Author's Note: This is the sequel to 'My Monster'. While it's recommended to read that one first, you can also start with this one. If you choose the latter option, I strongly suggest you avoid reading people's comments to avoid spoilers.

DEDICATED TO Abyss-of-Crazy FOR THE AMAZING COVER.

***

Chapter One: I Hate That Man-Whore

He grunts deep in his throat and it's over.

Thank God, I was getting bored.

Without a word, I roll off of him and onto my back reaching over for my phone to check the time. I'm one of those rare girls who doesn't need much to reach satisfaction. No longer horny, my only thought is how fast I can get this guy out of here. I only just met him, I don't know how old he is, what he does for a living and I can't even remember his name.

"That was ama —" he starts. Ah, we have ourselves a talker

I lift up a finger in the air. "Shhh..." I need quiet.

I've become a pro at getting rid of men.

I used to look at my phone and swear, saying that my boyfriend is on his way. Most of them would pick up any of their clothes that they could find and run.

Until that one tough dude who flexed his muscles and said, "Yeah, let's meet that boyfriend of yours."

Then I changed it from 'my boyfriend' to 'my mom'. That worked better, they ran faster.

Until that bright-eyed doofus who said, "It's okay, I can meet your mom."

It became 'my dad is coming' for a while, and that worked fine. But my dad passed away a few years ago and every time I mentioned him it made me sad.

So, by the time I was twenty, I stopped lying to these nameless men. I went for the truth, and that one works wonders. Gotta love the truth.

I busy myself with my phone. I don't really use it for anything but hook-up apps and reading. I transferred some PDFs with learning materials for anatomy and histology which I read in my down time. I'm starting med-school next fall, and I like being that girl in class who just seems to already know it all. Sleeping with random dudes is the pinnacle of my social life and I make these sessions as brief as I can. That leaves a whole lot of time for studying.

"Sophie?" he says after a while.

I don't look up. "You're still here?"

"Uh...."

I sigh and put my phone down. "I need you to leave."

"But —"

I meet his gaze, my eyes are hard and cold. "Leave."

He arches his eyebrows but crawls out of my bed without comment, gathering up his clothes and dressing. When he's done, he looks at me over his shoulder. I'm back to reading on my phone. "I guess I'll be seeing you around?" he asks.

Seriously?

"Probably not," I say drily. I used to keep a few 'call me for sex' guys around, but after a while they always become high maintenance. While this one is displaying sticky qualities, there are many men who're thankful for my attitude and accept the way I do things without complaint.

Some would think that my way of life is depressing, void of feeling any emotions and in no way pursuing love. But what I love is sex, not the people I do it with.

I'm sure others would wonder why, if all I'm looking for is pleasure, do I even bother with flesh and blood men when there are so many tools these days that can replace them?

Because this is the only type of human interaction which I enjoy. It's like a compass for me. Humanity? Third door to the right. If I shut that door forever, I'll have nothing left.

That's me, Sophie Green, normal enough to not alarm anyone, but deep inside, I'm 69.8% a sociopath. I live with myself just fine.

He closes the door of my room behind him and I hear him chatting with my roommates for a bit before leaving.

A text message from 'DOUCHEBAG' appears on my screen.

Wanna watch a movie? it says.

I half-smile, open the message so he'll see I read it, type three random letter so he'll see I'm typing and then I go back to reading without sending anything.

He loves it when I torture him.

***

It's my last semester of college, which is a good thing. But when it comes to schedule, this semester sucks. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have a big break in my classes after the morning class. It's not long enough to go home and take a nap and it's too early to eat lunch. But that's not enough to make me hate Tuesdays and Thursdays. I use this time to study, which is what I need to do whenever I'm not looking after my bodily needs.

I just have three problems.

They're called Kathleen, Prisha and Mari. They're a group of geeky, shy, overachiever girls taking pre-med too who have adopted me as their pet sociopath. It started on Freshmen year, out of nowhere, they began sitting next to me in class, studying next to me in the library, sitting around me during lunch. They talk among themselves, they save a seat for me wherever they go and they've never noticed that I barely speak to them, don't ever meet with them outside school and have never invited them to my house. I tried to avoid them at first, but after a while that became too much work. Plus, it's useful to have a good seat saved for me everywhere. They don't seem to want anything in return and this helps me keep up a normal enough facade.

Kathleen is African American and almost six feet tall, Prisha is beautiful, busty and Indian and Mari is a tiny Korean girl with an even tinier face and huge glasses that give her the appearance of Professor Trelawny.

Everywhere we sit, it's like the beginning of a bad joke: An African American, an Indian, an Asian and a Jew are sitting in a library, then the Indian exclaims —

"Mari, it's him! That business major dude!"

"Shhh..." I say. I can't be kicked out of the library right now. Mid-terms are right around the corner.

Prisha winces and whispers, "Sorry."

"He's so cute." Mari sighs, resting her chin on the palm of her hand and looking over my shoulder.

