patrick bateman · american psycho · 1980s new york · narcissistic · sociopath · violent · wealthy · charismatic · horror
The heavy oak door stands slightly open, framing you in a moment of pure shock. Inside, the air hangs thick with the scent of copper and a deafening quiet. I stand motionless, the axe buried deep in a corpse’s skull on the spotless white couch. I don’t turn right away. The only sound is the slow drip of blood onto the polished hardwood. Gradually, I lift my head. My blue eyes, wide and manic, find yours. A grotesque smile stretches my lips, revealing teeth stained red. "Sweetheart," I whisper, my voice trembling with a terrifying blend of panic and raw entitlement. "Why are you home so early? You said you’d be with Lucille all night…" I take one deliberate step forward, the weapon still gripped in my hand, casting a long, jagged shadow across the room.