Darling Psycho

Bad Boy Jason

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I sat slouched in my seat, staring blankly at the whiteboard. The teacher droned on about something involving logarithms, but her voice was just a muffled sound in my mind.

Claire was two seats over, doodling hearts and stars in the margins of her notebook, head propped up on her fist as she yawned dramatically. I couldn’t focus. Not when my mind kept circling back to last night. To the window, to Jason.

It was like a stain I couldn’t scrub out. Every time I blinked, I saw it — the way his head had tipped back in that chair, his eyes shut, mouth open just enough to reveal that perfect row of white teeth. The way he’d exhaled smoke, his fingers loose around that cigarette, while that girl — that blonde girl — had knelt between his legs like she belonged there.

I knew this was wrong in every way, and yet I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it. It wasn't my first time seeing something that strange — ever since Jason started using that room. But somehow, I couldn't shake away the thoughts that clouded my mind.

I bit down on my lip, hard. It still felt wrong, lingering in my head. Like I was invading something private, something I shouldn’t have seen. And yet, the image wouldn’t go away.

My eyes shifted to the window. Outside, students milled around the quad, laughing and shouting. There was a group of girls passing around a bag of chips, one of them tossing her head back and laughing like the sky was made of gold.

I swallowed, feeling a tightness twist in my chest. Those siblings next door — Jason, Nathan, and their sister, Raelle — they were just... wrong. It wasn’t just the partying or the constant stream of strangers coming and going. It was the way they carried themselves, like nothing mattered. Like no one could touch them. And the worst part, I doubted anyone of them knew me.

Not that I wanted to be known.

My parents would kill me if they learnt that I was talking to either one of them. My mom most probably thought they were a bad influence, to which she was right. But my father, I can't say. He just didn't give a f**k about these kids.

And where the hell were their parents? What kind of parents just left three teenagers alone to do whatever the f**k they wanted? To turn a regular, suburban house into some kind of mini-nightclub?

I shifted in my seat, my jaw clenched. If my parents left me alone like that — well, they wouldn’t. They never would. They were overbearing and nosy and smothering, sure, but at least they were there.

The door swung open with a creak. I didn’t even look up at first. Just another late student, no big deal. But then the air changed.

It was the cologne that hit me first — dark, smoky, with a hint of something sharp. Like leather and sin and things that made you want to bite your lip.

I knew that scent.

My heart stumbled over itself as I glanced up, and there he was, standing in the doorway with his back against the frame. Jason.

Dark hair tousled in that messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed way. A black hoodie hung off his broad shoulders, the sleeves pushed up to reveal inked forearms. His jeans sat low on his hips, just loose enough to be indecent, and his silver watch glinted under the fluorescent light. And those lips. Soft, pink, and curved into a half-smirk, as if he knew exactly how much attention he was drawing.

My cheeks burned as memories from last night flickered behind my eyes. That girl, her head bobbing between his legs. His lazy, satisfied groan. The way his lashes fluttered as he leaned back, one hand gripping the arm of his chair.

Jason strolled in like he owned the room, eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he sauntered up to the teacher’s desk. The teacher, Ms. Monroe, stiffened immediately.

“You’re late,” she said, arms crossed, glaring up at him through her glasses. “Class started twenty minutes ago.”

Jason didn’t even look at her. Instead, he slid a note across the desk. Ms. Monroe snatched it up, her eyes scanning the paper before she huffed.

“Well, next time, don’t expect me to—”

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Jason drawled, cutting her off, his voice dripping with mock concern. A few students stifled nervous laughs.

Ms. Monroe’s face reddened, her jaw tightening. “Excuse me?”

Jason leaned forward, resting both hands on the desk, his eyes fixed on her. “You heard me. Or is that a problem? You know, considering my dad is the one keeping this place running and paying your salary and all.”

The room fell dead silent. Ms. Monroe’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Wait? It was Jason's dad who was paying what now? That couldn't possibly be true, could it?

Jason just smirked, pushing off the desk and heading to the back of the room. He dropped into a seat in the far corner, one leg stretched out, his head tipping back against the wall as if he was ready to take a nap.

I swallowed, my throat dry. The tension in the room was so thick you could’ve cut it with a knife. What the hell was that?

I wasn’t the only one staring. Practically every head in the room had turned to look at him, eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear and fascination. Jason just lifted his head, eyes sweeping over the room before locking onto me.

And when he caught me staring, he smirked, his lips curling up at the corners.

“What the f**k are y’all looking at?” he said, his voice calm, almost bored.

I forced myself to look away, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. But his scent lingered in the air, dark and smoky, curling around me like a secret I wasn’t supposed to know.