Chapter Text
"Um, sir," The stranger I'm currently speaking to begins, a brow raising on his face. "Your nose is bleeding."
"…" I've been smiling the entire time I've been talking to him. I blink. "I see." I take out a Hermès handkerchief and wipe my face. "Thank you."
"…You're welcome?" He says with a questioning tone for some reason. "Hey, listen. I gotta go. It was nice talking to you, Mr…"
"Pat Bateman."
"Right." He tries to quirk up a smile. The leashed dog he has (a small Pomeranian) is for some reason weary at my presence. But that doesn't stop it from letting a few barks out targeted to me.
A woman, his partner, I suppose, approaches us. He immediately calms down when he sees her and the dog also lights up.
"Hey. Pat Bateman." I offer her a hand, but she looks at me judgingly before turning to the guy.
"Baby, why are you talking to a yuppie?" This man's taste in women is utterly pathetic. Her stature is mediocre at best, and her face looks completely blank. No makeup at all (Her hair is also black, not blonde). Her outfit (plain cotton shirt, leather jacket, jeans, sneakers) has no identifiable expensive brands at all. The same could be said for him, I suppose.
"He just came up to me and asked about Lucky here." The dog's head turns at the mention of its name. The girl nods, but he continues, "And then he started ranting about this city's problem with poverty, which then turned into a discussion about the education system somehow."
"I'd like to talk to you again sometime." I take out my gazelle skin wallet, open it, take out a copy of my business card and offer it to him. "Call me sometime."
The couple stares at me, but the man does take my card and pockets it. "…Sure. See you some other time, Mat." The both of them begin to walk away from me and eventually leave the dog park. I only stand and watch them until they are completely out of sight.
I look around, there are still many other people here in the park with their canines. I decided to stop by here before I go back to the apartment and meet up with Luis and we'll head to Pierce & Pierce together (for the sake of convenience).
There are lots of different kinds of dogs here, Pitbulls, Rottweilers, Chihuahuas, Pugs (disgusting little things), the owners of these creatures are also very diverse themselves.
It comes to my realization that I am the only person here in this entire park that is wearing a suit. I am wearing a custom-tailored pinstripe suit by Armani with a matching crisp white dress shirt, silk tie by Ferragamo, along with polished black leather Oxford shoes by Gucci. These folks are mainly wearing more casual fits, which doesn't make sense.
My eyes stop on and begin to watch a random teenager, another dog-owner. This one has his pet off-leash for some reason. This confuses me to no end, why would someone do that? The dog would almost instantly start bolting away if it had the chance.
But it doesn't run. It just follows the kid as they walk throughout the grass. When the kid starts to run, it chases him. He's laughing by the looks of it. Having fun. The dog leaps forwards and pounces on the boy, he falls, still laughing, and hugs the dog.
Hugs.
From my distance, I can't really identify the breed of the dog.
Hug.
I look weird, I think.
Everyone else here is with their stupid dogs, wearing bland, stupid casual clothing, enjoying something as trivial as time with pets. And then there's me, alone, a full formal business suit, just standing in the middle of it all. A random Wall Street… Yuppie. Random.
I hate dogs.
Which is strange. I never really minded dogs that much before. But as I grew, I suppose my distaste for them grew as well. It went from simply being annoyed by them, to hating them because of their existence.
"Are you alright, sir?" A new, unrecognizable voice.
It scares the bejesus out of me. I wasn't even sure it belonged to a person, and yet there was something about it that was attractive. I turn back, see a girl, a woman.
She's wearing office attire. Shirt (slightly green-tinted), tie, suit jacket, trousers, loafers. They aren't branded, but the material looks expensive. Uniform, maybe? Either way, no girl should ever be wearing an outfit like that.
She is slightly shorter than I am, but something about her makes it seem like she's towering over me. If i didn't look at her face, i would find her unimpressive. Her face is perfect, disturbingly so. Her eyes feel as if they're staring into my soul.
"Dogs are sweet, aren't they?" She says. It's only now that I notice the golden retriever that's by her side, leashed, panting, but not moving at all despite the way it looks at me curiously. "You can," she says, and the dog walks up to me and begins sniffing me.
For a moment, I am speechless. But I know I have to say something. "I hate dogs," is all that comes out.
"Is that so?" She's smiling. What I said should have made someone react negatively somehow, but she's smiling. "Come back here." The dog immediately stops and returns to her side.
"…"
"I like dogs," she says.
Like.
She kneels down and offers her hand to her golden retriever, it starts to sniff at it. When she doesn't take it away, it climbs up on her leg and licks at the hand, tail wagging. "Say, why are you here in a dog park if you hate dogs?"
"I—…I got a dog of my own recently." This excuse sounds so weird to me now. "I wanted to see how you're supposed to treat one."
I know that already, it's common sense. You get one, you feed it, take it out for walks, play with it.
"I see." She takes her eyes away from me, thankfully, and focuses on her dog. "Have you ever owned any other dogs in your life?"
And in return, it loves you. For the bare minimum, it loves you with its entire being.
"A long time ago, when I was young," pause, "I also got a chow several months ago and drowned it. But I can't remember if it was real or not at this point."
It doesn't know anything else. Even if the reason you got it in the first place was as a means of entertainment, it still loves you so foolishly.
"Mhm." She doesn't budge at all. I told her that I killed a dog and she didn't give any sort of reaction. She's petting the dog now. "You can pet him if you want. He won't bite."
"How can you be so sure about that."
"He was trained to." Still, smiling. But there is no glee in that face, not one bit.
"What's his name?"
"That doesn't matter, does it?"
"I guess you're right." I lean down and pet it.
