Call Me | American Psycho Reader Insert

Chapter 21

Y/N walked into his pristine penthouse, the gleaming floors and white walls a stark contrast to the bloody mess he had left behind. He felt a strange sense of calm, a serenity that came from knowing that he was in control, that he had the power to dictate the terms of their twisted relationship.

With the TV on mute, he headed to his home gym, the gleaming chrome of the exercise equipment a silent witness to his inner turmoil. He cranked up the volume on the horror movie playing in the background, the screams of the victims a cathartic soundtrack to his own tumultuous emotions. The adrenaline from the night's events was still coursing through his veins, and he needed an outlet.

Y/N's eyes remained glued to the screen as he began his routine, each pump of the weights and push of the treadmill mirroring the rhythm of his racing heart. The flickering images of blood and terror played out behind the fog of his own sweat, the scent of metal and fear a potent cocktail that fueled his workout.

The gym was his sanctuary, a place where he could purge the darkness that lurked within him. The walls were adorned with mirrors, reflecting his toned physique and the cold, empty eyes that stared back at him. The sight of his own reflection was a stark reminder of the monster he had become, yet he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

Y/N's muscles bulged as he bench-pressed the heavy weights, his breath coming in ragged gasps that mimicked the screams of the horror movie's victims. The film's muted images of gore and violence played across his sweat-slicked body, a silent companion to his own macabre performance. He could feel the rage and fear of the characters as if it were his own, a symphony of terror that harmonized with the pounding of his heart.

As the credits began to roll, he set the weights aside with a clatter that echoed through the room. The adrenaline was still pulsing through him, a potent mix of excitement and dread that demanded release. He wiped the sweat from his face with a towel and stood up.

The bathroom was a gleaming bastion of white marble and chrome. Y/N stared at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes cold and empty. His chiseled features were a mask, a facade of normalcy that belied the chaos churning within.

Turning on the shower, he stepped under the scalding water, letting it pummel his skin like a thousand tiny needles. The heat was a balm to his fevered soul, the steam a shroud that obscured the reality of the night's events. He closed his eyes, the water washing over him in a deluge that threatened to drown out the screams that echoed in his mind.

The water cascading over him turned red, the crimson hue a stark reminder of the blood on his hands. He scrubbed at his skin with a brush that was almost too rough, the pain a punishment he felt he deserved. Yet, the more he cleaned, the more he felt the stains of his actions seep deeper into his very being, a part of him that no amount of soap or water could ever wash away.

Finally, the water ran clear, and Y/N stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a soft, white towel. His eyes searched the mirror, but the reflection staring back was unchanged. The same cold, empty gaze that had greeted him earlier. The same chiseled features that had once been the envy of men and the desire of women. Now, it was the mask of a monster.

He dried off meticulously, each swipe of the towel a methodical attempt to erase the stains of the night. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as if he were performing a surgical procedure on himself. When he was done, he walked out of the bathroom, the sound of his bare feet on the cold marble floor echoing through the silent penthouse.

As he approached the door, the sound of the doorbell ringing was a jolting reminder of the world outside, a world that was blissfully unaware of the horrors he had just committed. His heart raced, the adrenaline from the evening's events melding with the fear of discovery.

Y/N's hand hovered over the doorknob, his breath shallow and quick. He took a moment to compose himself, his reflection in the peephole a mask of calm, a facade that could crack at any moment. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Two police officers, their faces a tableau of boredom and suspicion, stared back at him. The hallway's fluorescent lights cast an unflattering glow on their uniforms, making them look like extras in a film noir. "Good evening, officers," Y/N said, his voice a well-rehearsed blend of surprise and courteousness.

The taller of the two, a man with a jaw that looked as if it had been chiseled from a block of granite, stepped forward. "Is this a bad time?" he asked, his eyes scanning the pristine apartment behind Y/N with the disinterest of someone who had seen too much.

Y/N's smile was a perfect blend of surprise and concern. "Not at all," he said, his voice a warm embrace. "What can I do for you?"

The officers exchanged a glance, their eyes flicking over Y/N's bare chest and the towel slung low on his waist. "We're following up on a report," the taller one began, his tone measured. "There was an incident, the disappearance of one of our detectives that was sent out to question you."

Y/N's smile never wavered, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Oh, no," he murmured, his hand reaching up to rub his forehead as if the mere mention of such a thing was overwhelming. "How terrible. Please, come in," he said, stepping aside to allow them entry.

The officers stepped into the apartment, their eyes scanning the space with the practiced ease of men who had seen more than their share of horror. Y/N led them to the living room, the gleaming white couch a stark contrast to the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind. "Can I offer you anything to drink?" he asked, his voice a gentle purr.