Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

His masked voice was like a breeze through the trees.
“Why?”
“Because I’m sick,” he answered.
What? No one was that self-aware. Especially
psychopaths.
He took my upper arms, and I stiffened as he pulled me up,
both of us standing again.
He moved in, his shirt brushing my arms. “Because I can’t
feel guilt, sadness, anger, or shame as strongly as I can feel
fear anymore, and there’s no stronger fear than when I scare
myself.” He brushed a tear off my face, and I jerked away. “I
never know quite what I’ll do,” he finished.
Everything he said sounded like a threat, only worse. As if
he had zero control over himself, and he was just as much a
victim in this as me.
Fuck you.
I shoved his body again, and my nails caught his neck as I
kicked and yelled for help.
But he grabbed my wrists and spun me around, circling me
with his arms like a steel band. My own arms were pinned as
his breath fell on my ear.
“Save your strength,” he told me.
But it was gone. My knees buckled and he fell with me,
both of us crouched on the floor on our knees, his hold
keeping me from falling forward.
I put my hands on the wall, my head bowed as I tried to get
my head clear.
But that’s when I noticed the chill seeping through my
jeans. And the faint scent of chlorine. His bottoms were damp
from the pool.
“I smell the pool on you,” I told him, my voice
strengthening a little. “You were at the party. Lots of people.
Lots of witnesses. They will find you.”