I am Oliver Sykes and I am an Evil Psychopath

I take a long swig from a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, original flavor. None of that L’Orange or Le Citron crap. No Beach Bum or Kiwi Fizz. Nothing compares to a delicious, plain bottle of Grey Goose cradled in my left arm. I scroll through my Iphone with my right hand, my thumb hovering over a rather favorable contact of mine, though one I try to keep from talking to. She wasn’t my girlfriend anymore, there was no point. But it didn’t stop me from staring at her smiling little icon, mocking me with such intolerable scrutiny. Setting my phone beside me, on a small table with a glass top, I stare up at the endless blue sky, a rather rare sight in Sheffield. Or just England in general.

Oskar is pottering around in the backyard, eyeballing the pool and then making his way over to a patch of grass before taking a huge shit. I begin wondering how something so scrawny can leave a steaming pile of crap so damn big. A sigh flutters out of my mouth as I realize, I’m going to have to pick up that shit later on. I adjust myself on the white chair I am in, one of those elongated chairs that overly-tanned, blonde bimbos rest themselves on when they go to a public pool, and lay on my side.

My Iphone suddenly begins vibrating, and I reach over for it, tapping my hand around for the thing without actually looking. At first, I can’t see what I am reading, eyes bleary from lack of blinking. A weird habit I have of doing without realizing it. Not blinking, that is.

A text from Nicholls:

hay fuckhead meet me n tommy at the plug tonight
8pm

Next thing I know, I am standing in line, staring at a woman with the biggest tits I think I have ever set my eyes upon. I can’t stop looking at them, it’s as if they are looking right back.

Hey, Oli. We could probably crush your head, wanna try? Just stick your dumb old noggin’ in-between us and we can find out. We aren’t real you know. She had us implanted two months ago.

Nicholls’ arm is wrapped around this big tittied woman’s shoulders, smiling and laughing at the right moments, nuzzling her neck, doing all the works. He planned on getting laid tonight, and I wasn’t going to stop him. My brother, Tom, is off to the side, sort of standing hunkered and awkward, he never really opens up until he gets a few drinks into his system. He has never been a social butterfly, usually doing his photography thing or sketching. Not that this bothered me, I quite admire his skills at both. I keep myself rather subdued, snagging glances around me from time to time before returning to the heaving breasts standing in front of me. She doesn’t notice, since her eyes are completely focused on Nicholls, probably wetting herself already. I’m sure they are going to skip the drinks and go straight to any place where they can find privacy.

The line slowly inches forward, since most people are in huge cluster-fucks, mostly young girls made up these groups, giggling and grinning at each other, bobbing their heads up and down like a Jesus bobble-head stuck to a dashboard.

A smirk climbs its way onto my face. Maybe tonight I could get my fix. The very thought almost makes me weak at the knees.

God bless the runaways and neglected females.

We are standing in a haze, lights flashing, green, blue and red beams cut through the crowds like blades. As I had expected, Nicholls and big tits have wandered and hidden themselves away somewhere. Now it is up to me and Tom to find our way to the bar, I’m twitchy for some whiskey, I nudge my brother and nod toward the crowd of people, rows upon rows of alcohol resting on ledges and a male bartender preparing drinks. The both of us make ourselves comfortable between two separate groups of people, neither taking any interest in us and nattering away with each other.

A Frisco Sour and a Nervous Breakdown I call out to the bartender, he nods and begins working on our drinks.

There’s a tap at my shoulder, I spin around. A girl with pin straight brown hair, split in the center so she has no fringe or side swipe, stares up at me with massive hazel eyes. Her eyebrows are furrowed together and she is nibbling on her bottom lip, she shakes her head, and slowly begins to back away.

I grab her arm before she does. I ask her what she wanted.

“Nothing! I thought you were someone I knew,” she screams over the booming music and wrenches her arm free before disappearing into the folds of moving people.

She wasn't that interesting looking anyway, and I shrug at Tom, who is staring at me with a quizzical look on his mug. He slightly shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips before he returns his gaze to our awaiting drinks. Quickly, he knocks his back, more than likely going to get one-step-away-from-vomiting drunk and then return to his flat he shares with Nicholls, before passing out. It was a usual routine of his, he never really liked hooking up with random girls. He'd rather "get to know them" as he puts it.

I, on the other hand, was on the prowl. There is a practice in hunting for broken, empty women who are looking for a one night escape, anything to ignore the pain and blah blah blah. I didn't care about their life stories, I just wanted to make sure they would have no one looking for them after thirty-six hours. That they didn't matter to anyone and I wouldn't get caught.

Ah, there was one, secluded to the wall, staring at everyone with vacant eyes, a down-turned mouth, clutching a drink in her left hand. She wasn't enjoying herself and she was making it blatantly obvious, pulling the I'm-sad-and-depressed act. I wiggle my over to her, and lean against the wall, taking a nonchalant sip of my drink. The girl ignores me, I lean in closer and ask if she wants to dance.

She slides her eyes over to me then back over to the people dancing, back to me, back to the dancing, back to me, back to the dancing, back to me. She presses her soft, glossy lips to my ear and says, "Sure."

Before long we are dry-humping each other, squished between sweaty bodies and her hands are sliding down her breasts, sides and hips to wear my hands rest. Her mess of bleach blonde hair is dampened from my breathing and the water bottles that are burst open by random people in the crowd. Her ass feels great against my crotch and I can already sense a hard on in the future. She twists herself around, like a snake wrapping around its prey and slithers her tongue down my throat. I force back the revulsion and continue our sloppy, tongue-filled kiss.

A half hour later we are on our way to my house, practically having sex in the backseat of the cab, the cabdriver literally screams at me to give him his money before we stumble out and he roars off. But I don't care, I'm horny, drunk and sticky with sweat.

She's ripping my clothes off as we crawl our way onto my nicely made bed, she is biting my lower lip and rubbing dick with one of her hands. I'm hard as fuck and she keeps squeezing my shaft, and all other thoughts are drained from my mind as I think about burying myself into her. She pulls maddeningly at my hair, kissing my neck and collarbone and slowly making her way down my stomach. Teasing me with flicking her tongue on the tip and then working her way back up to my neck and lips.

My knife lays between the mattress and box-spring, I remember this as she whispers in my ear, "I only give handjobs."

With one swift motion, I grab the weapon and bring it hard down onto the spot between her neck and shoulder, just behind the collarbone. Blood splatters onto my face, a smile spreading. Her mouth is gaped open, her lips look puffy and strange to me and I am fascinated by them.

I didn't know who she was, pulling out the knife, and neither did I care right now, pushing her onto her back, I would find out later, stabbing deeply into her gut, I think I am going to have to burn this bed too.