Utterly Insane (Patrick Bateman x Reader)

Chapter 1- I Simply Am Not There

Pastels Restaurant is an insanely expensive restaurant on the Upper East Side. The decor is a mixture of chi-chi and rustic, with swagged silk curtains, handwritten menus, and pale pink tablecloths decorated with arrangements of moss, twigs, and hideous exotic flowers. The Clientele are young, wealthy, confident men and women dressed in the height of the late 80's style: pouffy Lacroix dresses, silky Alaïa, and Armani power suits.

"With goat cheese profiteroles and I also have an arugula Ceaser salad. For entrees tonight I have a swordfish meatloaf with onion marmalade, a rare roasted partridge breast in raspberry coulis with a sorrel timbale, and grilled free-range rabbit with herbed French fries. Our pasta tonight is squid ravioli in a lemon grass broth..." The Waiter describes the dishes to a group of men who look over the dishes on the table.

Patrick Bateman, Timothy Price, and Craig McDermott are at a table looking around the restaurant and seeing the type of people around them. They all wear expensively cut suits, suspenders, and slick back hair. Van Patten wears his horn-rimmed glasses.

"God, I hate this place. It's a chicks' restaurant. Why aren't we at Dorsia?" Price asks with a scowl on his face.

"Because Bateman won't give them maitre d'head." McDermott says with a playful smile. Patrick chuckles before throwing a swizzle stick at him. McDermott scans the room again before settling his eyes on a young man. "Is that Reed Robinson over there?" He questions.

"Are you freebasing or what? That's not Robinson." Price states.

"Well. Who is it then?" McDermott says.

"That's Paul Allen." Price introduced. 

"That's not Paul Allen. Paul Allen's on the other side of the room over there." Patrick points to another handsome young man talking with a young woman.

"Who is he with?" McDermott says once he saw the woman.

"Some weasel from Kicker Peabody." Price says when they all turn to look at the table. 

"They don't have a good bathroom to do coke it." Van Patten, another young man, returns taking the attention of the other males.

"Are you sure that's Paul Allen over there?" McDermott asks once again.

"Yes, McDoofus, I am." Price answers.

"He's handling the Fisher account." McDermott states.

"Lucky bastard." Price says looking down.

"Lucky Jew bastard." McDermott corrects.

"Jesus, McDermott, what does that have to do with anything?" Patrick asks.

"I've seen the bastard sitting in his office on the phone with CEOs, spinning a fucking menorah." McDermott starts to explain.

"Not a menorah. You spin a dreidel." Patrick corrects him.

"Oh my God, Bateman, do you want me to fry you up some fuckin' potato pancakes? Some latkes?" McDermott jokes.

"No, just cool it with the anti-Semitic remarks." Patrick asks.

"Oh, I have forgotten. Bateman's dating someone from the ACLU." McDermott laughs. A woman walks up to their table with a plate that has their check and places it on the table.

"He's the voice of reason. The boy next door." Price says as he then looks at the check getting his wallet out. "Speaking of reasonable..."

"Only $570." McDermott says also taking his wallet out. The others nodded in agreement as they placed their AMEX cards on the plate.

~~~

Once nighttime came, the four decided to go to the Tunnel Nightclub for some fun. While waiting to get in, McDermott hands the doorman a $50 bill and when they take it, they unhook the velvet rope letting them inside.

Inside, is dark with only the colorful flashing lights lighten the place. Many people are dancing on the dancefloor while loud music is playing. On the stage are three women with fake guns pointing in different directions acting out the song being played. Bateman walks towards the bar and waits till the Bar Girl sees him.

"Two stoli on the rocks." Patrick says as he hands her two drink tickets.

"These aren't good anymore. It's a cash bar. That'll be $25." The Bar Girl says as she pockets the tickets. Patrick pulls out his wallet and hands her the cash with a smile on his face. She takes the money and turns around to start making the drinks

"You are a fucking ugly bitch. I want to stab you to death and play around with your blood." Patrick says with a serious look on his face. The music was so loud that it muffled his voice so the girl wasn't able to hear him. She turns around and hands him his drinks along with the change. Patrick grabs the drinks and smiles at her before walking away.

~~~

The early morning light shines through Patrick's apartment. A huge white living room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Manhattan, decorated in expensive minimalist high style. Bleached oak floors, a huge white sofa, a large Robert Longo's "Men in the Cities" painting, and a telescope looking out of the window. The room is incredibly neat and lacking in personality as if it had sprung out of a design magazine.

Patrick gets up from his bed and walks into his bathroom, urinating while he looks at his reflection in a 'Les Miserables' poster above his toilet.

I live in the American Gardens building on West Street, on the 11th floor. My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm 27 years old.

I believe in taking care of myself, in a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I'll put on an ice pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now.

Patrick opens his freezer, takes out a plastic ice pack mask, and ties it around his face. He then goes into the living room to do his morning stretching exercises. He starts with forward lunge stretches then he does sit and twist, and then windshield wipers stretch.

After I remove the ice pack, I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the shower I use a water-activated get cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub.

Patrick stands in the shower doing his shower steps and after he is finished, he stands in front of a marble sink with a big mirror applying a gel facial masque.

Then I apply a herb mint facial masque, which I leave on for ten minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine.

Patrick opens the door of a mirrored cabinet, which is stocked with immaculate rows of skin care products. He begins selecting bottles, jars, and brushes, placing them down when he needs them.

I always use an after-shave lotion with little or no alcohol because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm, followed by a final moisturizing "protective" lotion

Patrick stares into the mirror, the masque already dried, giving the effect that his face has been wrapped in plastic. He begins slowly peeling the gel masque off his face in one piece.

There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman. Some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable.

 I simply am not there.

~~~