"Psychopaths do not have a soulmate."
***
"You must find your soulmate, Law," Hazelle implores, her gaze fixed on her friend as he extinguishes his cigarette, feigning deep attention. The atmosphere today is peculiar, with a cold undertone juxtaposed with scattered traces of warmth. Hazelle has resolved to be forthright and resolute, finally setting Law free. She understands that he resists it, comprehends his reasons, yet she no longer wishes to tether him to her side. He deserves to embark on his own path without her.
"I don't need anyone, Haze. I've made this clear to you," he asserts, his voice maintaining an unsettling serenity. Law's response is unwavering, his eyes squinting against the brightness of the sky. From the rooftop, the city sprawls before them, its allure softened by a surplus of radiance, even on this overcast day. Despite the outward appearance, Hazelle discerns the tempest churning within him.
"I know. But you can't linger with me indefinitely. We both know it didn't work out between us," she explains gently.
"Haze, please," he pleads, his gaze filled with desperation and pain. He clings to the cigarette between his lips, as if to suppress the anguish or to anchor himself, ensuring the cigarette won't fall. His voice maintains an eerie composure, but Hazelle knows a storm is raging inside him.
Having come to know Law intimately, she recognizes the facade he adopts — the composed demeanor masking internal chaos. She had taught him this artifice, the skill of maintaining poise amidst inner turmoil. "It is in your best interest," she insists, her words carrying a blend of longing and reverence. "I cannot love you, Law. Though I wish to remain silent now, I cannot bear witnessing your suffering. And out of respect for you, I must set you free."
"I care not," he retorts, shaking his head. His gaze, severe and frosty, endeavours to penetrate Hazelle's mind, to decipher her thoughts. Yet, Law knows the futility of this endeavour, and he presses on: "Let us leave these memories behind. It is over. You are merely a human, akin to others. And I, too, possess the knowledge of what is best for me, Haze." As he extinguishes his cigarette, he prepares to articulate his thoughts. Hazelle, as always, listens attentively, while Law believes she is momentarily lost among the clouds, feigning attentiveness.
"For once, have faith in me, Haze. I do not ask for your love. Allow me to demonstrate my strength, which you perceive as a weakness. That is the one request I make of you — allow me to be your friend, at the very least."
"I do not wish for you to suffer," she responds, her voice firm. "As I mentioned before, you lose yourself in my presence, and that is unjust." Silence ensues, as expected. Hazelle directs her gaze to Law's hands, those cherished appendages that seek solace in the embrace of another cigarette, as if one were insufficient.
"We should cease our meetings for a while. You must discover your own happiness, as must I," she concludes. Hazelle surveys the vista before her, the miniature buildings that resemble dollhouses. If given the power, she would obliterate it all without a second thought. Her internal void, though inconsequential to her, serves as a source of desolation. She yearns to experience something — to encounter the tempestuous maelstrom that accompanies intense love, a sensation capable of compelling one to self-sacrifice or harm. Perhaps she could compensate for her lack thereof by embracing destruction. But would Hazelle be able to feel something?
Which key unlocks the depths of her inner world? Why is she the sole individual denied the privilege of self-reflection?
Hazelle's mind is ceaselessly besieged by these ruminations, akin to a toxic maelstrom permeating every fibre of her being. Each contemplation, each attempt to introspect, manifests as a relentless assault on her senses, inflicting excruciating headaches. The exploration of her inner world is a forbidden territory, its borders guarded by nerves that reverberate with each desperate endeavour to delve deeper. Despite the anticipated anguish, Hazelle remains resolute, poised to discover her true self, even if the price exacted is high.
"Just..." she starts, but a pained expression crosses her face as she instinctively clutches her head, a familiar throbbing announcing the onset of yet another assault. It is not an ailment afflicting her, but rather an innate disposition of her enigmatic mind — a lamentable configuration of her neural architecture.
Law rushes to her side, offering his shoulder as a steady support. He is a constant presence in Hazelle's tumultuous life, never absent for a single moment. Yet, as much as she appreciates his unwavering presence, she recognizes the necessity of releasing him from her grasp.
Hazelle remains grateful to Law, despite the inherent difficulty he encounters in comprehending her cryptic expressions. She is acutely aware of the wounds her words inflict upon him, piercing his heart with their sharpness. Nonetheless, he persists, displaying remarkable patience in the belief that his steadfastness will bridge the emotional chasm between them.
But in truth, that bridge remains elusive.
The pain that festers within Law's heart impedes his ability to convey the profound joy Hazelle brings him. It remains a dormant ache, preventing him from fully expressing the depth of his happiness.
Thus, Hazelle musters the strength to sever her connection with Law, leaving him to grapple with his thoughts. As he clings to a third cigarette, inhaling deeply and imprisoning the acrid smoke within his lungs, the atmosphere mirrors the overcast sky — a shroud of fog veiling the cityscape, obscuring all visibility. Left alone with his introspections, Law contemplates his next move, his shattered heart serving as a painful reminder of his current state. "To hell with the notion of soulmates," he mutters, his voice laced with frustration. Violently expelling the smoke from his lungs, he runs his hands through his dishevelled hair. His gaze, vacant and detached, fixates upon the indifferent cityscape, lost in a labyrinth of contemplation. The ache in his chest persists, an enigma he struggles to decipher.
"You cannot fathom the anguish your words inflict upon me, Haze," he whispers, his voice laden with the weight of his emotions.
Hazelle possesses cerebral faculties akin to those of a psychopath. At the tender age of eighteen, following an incident at her graduation, her parents sought medical consultation, presenting the doctor with images of her brain. They expressed concerns over Hazelle's apparent indifference toward violence and the suffering of others, her seeming inability to experience remorse or compassion. Observing her peculiar demeanor within social circles and her perpetual withdrawal, psychologists recommended her admission to state hospitals for a precise course of treatment. During this period, Father Hazelle's closest confidant, a distinguished psychiatrist, and scientist, embarked upon a meticulous examination of Hazelle's brain, aiming to unearth an accurate diagnosis.
