Devilicious Psychopath | Patrick Bateman | 18+

But Baby I Want You

"Let's get that cut clean and wrapped darling." Patrick takes us into our shared bedroom.
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He does as he says cleans and then wraps the gash on my hand. It might have stung but I can't seem to feel it, I sit still on the bed, tears still falling from between my lashes staining my cheeks.

Patrick is laser focused on tending to my self inflicted wound. He doesn't speak nor looks up from his work on my hand, which now I can begin to feel a slight sting on my palm the more I sober up.

The air is filled with tension, the sounds of my sniffles and his movements. Finally he presses a gentle kiss to my injured palm over the neat wrap. Forever seems to pass us as we stay still, he's the first to break the silence.

"I didn't mean to make you cry darling." He swallows not quite meeting my eyes but rather studies my hand that he still holds in his. It looks so small in his.

"I was only looking through some old videotapes that I really need to get rid of." He continued, his big hands move to now caressing the sides of my thighs, still refusing to look at me.

"You're not mad?" My lips tremble and just when I thought I was done crying the waterworks turn on once again. I made such a mess he must hate me. I probably ruined quite a bit of furniture too.

"My love I have never seen anything more mesmerizing and breathtaking than watching you wear your emotions on your sleeve or when you let them out in a storm of rage like you did just now, beautiful chaos." Patrick's eyes lure me in, the sparkle in his eyes shine bright and my only focus is him as I listen to every word he leaves his pink lips.

My heart pounds and aches all at the same time. Leave it to Patrick to have my heart aching every which way possible all within a matter of minutes. He flips and arranges my whole world as he pleases. It's dangerous how much control he has over me, deadly even.

A trap. A setup, and I've fallen right in the palm of his hands like he knew I would the moment he laid eyes on me. The perfect victim. But what he doesn't know, no one knows is that in this moment in time I don't even mind. I stopped caring a long time ago, I finally accept that I won't be able to outrun Patrick. I'm his forevermore.

"My beautiful storm emotions, confusing stringing emotions tangled in full pouty lips and big glossy eyes." His voice, soft and gravely rasps against my lips making me shiver. But my tears don't stop, I can't seem to make them stop.

"My pretty girl." Patrick cooed, arms caging me in pulling me towards my spot against his bare chest.

"Now stop those tears you're making my heart ache and I don't like when you make my heart ache." He wipes my tears with his thumbs, his brows knitted slightly. A conflicted look flashes his features. His confession has my stomach fluttering and my breathe hitches.

"You're the only one that's ever had any kind of affect over me did you know that, before you I thought I couldn't feel at all." Patrick studies my face, a look of admiration takes over his handsome face. He's so pretty. Does he really mean that or is he only playing with me? He's really never felt anything before me? Nothing at all? How is that possible? All I ever do is feel.

We're both lost in admiring each other. Patrick's eyes are so beautiful. Such a sharp tempting edge of a knife.

The tips of my fingers tingle and ache to reach out and touch his God sculpted chest up to his neck and then his strong features. I want to memorize every inch of him, the good and the bad, his darkness. I want all of him.

God, I am so helplessly in love with Patrick Bateman. Dear fate, why him? I don't think a cold hearted murdered is capable of loving. And why must my heart feel so greatly? Complete opposites indeed, I guess the saying really is true.