Title: Peccavi
Rating: R
Pairing: Erm…none.
Warning: AMERICAN PSYCHO. NOT FOR KIDDIES. NOT FOR ME, EITHER :o
Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: The lust for blood is growing, and Patrick is itching to kill. But what can he do at a wedding, where Evelyn is sitting right besides him, and people are watching? He might not get away with it this time.

Author's Note: …I am not sure what to make of American Psycho. On one hand its hilarious. On the other, it scares the shit out of me. Anyway, I thought I'd spread out. Do something other than Death Note, which is why Brokeback Mountain appeared. Now this, too. I'm thinking TDK, some HP, maybe even a little DW =)

It all started at the wedding.

The chapel was full, people talking and putting on faces and I was doing likewise, mixing among the yuppies and appreciating the hardbodies whilst attempting to keep myself in check. I'm wearing a Alexander McQueen fine evening wool suit, not because the event is worth the effort, but because it is a good thing to show off. Underneath it is a Junk de Luxe light blue shirt and a fashionable designer tie – "Black" by Timothy Everest. I also have some Babette Wasserman mother of pearl cufflinks, which are not my best, but the ones Evelyn bought for me and insisted I wear. Evelyn is trying hard not to appear too fawning over Timothy Price, but she doesn't need to go to the effort either, as I'm sure that she is aware I know.

We sit down, and I keep saying nasty things, about the bride's dress, or the groom's shirt – both friends of a friend of Evelyn, so I do not see why we are here at all, sitting at the back, looking the best but being ignored – and I told Evelyn what I wanted to do with the bride that evening. She shushed me, and I was hardly surprised to note that she ignored my words.

I did not be quiet, because Evelyn doesn't scare me. As the reception drew closer and the boring ceremony got nearer to ending I started to hold my breath, waiting impatiently, tapping my Edward Green leather derby shoe clad feet – a gift which I am aware was brought in a sale which knocked off $243.99 and was yet another obvious sign of my disinterest.

Evelyn told me to leave if I was going to act like a child, and though I enjoyed looking good and better than everyone else in the room I decided my boredom was too strong, and let it dictate me and lead me away.

The bloodlust is getting stronger every day, and the way I get off is becoming more extreme. I am unaware of when this will stop, and mildly panicked. But today I see no reason not to make the most of my situation, and the urge to kill something is making me fidget if I stop walking and become irritable the more I think about it and the less I do anything about it.

When Evelyn comes to fetch me, saying that it is almost over, but I should see the 'I do's, I almost wrap my hands around her neck then and there. I control myself, and follow her as she takes me by the hand back to the pews under the arching ceiling.

Evelyn is looking particularly lovely today, I will admit, in a navy Oscar De La Renta full dress with a floral corsage. It would cost over $4,000 easily. Her shoes are Rupert Sanderson 'Muscadet' velvet courts, and cost about $700. I wonder briefly why she went to all the effort, including the VBH Ostrich Skin Clutch, which costs almost as much as her dress, and the accessories, such as the Kimberly McDonald Geode and Diamond pendant on an 18K gold chain, with a matching ring and a pair of matching drop earrings. On her arms she wears a dark shawl of a designer I am unaware of, but am inclined to believe that it was hand stitched and designed specifically for Evelyn. In her hair is a similar gold, diamond and geode clip, which looks expensive but not branded – possibly made simply to make sure she matched perfectly. I appreciate her sense.

Evelyn cannot scare me to make me listen, and I am restless with anticipation and excitement. Having taken my free thinking time to set up something of a violent distraction, I could not possibly be made not to squirm, though such an action is degrading and I do try to refrain.

What does unnerve me is Luis' eyes on me, not because it is Luis, but because I am hoping it is him who gets harmed, but with his obsession towards me it may be unlikely he will leave in order to be so. I struggle to ignore him, but it is a trying experience to not walk over there and stab him several times in the face with a serrated knife.

What scares me most, though, is a boy four pews ahead, in a John Richmond contrast collar and placket striped shirt with a Nicole Farhi grey delave linen waistcoat with a matching pair of straight cut trousers in a pair of Alden lace up 'cordovan' shoes, which I know sell at $894.65. He does not wear a jacket or a tie, and his hair is brown and longer than my own, but not even attempted to be held back with gel or a band. He must be between eighteen to twenty-years-old and leans against the end of a pew and looking out to the stain glass window on his far left. He doesn't appear bored, or dreamy or far away at all, but he doesn't look like he is enjoying himself, either. He frightens me because he appears to have gone to the effort, but probably hasn't. He sits besides his mother, who is telling him to pay attention. He seems to not hear her.

Luis stands up as discreetly as he can, and I continue to try to ignore him like everyone else is doing. I see him come to approach me, then think twice when he sees Evelyn besides me. I am hoping he will take a hint as I take her hand and squeeze it. She smiles up at me briefly, but I can see she wishes I were someone else.

