3 — Dating/Being Patrick Bateman

From S:

 

A realm in the variance of perspective:

 

I’m in an elevator to the top floor of my new executive position job to meet my new boss, hoping to charm him with my charisma and sweet smile. I meet him in his suit; his partner is Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman from the movie of Ellis’s book “American Psycho.” I have personal romantic relations with Christian (or Patrick) at first, but leave him for the top honcho who is the most attractive man I have never seen in my life. Christian/Patrick is not surprised. A little tiffed and pissy like large family youngest children get, but not surprised. We remain friends. In both relationships; flashes of sweet frolicking bed smitten type cuddling. No hot sex; but it’s implied that we’ve been intimate many times before. Lying in bed with the handsome new man I’ve won over, the perspective changes. 

 

I am Patrick Bateman in my suit walking underneath a muddy bridge, shoes sticking and getting sucked by mud. I find two girls in wheelbarrows on the verge of death, naked, barely breathing. It’s implied that these girls ended up there by a drought; there had been no rain and they were dying of thirst; mermaids, with feet. I walk up to the first girl, a pale brunette, mouth something spiteful to her feeling angry, cut her throat with a razor, one long clean line from one end of her neck to the other. A bright red showers her gray chest, her perfect breasts, blood pouring out of her throat as she makes a final gasp, unmoving, a small twitch, a jerk, eyes glazed, open. I stare at her as she bleeds–hating her. I walk to the other girl in a wheelbarrow, legs dangling, just a few feet away: a blonde, staring at nothing, unblinking, breathing shallow. I tell the girl it’s her lucky day; that she’ll be spared; that I feel merciful. I fetch a dirty wet rag and wring it above her mouth, water grazing her lips as her throat constricts gestures of swallowing. I tell her she should tell people I spared her. 

 

The perspective changes, I’m walking towards a lunch bistro to have cocktails with my work associates, I see them waving, smoking cigarettes and chatting over scotch and barely touched plates of food. I sit down and have a martini before returning to work. I am no longer angry. I feel nothing.

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