Page 17 of Darling Psycho

God, she hated how he still affected her, even when she hated him.

The dream was always the same. She watched him dragged away by the cops, and instead of a blank face as was the reality, he smirked at her as if glad to be leaving.

She was so sick and twisted how a dream that traumatizing to her heart would still turn her on.

It was because of him.

The longing was so intense she felt breathless as she rolled onto her side, disgusted with her stupid brain for putting him into her subconscious.

She did great during the daytime hours, not even giving Lawless a thought.

She rode around in his car. She lived in his cabin and ate the food he bought and used the power he paid for, but yeah, sure, she didn’t think about him at all...

But at night, it was as if her demons wanted to play with the biggest deviant of all and conjured him up in dream form.

She couldn’t have a sex dream like an average person. That would be too pedestrian, of course. So instead, she replayed one of only two traumatic times in her life, watching him being taken away. Leaving her behind.

After twenty minutes of trying to go back to sleep, she pushed herself up into a sitting position against the headboard.

Her heart was a glutton for all things Lawless and punishing herself because she’d moved on from that stupid hero-worshipping crush. Her heart needed to realize that.

And so did her sexual organs as they tightened and made her wet between her legs.

She was mad at herself.

Mad at him.

But it didn’t stop Angela from slipping off her shorts or from reaching into the nightstand for the vibrator.

Her life was full, bursting at the seams busy some days.

But at night, it was only her and him.

The monster who owned her dreams and made her legs shake as she started the vibrator and weaved the deranged fantasy in her head.

It never took long, and she hated him for that, too. It was as though all her nerve endings were tuned to his frequency, and when she moaned from low in her throat, with her stomach tight and needy, she arched her back, feeling full inside and still empty when the orgasm washed through her body.

She was lonely.

Ugh, she should bring a man home and fuck the guy inhisbed.

Let him use one of those black lights to see her fun all over the walls.

But what would that do, huh?

She’d be punishing a phantom.

The Lawless in her head cared about her, who wanted her now she was grown.

That was a big fat joke, and she stomped out of bed, cursing and muttering to herself while she cleaned up and washed the damn vibrator, leaving it on the counter to dry.

The monster wanted nothing to do with her.

She knew this categorically after writing fifty-nine letters to him in prison, begging for his reply, praying with all her little girl feelings on display for him. Only receiving one back telling her to forget him, to get on with her life. She’d read that letter so much, cried each time, too. But, of course, she’d been a dumb, lost kid, and she missed him worse than ever.

But she was no longer the same naïve, worshipping girl, and she had too much life shit to work through to let her dark, twisted sexual fantasies over a man who didn’t want to her derail her.

When she came out of the bathroom, Oscar was sitting up at the foot of the bed, cleaning his paw, staring at her with accusatory eyes, like he knew of her weakness. “Don’t give me that look,” she huffed, climbing in. “it was necessary to get him out of my head, so let’s not talk about it again. Goodnight, Oscar.”