Suicide Club

Patrick Bateman Jr.

Patrick Bateman Jr.

How we got the idea for Suicide Club was this party we went to. It started at nine and we'd somehow gotten Devon to attend. He never goes to parties but this time Harley had convinced him to go. This is why I blame Devon for the suicides.

I lied about Heathers.

Sorry.

Anyways, Devon just wanted to get high there. He didn't wanna fuck anybody. He just wanted to sit down and watch the pretty lights. He says it's like meditating with Jessie or Jesus but I highly doubt that.

"Whose party is this anyway?" Devon asked once we'd all gotten into the back of the taxi cab.

"Dana's," Harley answered messing around with the holes in her fishnets.

"Hey, isn't that the prostitute?" I turned to her.

Harley gave a sigh telling us that, "No she's not a prostitute you dipshit, she's a burlesque dancer."

"Yeah but isn't that the same thing?"

"Dita Von Teese isn't a prostitute," Harley explained.

"Burlesque and prostitution are two different things, Chris," Devon butted in.

"They don't teach you this at school," I explained sinking back into my seat.

"That's why we dropped out. The Internet makes a better teacher than schools these days," Harley sighed.

"Yup," We all agreed.

This party we went to, it was underground so you couldn't see any lights or anything. You could just hear the pounding of the bass beneath your feet.

This Dana chic, her dad owned a bar and underneath that bar was one of the biggest basements I've laid eyes upon. There was enough space there to do just about anything you wanted. You could've put a whale in there if you'd wanted. It was like a Batcave.

Harley called Dana on her cellphone to come open the door for us. I was freezing my ass off but really, I like the cold. It has this feel to it I like.

Dana let us in and she took us through an entire labyrinth of doors and tunnels. After a while, I got so disorientated I was half expecting David Bowie to pop up and sing to me.

"God, this place is worse than the Shining," Devon muttered under his breath.

"I made pot brownies if you want some," Dana said opening the final door. "They're in the kitchen."

Devon automatically made his way to the kitchen like a robot sent on a mission to assassinate the president of the United States of America. By the time I'd gotten past everyone and found Devon again, he'd already gone through about three brownies and he was already smoking a joint. I felt like I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone suddenly because I swear that guy had a sixth sense or something. And as much as he hated me and everyone else on the planet I couldn't help but feel a deep affection for the man.

"Give me some!" I shout over the music.

Devon narrows his eyes as he took a drag of his cigarette. He hands it to me slowly.

"How do you do that?" I shout.

"What?"

"We just got here man. How did you get the pot?"

He just shrugged his shoulders.

"Come get me then if you wanna blow up a church, okay?" I walked away from him.

I made my way back with Dana. "Hey this music sucks," I told her.

"I don't know who changed it," She shook her head.