Subtle Deception by C.j. Makenenski (e book reader android TXT) π
Her mother is a no good drunk, her father is too busy completely avoiding them both to lend a hand, and her best friend is a hyperactive ball of twitchy madness. And what's worse, she couldn't give a damn if she tried. But when the Russian immigrant, Dmitri Grigorin, moves in down the street, will Quin finally feel empathy for another human being? And will she discover a terrible secret about the sexy new exchange student along the way?
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- Author: C.j. Makenenski
Read book online Β«Subtle Deception by C.j. Makenenski (e book reader android TXT) πΒ». Author - C.j. Makenenski
In the last few years, the very idea of telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth is dredged up only as a final resort when the alternitive options of deception, threat, and bribary have all been exhausted.
-Michael Musto
More than once have I wished that I could feel regret for any wrongdoing I'd done in my life. Unfortunately, it's just not possible for me. Doctor Nueman says I'm a sociopath, and that I need medication, while Doctor Potzdam said that I just need to grow into my emotions, and figure out what "regret" and "empathy" are. No matter how many psychiatrists, or nuerologists we go to, they always agree on one thing: that I am completely and utterly incapable of feeling remourseful or empathetic towards anyone, including myself. I like to think of it as being "laid-back" or "self-dependent".
However, this isn't my story. You might think that I'm the main character - most likely from the blurb the author wrote on the back of the book making me look like the protagonist, and because I'm the one narrating - but I, in fact, am a supporting character. Someone who backs up the main character; kind of like Batman and Robin. This is actually a good friend of mine's story, and I'll reveal whom later. Right now, let's start with the very beginning, starting with with why I think I'm the way I am.
I was born on a Sunday, at three-o'-clock in the morning ("Witching Hour", as they call it), on the thirty-first of December. My mother was seventeen when she got pregnant, and I was, as some would say, and unwelcome intrusion. As I grew up, I gradually understood that the only person who really cared about me was my Grandma, Mam-Mam. She'd gone through the same thing Mom did, and felt some sympathy for me - but not much. After she past away, I had no friends and no-one who could comfort me in my grievance, so I just stopped caring about people, finally settling on the decision that everyone on planet Earth - including me - only looked out for themselves
So, another five or six years went by like this.
And then Ricky showed up.
Text: C.j. Makenenski
Editing: C.j. Makenenski
Publication Date: 06-20-2012
All Rights Reserved
Dedication:
To my wonderful Russian pirozhiki-fairy, Jess; who's been through hell and back to get here.
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