Psychopathic ✔️

Chapter Nine

Sandra has started to drink. With the loss of her son, she didn't have anything to do anymore. She assumed that Frankie was dead, or was never going to be found, and so she had given up on trying to keep it together.

Kayla tried to take the alcohol away from her missing friend's mum, but the older of the two refused. Kayla couldn't keep an eye on Sandra all the time for she had school, but she still tried. But then Sandra stopped answering the door. And then she left the house completely and only came back late at night. Kayla was worried, but she feared that if she were to voice her thoughts Sandra would get upset.

And so Kayla became closer to George. She figured that she should keep on going. That even though Frankie was no longer there, it was no excuse to give up on life. She didn't want to feel as depressed and saddened as she actually was, and so she had to cope with it.

She started dating George.

Whether it was because she needed to get her mind off of Frankie or because she liked George she didn't know for herself.

[∆∆∆]

Frankie sat in the room he had been sharing with Mitch, simply not caring. He had given up on that long ago.

"You said that your mum neglected you, what about your dad?" Frankie asked, once again getting curious.

"My dad was never in my life. My mum fooled around a lot, but this time she got herself pregnant. My father was just of the many men she slept with, and so she couldn't actually tell me who my dad was because she herself had no clue." Mitch answered, unfazed by the younger boy's question. It seemed that nothing ever really bothered the man.

"Did you have any siblings?" The boy inquired, his curiosity not dying down. Mitch nodded, staring blankly at the ceiling as he was laying on his back. Frankie watched Mitch, intrigued in his past.

"I had a little sister. She was one by the time I was ten. Her name was Melissia, she was a little thing with brown curls and big brown eyes. I'm sure she would've grown up to be a nice girl, if she ever got to live that long. She died when she was two after my mum left her in the street to chase after some man she saw." Mitch, once again, seemed uncaring of his past. As though sharing it and talking about it didn't have any effect on him. As if it didn't bring back any painful memories.

Because it didn't.

Mitch had truly let go of things. He always had, and never truly cared about anything. He would always forgive people because he didn't care. He wouldn't care enough to get revenge on anyone, he had better things to do.

Instead of going to the park to play as other preteens did, he would go home to make puppets and pretend that they were his friends. Mitch didn't like the kids as his school, they were to guidable and happy. He liked it when his homemade puppets' heads would droop to the side and roll off.

Mitch especially loved to take the knife that his mother had killed herself with and stab the dolls with it.

[¶]