Psycho Devils (Cruel Shifterverse, #5)

by Jasmine Mas

Yes, my aesthetic was mental illness; no, I didn’t want to talk about it.

I’d been fine when I first got back to the room, if you defined fine as a state of being in perpetual agony and manically hallucinating. The delusion was that I thought I was fine. It was a vicious cycle. Truly traumatic.

What did you call a murderer who didn’t want to kill? A coward or a bad bitch? I couldn’t decide which.

My shoulders ached from carrying the weight of being the coolest person at the academy.

I was no man’s princess. However, I was a whore. Being a slut wasn’t a title, it was a lifestyle.

Each day last week I’d woken up and said my morning affirmation: “I am the victim.”

Mentally, I was a slut. Physically, I was terrified of intimacy. Spiritually, I didn’t like men.

As he gently washed me, my will to live went from negative ten to five. It was an improvement, but the scale was out of one hundred.

My new aesthetic was cozy, drug-dependent swamp monster. Not to brag, but I nailed the look.

Physically, I was hideous. Mentally, I was worse. Spiritually, I was a slut. So basically everything evened itself out and I was thriving.

I’d said it before, and I’d say it again: men were deranged, and they should all be shot. On sight. No questions asked.

Now John popped up above me and pulled my fingers gently away from my lip. He nudged my shoulder and asked, “What does the Greek symbol ligma stand for?” I raked through my knowledge of the Greek alphabet. I couldn’t recall anything. “I don’t know. What?” John’s smile was blinding. “Ligma balls.”