8 A Psychopath's Crime 'Sin'

Chapter Eight: A Psychopath's Crime 'Sin'

Alexander's POV

The words of the people around me were muffled, I could hardly hear a thing as I was consumed by my own thinkings. The screen set before me faded into my oblivion, as the only thing I could see was her face. The jittery smile that formed upon those luscious lips when something amused her, and the feral glare that overtook her countenance when she was offended — that was all I could think of.

"Mr. Norman sir," a solemn and stiff voice called. "Now that our plans have been presented to you, what do you think?"

"Sorry?" I asked, finding the source of the words with my eyes. He was a pale balding man with hollow cheeks. His hair face was as white as his hair and he looked sickly. Almost dead. "Perhaps you might like to be a bit... Clearer with hour words," I said.

"About our proposal, would you like—"

"Yes yes," I said, cutting him off. "My secretary will look into it deeply and you shall be contacted if need be."

"Mr Elvis, please do the necessary," I instructed him, looking behind me.

"And how about you sir? You won't look into the matter yourself?"

I gave him a famous Norman stare and walked out of the conference room, tailed by my secretary who always caught up with me with his long legs and amble steps.

"Were you even paying attention?" Divine accosted, stopping me in my tracks. "What is all this about?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked with a deep sigh.

"This," he said. "You're distracted. You've been distracted."

"By what exactly?" I said raising my tone.

"I don't know," he declared. "Maybe it might have to do with the new cleaner in your office."

"What are you implying?"

"Your demeanour," he told me. "It has changed a lot. You are even struggling to keep up with your ruse of showing no emotions towards everything."

"It is anything but a ruse!" I said with a glare. "Now leave me be and look into that old man from the meeting." I commanded

"If you'll excuse me," I finally said after a minute of tense silence.

"See what I mean? Get yourself together Xander," he said walking away with a teasing smile. "You're acting like a school boy in denial."

As I stared at his retreating figure, I could not help but think about her. The girl who clouded my daydreams. My mind wandered to the last time we conversed or rather argued— three days ago.

With a heavy heart, I wobbled in the direction of my office and opened the door. There she was— holding a glass photo frame in her hand. From behind, I could see a smile taking over her facial features. At the sound of the door and my footsteps, it fell to the floor— the glass pieces shattering and scattering everywhere around her. She turned round slowly, her expression turned into that of dread and dismay. "Mr. Norman sir," she stammered, lowering her head into a bow. "I shall clean this up very quickly sir."

"What are you doing here?" I asked in a whisper.

"I uh, happened to leave something here," her voice was also a whisper— although, a shaky one.

"I see," I muttered. "Well, did you find it?" I inquired.

"I just did," she smiled. "I'll uh, get to cleaning this."

"Okay," I said, walking over to the chair behind my desk. I sat and crossed my legs, watching her as she returned with a broom, and as she bent to pick of shards of glass. As she tended to her duties, I noticed a splatter of blood on the floor. And another.

I rushed over to her side and squatted, grabbing her left hand. She looked at me like I was insane and raised her eyebrows, "Why are you holding my hand?" She questioned.

"You're bleeding," I stated the obvious.

"Oh," she muttered, looking at me the same way a person will regard someone who is spouting gibberish from their mouth. She looked down at her palm, which hand been sliced open by glass. "Oh," she mumbled again.

"How did you not feel it?" I asked raising her palm to my lips. I kissed the wound and sucked up the surface blood only to feel a painful sting at the back of my head.

"That's nasty," she giggled. "Would have been sweet if we were a couple."

"Right," I laughed. "Only if we were."

"Normans technology had finally updated their bots," she grinned. "You're laughing, and it sounds... Real."

I was hoping for a better compliment than real but still I gave her another smile. I was glad that we were actually talking casually— in a friendly way. "Come," I said lifting her up from the ground. "I'd have someone clean this up."

"Um," she licked her lips— unaware of what that was doing to me. "In that case I should be off."

She offered a small smile and walked to the door. That was when I noticed that she looked quite dressed up. I had been too carried away by here mere presence to pay attention to the black off shouldered short and tight dress she wore paired with silver stilettos. Her face was also covered in make up.

My hands— on impulse held info her shoulders, and soon enough, they were pulling her closer to me. The fingers of my right hand latched onto her waist while my left hand grabbed her neck and pulled her in. Like a magnet close to ferrous metal, our lips collided hungrily, our tongues searched for something intangible.

I trailed my kisses down her neck, biting and sucking hungrily — yet never getting enough. My hands explored beneath her dress, until they were below her eager mounds of fats on her chest.

"Mr. Norman I have been—"

We jumped apart immediately, both of us heaving. "What is it?" I asked, irritated.

My secretary smiled and walked out of the office not before shouting, "Seems like you're having dinner already."

"I should leave," Alexandria said biting her lips. A small blush coating her cheeks. "I have a..."

"Date I presume?"

"Something like that," she muttered looking down at the exposed part of her chest where a bruise was forming. She adjusted her dress— pulling it down at the bottom while also adjusting it at the top. She looked at the floor, where broken glass lay and chuckled softly, "I uh, damaged company's property."

"Personal property, not company's," I corrected. "I shall pardon this."

"Thanks," she mumbled, going close to the door.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes," she said, pulling out a wired rusty ring from her purse. "I did."

"And of what significance is that piece of revolting metal—"

"Stop," her voice hardened. "Don't you dare—" she cut herself off. "I don't expect you to understand," she concluded.

"I see," I nodded. "Do you always wear it?"

"Most of the time," she answered.

"Your hand is still dropping blood," I noted, as I saw red blood spatters on the floor. "Allow me to—"

"I must go now," she replied hastily. "Goodbye sir."

The door clicked shut moments later and I looked at the mess on the floor which resembled abstract art. Just imagine: shattered glass surrounded by blood splashes.

I walked over to an office cabinet and unlocked it with my fingerprint. I brought out a camera hidden amongst several documents and took a picture of it. I was going to print it and frame it. Not to mention, have it painted only with an extra detail.

A man and a woman whose hand dropped blood being so 'passionate' in an office, quite indifferent to their somewhat messy surroundings.

I smiled as I pressed the intercom, summoning a cleaner to clear everything up. She was one of the older staffs and looked very surprised when she saw me.

"Is anything wrong?" I questioned.

"You're smiling," she stated, after minutes of opening and closing ber mouth repeatedly like a fish taking on oxygen from the water.

"And that is supposed to be wrong?" I asked, elevating a brow.

"Not at all sir," she muttered. One look at the floor and back at my face made her clutch ber chest as she gasped. "Oh dear, what have you done?"

With a puzzled look, I stared at the floor and at my partially bloodied hands. I turned round and looked at my appearance in the reflecting glass of my cabinets. There were lipstick smudges and blood on my white shirt.

I bit my lip as I analyzed the situation. I imagined walking into a room and seeing that mess on the floor, with a smiling young man having all "that" on his attire yet there was no other person in the room.

It was the perfect crime scene for a psychopath.

Or rather— crime 'sin'

For the first time in my thirty two years of existence, the only explanation I could come to with was: It is not what it looks like.