Parareality Induced By Trauma : Episode 1

A spot of blood, it seems to be telling me i am wrong, but i know for damned sure that i am right.

I wince as i press harder, the spot tearing a bit. Maybe i was wrong.

Seeing as this is highly unlikely i throw the calipers away, it could be that they are innocent , but i am not taking that chance, not with something as important as a disgusting layer of radiation holding filth under my skin.

I hate fat, there is nothing more disgusting than knowing there is a greasy , useless mass taking upspace in your body. Sure if i lived in some arctic wasteland it might provide me with comfort, but in the Texas sun, fat on people is about as logical as fat on a car.

i dab at the small cut with a piece of paper towel, after chucking the towel into a steel can i ignite it with a wood match and some lighter fluid. Don't get the wrong idea , it is not some voodoo paranoia of someone taking my blood, just simple pragmatism, if it is burned, it doesn't take up space.

Makes perfect sense. To me anyway.

Which is to say , to the only person that matters that much. I'm a sociopath, it's strange that i
know this, or maybe it's strange that i can admit this. i forget which of the two scared the 20
dollar an hour waste of time more.

But regardless i am not just a sociopath. I am special, but from what i hear all of us think that.

And that is the paradox i live. I know, for a fact that i am unique. That there is something about me , my situation and the way i choose to deal with it, that stands out from the rest of the world. But i am smart enough, to be able to see that this is exactly what i would think if i was just another garden variety lunatic looking for a reason to take out his fantasies on the world.

For my money i think the fact i drove my psychologist to suicide weighs in my favor for being a paragon versus a rabid dog. But then again, i have never seen a rabid dog without a level of confidence that only someone, or something that knows for a fact it is immortal could have.

Now, don't think i am trying to spin you some yarn of a professional killing themselves due to having to probe around in my mind. No, unfortunately i had to work exceptionally hard to get her to put the gun in her mouth. And even harder to get her to pull the trigger.

Let me explain.

Before i begin, it is best not to think of me as evil. And it is absolutely imperative that you do
not think of me as good. Morality does not come into play in what i do, it can't, the concept of
morality is someone else's, for better or worse, i will not have someone else contributing to my
mind.

I can honestly say i started going to try and see if i could improve myself, maybe develop a deeper understanding of the creatures that look like me, talk like me, and from what i have been told , think like me. But this was dashed rather quickly.

She wasn't what you ( and i do mean you.) would call a bad person. But she also wasn't worthy of pity. And pity is about as close as i come to respect, it is what separates , in my mind the victims, or rather potential victims, from those i feel no desire to destroy.

Small incidents make up your impression of a person. A dropped plate, a missed shower, nails that are too yellow , or in this case four pills sitting not quite concealed on a desk. Just four little pills, but why exactly were they there? Why weren't they in a bottle? And why did i get just a hint that the professional in front of me may be doing more than just letting idiots whine.

I wait for the entire session, making up a story from my childhood to keep her interested while i stare at the pills.

Surely, she knows i see them, and if she knows i see them then she knows i am curious. And if she knows i am curious, then why does she not say something? Unless, that is she has something to hide.

I won't try and say i had evidence of her wrongdoing, and in fact hindsight being 20/20 maybe she was innocent, but this was the start of a long process that is only just starting to be perfected.

I can't say i spent a long time thinking of how to go about it. That is yet another thing that puts me above others of my kind, no wasted months in a workshed salivating over fantasies. By the time my idea is fully formed i am taking steps to implement it.

The first was to convince her what she was doing was working. Or at least had a beneficial effect on my state of mind. Easy enough, people ,especially those trained to know others tend to try and look at the small things in order to see what your intentions and state of mind are. Those that think they have you outwitted will take a crossing of the legs as evidence of a submissive personality, a twitching foot to be an indication someone is nervous, or a flushed face to be evidence of guilt. Police , psychologists, psychics, and those that consider themselves socially aware have fooled themselves into thinking that they have a fool proof system for knowing what people don't want them to know.

The danger is, sometimes crossed legs mean nothing more than a person's ass is sore, a twitching foot may be a genetic flaw, and a flushed face could simply be an act.

" So what is it that you have found? What is it that has caused such a turn around?" She asks, my face flushing.

I tell her nothing , and i make a small cough, being careful to look at the glass of water, but not take it.

" But look at the turn around in you in the past 2 months. When you got here you were.... in a dark place let's say. " Her statement is half right, i was in a dark place. The problem is that i am bringing her with me.

I cough again and open my mouth slightly, she thinks i was going to say something but stopped. I am two steps ahead of her , she will look at me and wait for me to continue. I do, only when a few seconds have gone past. She thinks i am trying to sugar coat something, that i am working in a few half truths to make the whole truth seem better. This is good, i want her to think she is in control, total control.

" I... have been taking your advice. You know that. " I say, if she knew my real voice maybe she would laugh at the tone i am using. Or maybe she would run for the hills. Who knows.

" Yes i know this, but you said there was something you were doing that is helping your situation. I would like to know what." She says , playing a similar game with her voice. Keeping it level, soothing and monotone, when she really just wants to ask me what the hell the secret i am hiding is.

Here is the moment of truth, if what i tell her next makes her call the police, that is proof that she has nothing to hide, and that i was mistaken. I have nothing to lose, because it is a complete fabrication. If she doesn't, regardless of any moral issues about doctor patient confidentiality, then she deserves the ride through hell i have planned for her.