Empathy, guilt, and moral judgment are born from the ventromedial prefrontal cortex. Studies of people with bilateral damage to this structure show that it is significant for the emotional experience of difficult moral situations. In psychopaths, the dysfunction occurs exactly in this structure, or, to be more precise, in connections with the emotional center of the brain — the amygdala.
As a result, it turned out that psychopaths have poorly developed amygdalas. Such people mentally understand what is "bad" and what is "good," but they do not care. The amygdala does not command the brain, "Pay attention to this!" They do not care about anything. That's why, as eyewitnesses assure, they often have those blank eyes.
Hazelle's circumstance mirrors this pattern, albeit with a crucial distinction: she possesses a measure of self-control uncommon among psychopaths. Nevertheless, even this tenuous restraint presents challenges, as each attempt at normalcy triggers debilitating headaches.
In excess of sixty dissimilarities distinguish the brains of psychopaths from those considered neurotypical. This condition manifests in a plethora of structural and functional irregularities. Psychopaths exhibit heightened amygdala activity when confronted with scenarios they perceive as unjust, engendering volatile responses. Diminished activity within the anterior islet cortex, responsible for modulating guilt, further compounds the disorder. Moreover, reduced connectivity between the ventromedial prefrontal cortex and the amygdala culminates in diminished emotional regulation and empathy. These transformative alterations contribute to the fragility of moral frameworks in psychopathic individuals.
Psychopaths also exhibit a diminished capacity for emotional recognition and processing. The dorsomedial prefrontal cortex, orbitofrontal cortex, and anterior insular cortex, crucial in the comprehension of emotions, demonstrate reduced activity within this population. Consequently, psychopaths encounter considerable difficulties in navigating the intricate tapestry of the social realm and its myriad nuances. Furthermore, they lack the concept of soulmates.
Indeed, the inability to recognize and comprehend emotions inhibits the quest for a soulmate. To attain emotional maturity, conscious adulthood, and the pursuit of familial bonds, individuals necessitate a counterpart in this vast world. Afflictions akin to Hazelle's are exceptionally rare, one might venture to claim they occur once in two billion, if not less frequently. Given the divergent functioning of their brains, psychopaths remain incapable of discerning yearning, sorrow, grief, or love. Consequently, they maintain an absence of longing for a soulmate, devoid of the capacity to experience affection or amorous attachment.
Regrettably, medical science and therapeutic interventions offer little respite for this condition. Experts advocate for continuous support and vigilance to prevent individuals afflicted by this condition from engaging in perilous acts. Alternatively, one must await the fortuitous encounter with a soulmate, as their emotional influence possesses the potential to restore equilibrium within the psychopath's mind — a most desirable outcome.
Soulmates embody the remarkable ability to heal and complement one another, especially when one partner grapples with affliction or ailment. In such instances, the suffering experienced by one soulmate elicits profound distress within the other, igniting a search for solace and restoration, as traditional medical interventions prove impotent in addressing these matters. Consequently, one is left with naught but the passage of time or the serendipitous discovery of the soulmate. Yet, these notions remain firmly ensconced within the realm of theory.
Hazelle thought her soulmate was Law, who had always stayed close, ever since high school. She thought their strong bond meant they were bound by fate, but her affliction wasn't healed. The doctors themselves weren't even sure if a soulmate could cure a psychopath, because they encountered it very, very rarely. Everything they could say was — "let's hope that it can be cured". Her father's friend, the doctor who examined her at the time, said that for someone like Hazelle, it was better to give up and live her life alongside her parents and friends, and try to live a normal life because she would never be able to find her soulmate. The reason for it is clear.
However, Hazelle didn't think of giving up; she did not want to think that she would be the only one who had to live with this injustice. She did not want to believe that she would be the only one who would have to suffer it, so she tried to lure Law to her. Hazelle had seduced him when she first met him and he didn't mind.
Law was fascinated by her from the very beginning, one could say it was love at first sight because Hazelle stood out among people, she was unconventional and didn't fit in with the social world. He liked that and wanted to appropriate her for himself, also to seduce her and keep her. He was very excited when Hazelle took steps toward him. He thought he would never be that happy again.
Their first kiss transpired amidst the backdrop of Law's graduation, where he basked in the glory of his forensic science degree, aspiring to ascend the ranks as a prosecutor. To some extent, he had chosen this vocation in the hope that it would cast him in a light that Hazelle would find alluring and see him as a true man. However, on that fateful night atop a Parisian high-rise, they were confronted with the disconcerting realization that their union was awry. Hazelle, devoid of emotion, evoked an icy void that enveloped their kiss, impervious to even the most eloquent of literary descriptions. With her own hands, she froze Law's heart, as if to cling to him yet simultaneously repel him. As if to keep him loving her, but at the same time as if to keep him from crossing boundaries. Law knew all this bitterness for the first time, this unpleasant residue had haunted him all his life. But he could not leave Hazelle, even though she held him, as if he was a faithful dog.
It was solely upon her shoulder that Law could unabashedly surrender to tears, for she was the sole entity capable of comprehending his innermost depths. The irony was palpable, of course, for Hazelle, as a psychopath bereft of empathy, embodied an incongruity that defied explanation. However, this incongruity bore no consequence to Law, for she held the esteemed position of his first love.
Yet now, he stands resolute in his conviction that he possesses a solitary opportunity — an ultimate gambit — to win her over. Failing this, he resigns himself to an existence of solitude, condemned to traverse the vast expanse of eternity bereft of companionship.