Call Me | American Psycho Reader Insert

Chapter 1

You're not going to believe what happened at the office today," Y/N said, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and annoyance as he slammed the door of his sleek apartment.

"Oh no, what did they do now?" His girlfriend, Evelyn, responded with a sigh, not looking up from her magazine.

Y/N rolled his eyes as he loosened his tie, the sound echoing through the pristine living room. "It's not just what they did," he began, his voice rising slightly. "It's the complete lack of respect for personal space and the blatant disregard for the office's dress code." He tossed his briefcase onto the couch, the leather making a satisfying thud. "I mean, come on, a Hawaiian shirt?"

Evelyn finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Who was it this time?"

Y/N took a deep breath, his frustration palpable. "Paul Allen," he replied through gritted teeth. "Walks in wearing that ridiculous shirt like he's on a beach vacation. And the smug look on his face, like he's pulling one over on everyone. It's like he's flaunting his mediocrity."

Evelyn set her magazine aside, giving him her full attention. "I know how much that drives you crazy," she said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you go take a shower and relax? Maybe order us some sushi?"

Y/N nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He appreciated her attempt to diffuse the situation. "Good idea," he murmured, heading towards the bathroom. "But first, I need to make a quick call."

He stepped into his study, the walls adorned with the gleaming trophies of his past successes, and picked up the phone. His thumb hovered over the number pad for a moment before he dialed. "Hello, is this the management at Pierce & Pierce?" he asked, his voice calm and composed. "This is Y/N speaking, and I need to report an incident of gross misconduct by one of your employees, Paul Allen."

As he spoke, his eyes drifted to the framed photo of the two of them, taken at last year's Christmas party. The memory of that night sent a chill down his spine. Paul had dared to ask for his secret to closing deals. Y/N had simply laughed it off, but the audacity of the man had stayed with him. It was time to remind him of his place.

Evelyn called out from the kitchen, the sound of plates clinking in the background. "What do you want on your sushi?"

"Surprise me," he said absently, his mind racing with the sweet taste of vengeance. He had plans for Paul Allen, and they didn't include letting him get away with this. He would make sure everyone knew the price of crossing him.

Y/N ended the call and headed to the bathroom, the hot water beckoning. But first, he needed to decide how to handle this. A warning, perhaps? Or something more...permanent. The thought brought a twisted smile to his lips as he stripped off his clothes, revealing his toned physique, a testament to his meticulous routine. He stepped into the shower, the water washing over him as he contemplated the various tools at his disposal.

The bathroom filled with steam as he scrubbed away the grime of the day, his thoughts swirling like the water down the drain. The image of the stainless steel axe from his closet flashed through his mind. It had been a while since he'd had the opportunity to use it. The last time was the incident with the cat in the alley. But that was different, wasn't it? That was just...practice. This was business.

His thoughts grew darker as the water grew colder. The water pounded on his back, mirroring the pounding in his head. The rage grew stronger with each passing moment, and he knew what he had to do. It was time to show Paul Allen that in the cutthroat world of Wall Street, there was only one way to climb the ladder: by stepping on the right people. And by the end of the night, he'd make sure Paul knew exactly what it felt like to be on the wrong end of that ladder.

The scent of Evelyn's perfume grew stronger as he approached the bedroom, his mind racing with the anticipation of losing himself in her embrace. He knew that the only way to truly relax was to feel the warmth of her skin against his, to hear her breath hitch in his ear as he whispered sweet nothings that had nothing to do with business or office politics. He found her lounging on the bed, her silk dressing gown slipping off one shoulder, a hint of lace peeking out beneath. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked, reaching out a hand to touch his arm.

Y/N took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume, and allowed his thoughts to shift from the office to her. He offered a tight smile. "Just a bad day," he said, his voice a little softer. "But I'll be fine." He took her hand and kissed it gently. "Let's not think about it."

They made love, their bodies tangled in the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, the sound of their hearts beating in rhythm with their passion. It was a fierce dance of power and submission, a silent battle where no one kept score. Afterward, Y/N laid next to her, stroking her hair, listening to the gentle rise and fall of her breath. The warmth of her body was a stark contrast to the coldness that had taken root inside him.

Dinner arrived, and they ate in the dimly lit dining room, the sushi arranged artfully on the black lacquered tray. They talked about the latest movie they'd seen, the gossip from their social circle, and their plans for the weekend. But the conversation was a facade, a well-rehearsed play to keep the darkness at bay. Y/N's thoughts kept drifting back to Paul Allen, his smug face taunting him from the shadows of his mind.

After dinner, they retreated to the living room, the soft glow of the pendant lights creating a serene ambiance. Evelyn curled up on the couch, her eyes glued to the latest reality TV show, while Y/N poured himself a drink from the bar cart. The ice clinked against the crystal glass, the sound echoing through the room. He took a sip, feeling the smooth burn of the whiskey as it traveled down his throat. It was a ritual, a prelude to the night's events.

Y/N glanced at the clock, the digital numbers ticking away the seconds to midnight. He had to act now, before his resolve waned. He put down his drink and headed to the walk-in closet, his heart pounding in his chest. The sight of the axe brought a wave of excitement and terror. It was time to channel that energy into something productive. He picked it up, feeling the weight of the tool that would soon be an instrument of his will.

He took a deep breath and left the apartment, the cool night air a rough contrast to the stifling heat of his anger. The streets of Manhattan were eerily quiet, the neon lights of the city reflecting off the rain-slicked pavement. He hailed a cab, giving the driver an address not too far from Paul's apartment. The ride was short, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/N's mind raced with thoughts of what he was about to do, but he pushed them aside, focusing on the plan.