" Do you really want to know? I mean , isn't the actual thing i am doing less important than the effect it has on me?" I parrot what she expects to hear if i have a secret.

Truth is, if i did have one i would simply tell her in no uncertain terms what it was. People seldom believe you when you lay out something disturbing on the table.

" Somewhat, but sometimes we can pick the wrong ways to relieve stress. And this , while being
cathartic in the short term causes larger issues in the future. " That same monotone, i can tell though she is getting a bit anxious. No twitching feet needed, it is 5 minutes to the end of the session.

" Well, you said i had issues with...what did you call it?" i say.

" Narcissism, the violent fantasies you had are indicators of an inflated sense of self worth." She
says. Not that she has heard any of my actual violent fantasies, just cartoonish tripe i spun on the spot.

" Well, i was thinking that was completely right. That it is obviously wrong to hurt people in that way. " My tone is a bit happier, like a child reciting the alphabet successfully for the first time.

" Exactly, and why did we say this was wrong?" She says indulging in her own fantasy of teaching the monster that it is a monster.

" Because my wants and desires have no more weight than others wants or desires."

" Right" She says nodding, i have always hated when someone tries to show they are listening , it usually means they aren't.

" So i found a way around that." My smile, i am sure comes off as disturbed. I notice her face screw up in a most unsubtle frown, it is not the little things that tell you what a person is thinking, it is the big things.

"....Around that?" She says.

" Yes, around that. I was thinking that if people would consent to being hurt, then it would be okay, because i am not stepping on someone's wants, i am actually giving them something in exchange."

She chokes on nothing, she is probably hoping desperately that she is misunderstanding me.

" So i started offering people money to let me hurt them. Not kill them, mind you, that would be wrong, but you would be surprised how small of a fee some people are willing to accept to lose a finger."

The buzzer goes off , indicating the end of the session, i smile and hold out my hand as if i have no clue anything is wrong. she shakes it, but her hand is cold and she has no strength in her grip. I walk out of the office whistling out of tune, purposefully, of course.

As i thought, no police came to my house. And as i hoped she doesn't tell me to stop coming. She feels she has created a monster , and wants to do anything she can to fix her mistake.

Months go by, 6 to be exact, and twice a week i go into the office and tell her of my stress relieving activities. And twice a week she tries to subtly convince me that what i am doing is wrong. The best part about it is that she doesn't want to tell me she made a mistake, because that would impact the level of faith i have in her ( which i have her believing is quite high.) , and make it nearly impossible for her to rectify the mistake.

Or at least that is what the psychology texts say will happen. When someone bases their life on the ideas of others, they can be so predictable. The more she tries to "fix" me the worse i tell her i have became, and the more i tell her i appreciate everything she has done for me. And still, through none of this, through stories of animal mutilation and what could only be described as mutilation prostitution , does she do what would be the right thing ( assuming i was telling the truth.) and simply call the police.

I see it effecting her, she is not getting sleep, her appearance is suffering, and in the six months she has known me she looks aged 20 years. By the time my plan reaches the apex anyone walking into the room would assume i was the doctor and she was the patient. I will always remember our last session, i brought her a framed picture of herself from when we started our sessions. The woman in that picture would probably cross the street to avoid the woman sitting in the leather chair.

You would be surprised at what you can get a newspaper to print if you know the right thing to give the right person. Hell, if you know a broad enough spectrum of people, you can get almost anything you want. You should feel safe that very few people like me think this way.

I put the picture and a newspaper on the desk in the middle of the room. And with a yokal grin i say " read.".

I must give credit to Anthony Perkins, the fake lunatic i am playing is heavily based on his manic moments.

" Stretch's owner murdered in own house. Son to inherit small fortune." she reads , slowing down toward the end.

For those not in the know, stretch's is a local chain of restaurants. Between their excellent food, and their unintentional help, i would give them an 8/10.

" I finally figured it out. If i can benefit more than one person, it doesn't really matter if i cause
determent to only one person. That man's son is going to receive untold amounts of cash, his family will never want for anything, i can do good and what i want to do!" toward the end i feel i am hamming it up a bit , but what is the point of this if not to have a little fun.

She reaches under the cushion of the chair, and pulls out a gun, before i can say anything she draws back the hammer.

" What is going on?" i say sounding shocked.

" I failed, everything i have been told to do has failed. Every piece of information i have learned every skill i have ever had has done nothing but drive you deeper into your own twisted fantasy world. " Her soothing monotone is gone, her voice is changing pitch like a corrupted file and the gun starts shaking.

" But you didn't fail, without you i would just be hurting people at random, but you showed me, you have shown me that there has to be balance i have to do good , so that i can do what i want, you showed me that. " I say starting to plead.

Her entire body shakes as she sticks the gun to her temple. " The sad thing is , it's not your
fault. " She is on the borderline right now, she knows she can't kill another person, but she doesn't know if she can kill herself.

It is going perfectly. I stare at the gun and tense my body , i take a large obvious swallow and jump off the couch lunging for the gun.

The report is deafening, and i have to say and the streak of blood on the wall with bits of burnt bone through it is less of something i want to see, and more of an unfortunate byproduct of one of the most entertaining things i have ever done.

That night i finally do talk to the police, but not about a fictional series of pay for play torture , but about the suicide of my therapist. They offer me another, but i decline, i found exactly what i was looking for here.