Patrick Bateman, My Teacher

Week 1, Day 5: Friday

(Idk why I get butterflies whenever I look at that picture above, his eyes are just so pretty <3 )

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As the natural daylight crept through the slivers of the blinds, I shielded my eyes and groaned painfully. Through squinted eyes, I peered round the room and forgot where I was for a few seconds.

As I tilted my head to the left and acknowledged Alison's empty bed, a hazy image of Mr Bateman's eery grin, leaning over me, came and went in my mind like a snapshot.

Shuffling around uncomfortably, I forced myself upright into a sitting position and rested my pounding head in my hands. And then, gradually, the details revealed themselves in my foggy mind as if I was hungover and recalling events from the night before.

I could remember small details but, no matter how many times I tried to reorder them in my head, nothing would create a coherent scene in my spiralling thought process.

Most prominently, I could remember the immense gut feeling I held in the pit of my stomach and the ineffable notion that something very precious to me was slipping out of my grasp. Mr Bateman, behind me, his voice so stiff and stern. The memories kept flooding back, and it strained me to think about it.

My eyes automatically widened when my vision landed on the alarm clock. It was 9:37 and my first lesson started at 9 o clock.

Forcing my body to wake up, I swung my legs over the bed and heaved myself up, taking a couple of seconds to rebalance myself as everything began spinning.

Not even choosing my outfit properly, I threw on some basic clothes, vigorously tugged at my hair with a brush, quickly brushed my teeth and left.

Speed walking and still feeling quite weary, I charged all the way down to my German lesson that I knew was happening. Once I was in view of the classroom, I caught glance of Mr Bateman through the door window teaching, with that charming grin on his face, and immediately felt like I was going to be sick. Nevertheless, I stumbled to the door and shakily pushed it open. All eyes in the room landed on me and I swallowed hard in attempt to scare off that lump in my throat which felt the size of a pomegranate.

Mr Bateman glanced at me casually and took in my rough state, looking unsurprised in contrast to just about anyone else in the room. He cocked an eyebrow, his half upturned smile never fading.

"Chelsea", he announced with light sarcasm, just as any normal teacher would when one of his student's was late, "Nice of you to join us".

I furrowed my eyebrows at him, feeling confused and slightly offended that he would make such a whimsical comment about my lateness after he must have had some idea of what happened to me last night and didn't seem, in the slightest, remorseful.

My eyes wandered over to Alison who was staring at me with concern. I took the seat next to her and, just like that, Mr Bateman continued to talk about some basic German starter words on the slide show at the front.

"What the hell happened to you last night?" Alison hissed, "I fell asleep at midnight and you still weren't home, so I assumed you'd be there when I woke up. But nothing. Just an empty bed".

Her words sank through my body like ice that was on fire. If I wasn't back until after she had left, then where the hell was I all night? Sickness rushed over me but I gulped it down again, ignoring the flood of warm saliva that crept up my throat every time I swallowed.

"Chelsea?" Alison nudged me gently, "Are you okay? You're sweating".

All I could do was give her back a slight nod. I had a bad feeling that, if I tried to say anything, I would inevitably gag and probably throw up.