him, it was so wonderful i'd always wake up with a smile, don't get my wrong by now I knew something was wrong with me I knew it wasn't “nice” to dream or say these things but honestly it brought joy to me to see people die or suffer........and it still does. I tried getting help but no one paid attention or made an effort to care not even my mother. I tried telling her how I felt different and how things were going through my head but "puberty" was all she said. Maybe if I had gotten help since the beginning things wouldn't be how they are now, maybe if I would've killed myself when I had the chance I wouldn't be in someones way. Suicide, well tried it many times but failed, knowing how much rage I had I couldn't go before taking it all out. I wasn't going to leave this world without doing  any damage to those who damaged me. One time though, I was very close to death cutting my veins seeing the me chills just remembering it, but my little bastard of a brother stopped me. He was four and saw as the blood slowly dripped down my wrists and I cut deeper in to reach my veins, he stopped me........for once in my life I felt......loved.....this little bastard didn't want me to kill myself, he actually cared for me....its really ironic, seeing how he yelled at me to die five years later but oh well just for that you little bastard I reconsidered killing you. Without knowing it he had just saved my life.....and in turn his, pathetic how something like that made me change my mind. I promised him never to do it again, he smiled, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and whispered "I love you big sis" in my ear then left. That single act of kindness was enough to warm my cold heart which i"d thought didn't exist anymore. I hate crying very much but that little bastard managed to make tears come out that day, the feeling behind my skull left for a while. Years past and that feeling seemed to fade away slowly but in 9th grade it came back, those times when my mother would call me worthless, stupid, idiot, and a whole bunch of other shit, I began to dream of the incident when I was seven and would wake up screaming and crying in fear, no one would ever touch me one.

       Then he appeared a....person.....I don't know but he appeared in my dreams starring at me just smiling, no trace of a face all covered by hair, just a smile like he was waiting for me or wanted to tell me something. I killed another animal again, a fish to be exact, I drained its water and watched it jump around in its bowl like a dumb ass, it was really funny because it was my mothers favorite fish, she loved the fucking fish more than me so I had to kill it. After it didn't move anymore and I poked it around for a while filled the bowl with water and pretended like if my mom had forgotten to feed him. She was terrified when she saw its little lifeless body floating on the water, I almost couldn't contain my laughter it was just so hilarious. I think she suspected I killed him but again she decided to ignore the fact that I was “different”. I continued to grow and the images of murder in my head wouldn't go away. I was scared and terrified, how stupid was I, it was just my real self trying to show its face, nothing wrong with that right? All my life I felt like I was never there. like I was just a walking zombie. I'd talk, but it'd feel like it wasn't me, like i was a puppet bound by strings. I lived a fake life for 15 years. At age 16........well lets just say my real side would appear more often and I was starting to enjoy it. Then he appeared again my little “friend” smiling straight at me with his  huge teeth, yet no trace of eyes or nose. This time it was different though, it was a room filled with darkness one single door shone a spark of light in the room. Out of the door he came out, with his usual grin. At first I was scared but then curiosity got the best of me, curiosity killed the cat right, well this case was different. I called him over and he did as I said, I asked him who he was and what he wanted. Yet something peculiar happened, his lips moved...but I heard no sound coming out of them. I was confused how could this be I thought. I grew desperate and started yelling at him demanding to tell me who he was or why I couldn't hear him. And I got the same response every time.....silence mere silence. I screamed off the top of my lungs, I felt like my voice was going to give in and as I did so his grin grew bigger and bigger like he was mocking me. I grew angry and yelled even louder he kept getting closer with every yell and before I knew it he was right in front of me, I could feel his breathe on my face and make out his hair, out of no where....he screamed back  “EMMA!!!” I woke up startled only to see both of my parents starring down at me. Apparently I had been screaming at one in the morning “who are you, what do you want” like in my dream. My parents thought this as normal, since my mom also talked in her sleep, but she never yelled still they ignored it and told me to try to go back to sleep. Fucking idiots how could they have known what had just happened the first time I told them I saw that...person was when I was ten and they did nothing to believe me “oh its just a bad dream you'll get over it” was their response. It annoyed me so much that when I needed them so bad, when I was terrified to death that I practically pee'd myself, they were never there and always ignored me. All they had time for now was my brother, the little bastard was their adoration, the only son, of course my dad would forget about me...and my mom well I guess she just got bored with me.

         Have you ever felt so fucking alone to the point that you wish everyone around you was dead and you were the only person in the world because even when no one else existed you'd still feel less alone than you do now. Because at least then nobody could bump into you and say “oops I didn't see you there” only rubbing in the fact that you are nothing to them. I started accepting the fact that I was “different”, my usual day dreams that would frighten me before, excited me now, I grew anxious to see what else I could make happen in my mind. People that annoyed me would get their heads chopped off, guys would get their balls torn off and shoved down their throats. So fucking hilarious. I think everyone's imagination is capable of committing the perfect crime, but the question is....will you?

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