"I heard he's a total man-whore," Prisha says. "But he's so hot I'll forgive him..."

Kathleen twists her face in disapproval. "Can't take a dude with those kind of lips seriously."

"What? No. But look at him," Prisha says breathlessly. "Imagine what he could do with those lips."

I read the same sentence three times and the only word I can remember is 'lateral'. I look up from my tablet to glare at the three girls, and then turn my head to gaze at Business Major Dude.

Oh. It's him. How underwhelming.

I shake my head and go back to trying to study.

"Hah. Not your type either, SG?" Kathleen always takes it upon herself to try and get me involved by asking me questions. These girls actually believe that I'm just a very quiet person.

I shrug. I can't say he isn't my type. I already slept with him.

Mari gasps and clasps her hands over her mouth. "Guys, guys, he's coming this way."

The three girls sitting across from me just stare at the approaching boy with different degrees of lust splashed on their faces. I continue to pretend to study.

Warm, familiar hands touch my hair, sliding down to my upper back. Expert fingers knead the constantly stiff muscles along my shoulder blades. I'm assaulted by a blissful feeling of perpetual calm, my whole body simmering at his touch. Exhaling deeply, I look up to meet his blue eyes.

"Hey, Fee," he says in a quiet library voice.

"What's up?" I ask. We sort of have this unspoken agreement that we don't really hang out on campus. If he came here, looking for me, there has to be a reason.

"I need to ask you for a favour."

"Right now?"

He nods.

I throw my chin at the three girls, ignoring their inquiring gazes and look towards the exit of the library. He nods and I stand up.

"Hey," Prisha says, rising to her feet. "I'm Prisha, Sophie's friend. And this is Mari and Kathleen."

He quirks an eyebrow at me and shakes Prisha's hand. "I'm Shawn," he says, giving her that disarming grin that makes even the strongest girls grow weak in the knees. "Just borrowing Sophie for a few minutes."

I roll my eyes and begin walking away.

"Oh, um, okay," Prisha says breathlessly.

"Wow," I hear Mari whisper.

I look back to see that Shawn is behind me when I exit through the library doors and stand there hugging myself. "So, those are your shadows?" he asks, clearly holding back laughter.

"I doubt they see it that way," I say, not bothering to hide what I think of Shawn's invasion on what is very clearly Sophie territory.

"That Preeta —" His eyes trail back to the library. They're not wrong, he really is a man-whore.

"Prisha," I correct him. "And go for it."

"You wouldn't mind?"

I take a step closer and gaze into his eyes, my hand coming to land on his chest. Shawn used to play basketball in high school, he's tall enough to make me have to tilt up my head to look at him. "And if I did?"

He smiles like he always does when I'm being seductive, as if I'm both hurting him and making him happy he's alive. We always do this, sometimes he plays along, but now he doesn't--which means it's harder for him to turn me away.

I make it a game to check how resilient he is. But he always turns me away. Well, almost always. We had a few 'bloopers' through college, but we're generally not supposed to have sex as long as he's my roommate.

He holds my upper arms, probably to stop me from getting any closer and heaves a sigh that has 'trying-not-to-get-turned-on' written all over it. "Anyway, Fee, I've got a big favour to ask of you, and please don't get mad."

Whenever somebody asks me not to get mad, I automatically begin getting angry. I just look at him and don't say anything.

"After school today," he begins, looking at the nearest wall. "Can you help Georgia pack? She asked me to, but that would be kind of awkward after last night..."

I release a huge groan. "Oh. My. God. Shawn. How?"

He nods and his hands go up to his hair, the gesture mirroring my own frustration. Shawn and I have been sharing an apartment for the past three and a half years. But there are three bedrooms in our apartment, not two and in all this time the third roommate has changed eight times.

The problem was that Shawn tended to end up sleeping with the female roommates and I'm sorry to say that I succumbed to the temptation of sleeping with the male roommates. I mean, these things happen, even between Shawn and me, on occasion. But not one of the roommates was cool about it after it happened.

It always ended badly.

But Georgia? She has been living with us for an entire year and it shouldn't have been a problem. She's about five feet tall, hairy, thirty-eight years old and mopey. She resembles Miss Piggy minus the cheerfulness and with the hair growing out of all the wrong places. Neither one of us find her attractive.

Or so I thought.

"Evan dumped her," Shawn says, as if that could explain anything. Ew, I feel a little bit sick. "She was bawling her eyes out, she asked me to listen to her —"

"You... slept with her out of pity?" I say, completely dumbfounded. "I don't believe this. You'll just sleep with anything."

"It wasn't that bad. I mean, you'd be surprised, she —"

I put my hands on my ears. "No details. No, no, no, no..."

He removes my hands from my ears, his eyes flashing with mischief. "But you know, Fee, she actually smells —"

"I'm going to kill you slowly, Shawn, if you don't shut up," I hiss.

He gives me a harrowed look. "I think death by your hands is better than keeping these memories all to myself."

Holy shit, he's serious. I wrestle out of his grasp and make a run for it.