Home > Phychopath, sociopath > Marissa Act 3

Marissa Act 3

It was stupid of me, I know, but I couldn’t stop stewing inside over the fact that Peter was fucking that boring bitch Rhoda while ignoring me. Men never ignore me! It was a new experience and I wasn’t enjoying it. The frustration grew within me, and grew and grew until it almost occupied my whole life. I know it was stupid. I know that I should have just picked up another guy and it would be over.

At that ad agency where I was sent as a temp, there was a senior vice-president who looked a lot like Paul Newman. Really – believe it or not. So I decided to fuck him and I did. He took me to a really nice hotel suite where we showered together and had as much sex as a forty-year-old married man could deliver. In the shower, before and after the sex, we lathered each other, caressed each other and it was really fine. Very nice, and the guy was a generous lover as well, and really loved eating me, which was great, of course. There was only one thing wrong. It didn’t work. I was still tortured with frustration over Peter’s insulting rejection and his preference for that Rhoda bitch.

I used to date a cop, an old guy who was a detective inspector. I knew he’d run to me if I asked him to. I got him into my bed that afternoon, and I showed him a real good time. His last good time. As usual, he fell asleep after I’d fucked him dry. I went over to the chair where he’d thrown his clothes and stuff and took his gun out of the holster that hung on his belt. It was a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver and it was loaded with six live bullets.

I walked over to the bed and got my pillow which I wrapped around the gun to muffle the bang. Up close to the old guy’s face, I blew his life away. I went into the shower, refreshed myself and dressed for the office.

About ten that morning Peter came in and went to his office. I watched from the secretary pool to see if he crossed the hall to Rhoda’s office or Rhoda to his office. Sure enough, it was less than fifteen minutes until he went to Rhoda’s office. I took the gun out of my purse – nobody noticed, of course – and got up from my desk. I walked straight down the hall and turned at Rhoda’s office. She and Peter were chatting when I appeared at the doorway. They both turned to look at me.

I stepped up to Rhoda, too close to miss and blew her face away with her life. Peter was, of course, frozen with disbelief. He tried to knock my gun hand aside, but I dodged his swing and shot him in the heart. When I walked back to the secretarial pool they were all freaking out and running down the other hall away from me.

I had given a lot of thought to where to put my bullet. I didn’t want to ruin my face or my hair, so that ruled out anything like the gun in my mouth or something. I also didn’t want to ruin my lovely boobs. In the end, I sat down at my desk and snuggled the .38 under my left boob and put the bullet through my heart as I did through Peter’s heart.

I guess it’s true after all that there’s no difference between a psychopath and a sociopath. I never felt I was a psychopath who would use violence, but I knew I was a sociopath because I never cared, really, about anyone or anything. I wish I could have cared about the loved ones of the people I’ve killed… but I couldn’t so I didn’t.

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