I look back to the boy as a sudden jerk of his head causes him to look at Luis. I realise where Luis is going and I cannot help the smile at my lips. I watch the boy watch Luis, and I notice a sort of understanding in his dark eyes. He doesn't blink, but seems to be aware, and I am worried he might have followed me earlier but curious as to why he isn't doing anything. I wonder if I am hallucinating, and close my eyes for a brief moment. When I open them he is looking at me instead, and I hold his steady gaze. After a moment his eyes go in the direction of where Luis went, and he excuses himself and walks up the isles.

I wonder if I should follow him, too.

At the reception there is no sign of Luis and Courtney – who is wearing a grey KaufmanFranco exclusive long knot detail dress with Loree Rodkin open single leaf earrings and a Lara Bohinc Solar Eclipse bracelet with a pair of pale grey Gianvitto Rossi Strappy buckle shoe and a Holly Fulton Cotton Panama Clutch Bag which almost matched Evelyn's shawl – is saying she doesn't know where he went. I hope this means I am rid of him.

It is that boy – whom I learn is called Mark Roy – and that spark of comprehension in his eyes that makes me uneasy. This worry starts to warp into blood lust, which was previously unsatisfied because setting something up is not fulfilling, but rather the only way to pass the time. I start looking at everyone in hate, and am almost on the verge of lashing out when Mark Roy approaches me. He doesn't quite look at me, rather like he is looking through me. I know that look, though I am unaware were from. I wait for him to speak.

"Something has slammed the nose through the back of Luis Carruthers' head." He says, but I think he is lying, or at least over exaggerating. I look to see if such a statement has alarmed Courtney, but she appears to not have noticed Mark and is still happily talking to Evelyn and seemingly not worried about her fiancée's disappearance any more. She certainly hadn't heard Mark. I wonder for a moment why people ignore or misunderstand me, and look as if to be doing the same to Mark. But I cannot ignore him, and I don't think he can ignore me.

"I did it." I said, and he nodded. There was no flicker of emotion, no shock, not even amusement. Just a nod of understanding and that same comprehension which makes me irate.

I get up, and want to throttle him. He follows me like a lost dog into the empty manor, of which the gardens we are using for the reception. He knows what is going to happen as I put on my gloves, and I do not care to wonder why he continues to trail me.

For a disgusted moment I believe he is like Luis, but he does not smile, he does not appear to be interested, and as I reach for a heavy object he doesn't even wince. I aim to smash him with it, to crack the head open and watch his brains hit the polished floors. I wish to stamp on them, draw pictures in the gunk, throw grey matter out the window and into the middle of the party all over the bride.

But something stops me as I realise who he looks like. Me. He is empty of emotions, empty of a personality. Underneath the designer clothes there is nothing. I am not there.

My hand hovers, and I feel the weight of a thick glass vase in a singular hand. My arm aches slightly, but I am fit enough to hold it steady. My power is lost as I have no speed to my actions, and Mark remains still in the same place, watching me with the same eyes.

He doesn't ask why I killed Luis, or whether I have done it before. He doesn't wonder why I almost killed again. He understands it innately, like we are connected through not being connected, and it angers me slightly like the rest of him does. But there is nothing I can do. You cannot force a person into a shell – cannot bring emotions out of an empty case in the guise of a human body. There is nothing in this killing, and I am no longer inclined to do it. There is no blood lust when your victim is akin to a store dummy. I know he will bleed, but he will not feel it.

The weeks go by, and Luis is not found. I do not give the time to the pondering of why, but I presume it had something to do with Mark Roy. Overall, I am relieved I no longer have to face the day with the dread of bumping into Luis every time I leave my office.

I know Donald Kimball is becoming more suspicious, always appearing in his cheap, nameless suits, but I do not believe he has evidence so I refuse to allow myself to be anxious in his presence. We share a few luncheons, and I make sure he knows that I know nothing.

The nightly murders continue on. Once again, nothing happens to stop me.

End.

Author's Note: I had a dream about Pat Bateman in a church last night, which is why I'm writing this. Also, all of the clothes are modern stuff, mostly sold at Browns, and some of it may not actually work together 'cause I just slapped it all into one and hoped to get passed that by praying my readers are not fashion obsessed fangirls, and even if you do go looking for it you'll just be dazzled by the prices so you'll ignore the fact they don't quite work, of course.

My dream was worse than this, btw. He killed everyone in the church, except this one kid (who is now called Mark Roy) who wasn't really gendered in my dream and kept on switching between boy and girl. S/he ran through these three warehouses that were connected to the chapel, passing a body after seeing the person (who looked in my dream like Bogey from 10 things I hate about you XD) getting his face slammed in by someone and the nose going straight through the back of his head. In the dream, the Mark was the only one to notice, and said quite loudly that Bogey was dead, but people ignored him/her except Pat who was sitting behind him/her and just in front of the body.

I kept with the idea of the ambiguous style Bret Easton Ellis had, like what did Patrick do to kill Luis, and was it all just a psychotic episode all over again, maybe it was Mark Roy who did it.

I usually hate new characters, but I don't think Mark does much harm besides being the only one besides Jean and Christie (was it Christie?) and obviously Luis that got away without being killed.

Sorry, this was a mental rant. Almost as long as the fic XD I'll shut up now.