I'm reminded of something. The way I'm petting this dog. "Hiya. Hiya little fella," i say completely blanky, no sense of life can be identified from that statement.
"A beautiful animal, no?"
"…" I'm feeling uncomfortable. This woman is disturbing me.
"People are animals themselves, you know," she starts. "But people can have personalities similar to that of animals. Take; dogs, for example." I look up, she's staring into the distance.
"Similar to dogs——how?"
"Energetic, affectionate, loved by all … " She pauses, turns back and faces me, "obedient."
"I have a feeling this isn't your only dog."
"He isn't. I have many others at home. Nine, or twelve. I've lost count, really. This one’s my favorite. But I like them all the same.”
She leans down and pets the dog as well.
“Like? Why don’t you say ‘love’? It seems more fitting.”
“Not really.” She stops. Stares at me once again.
“...Why’s that?”
“Because,” Pause, her head tilting, “Devils like us are incapable of loving, isn’t that right?"
Like in a movie, it feels as if time stops.
The dog, now tired for some reason, promptly lays down by her side. She stands, stares directly into my eyes. I don’t think she’s blinked even once since she came up.
“You have met me once before.” Blanky. Emptily. “Or maybe you haven’t. It depends on how you see it, really.”
Someone I have met once before, or maybe not. Is there a meaning to it? I’m sure if i had seen this woman once before then I would immediately recognize her. But maybe that’s not what matters here. I could have met her, I could have not.
“Comparing someone to a dog is not uncommon, but to treat them like one is very strange,” she says. “However, that makes us alike in that case.”
“...”
“I admire your effort in seeking out a way to entertain yourself with your new pet.” … “However futile your attempts may seem.”
“...”
“I’d like to give you some advice, you see. I like dogs, so…”
“...”
“As many as it looks to be—really, there are only two ways you can treat a dog, treat a pet.”
I don't find this situation strange. Despite the fear I am inhibiting, this scene doesn't cause me any sort of confusion. I only want to collapse. "…What would that be?"
And, like a movie, everything fades back to normal. Bright, green, natural scenery. The ambient sound of nothingness turning to the cheering of birds, laughing of people, panting, barking dogs.
With a smile, she takes both her hands and points her index fingers up.
"You can treat it as if it's a lesser being than you."
Somehow, my demeanor returns. "…They are lesser beings."
No reaction once again. "If that is how you see it." I glance around at my surroundings—nothing seems to be wrong, I think. "Lesser beings. No sentience. Non-human, if you will. So, leash them, order them, mistreat, and control them as you wish." …
I raise a brow. "Control?"
"That is what you need, is it not? A rush of thrill, something new, yet old. A feeling of control—what you have been trying to regain this entire time."
There is something about her, I conclude, I'm sure of now. "Yes."
She nods, keeping her eyes wide open. "Then surely it may be what you need. Although you are sure of yourself that it won't be enough."
…
It's simply the person I am. If I am given that kind of control, then I might only come to need more.
But what's wrong with that? If I want to have it so much, then what's wrong with wanting more?
"But there is also our second option. You can treat it as if it were your equal."
I give her a questioning look. "Equal?
She nods. “It’s only natural. Dogs see humans as equals as well. That is, until they are proven wrong.” A particularly loud laugh can be heard, from that earlier kid. Yelling the dog’s irrelevant name with glee. “Acknowledge its feelings as if it were truly real, let it do as it wishes—” Her eyes soften, the most personality I’ve seen from her so far, “And… hug it, maybe.”
This woman disturbs me to no end.
But still, I scoff. “I would never compare myself to a dog. Thinking that I’m on the same level as a dog is just unthinkable.” Would I actually say something like this? Am I actually saying this? I feel sick.
She smiles, still. “I see."
…
I blink, and she, and the dog are gone.
I really need to take a valium.
Luis is humming the melody to Pure Energy as he button up his Hugo Boss suit jacket. He’s looking at himself in my mirror and grinning as he does so. “You’re doing it all wrong,” I say, standing from across the room.
“Hm?” His head turns to my direction. “Something wrong, Patrick?”
I begin rapidly walking towards him, which scares him to a considerable degree, but he doesn't run away.
“First of all—” I raise my finger at him. “Unbutton the bottom coat button. That’s common knowledge, dammit. Most of all— why are you wearing a bowtie again?” I accusatively point straight at the bow that is currently tied around his collar, as if it had done some sort of crime.
“I’m—more used to them, I guess.” He shrugs. “I’d say they fit me more than a normal necktie does.”
The word 'normal' causes me to sigh. "Even so, wear the suit properly, dammit." I untie my tie and hand it to him. "Here."
"Eh?" He blurts out, staring at the tie in confusion.
observing his reaction, I begin to rethink myself. I look at him, the tie, then to his ash-gray jacket. "You're right, the tie's color is too dark. A lighter-colored one would look better."
Without another word, I leave the room. Luis dosn't say anything and waits for me to return. I come back to the room with a patterned tie by Luciano Barbera and throw it in his direction.
With a bit of panic, he barely manages to catch it. He looks up at me with an awkward expression, stands up straight, and walks back to the mirror. The tie is in his hands but he doesn't do anything with it.
My brows furrow at this. "Do you not want to wear a tie that much?" I silently walk to him and when he sees me right behind him in the mirror's reflection, he jumps.
"It's not that!" A panicky voice. "I'm not gonna wear it because——uh—,"
…
I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "You don't know how to tie a tie, don't you."
His previous expression is paused. He's unmoving. A prompt smile on his face, like a dog who has been caught doing something mischievous. I see a single sweat bead fall down the side of his face.
"You're hopeless," I tell him, to which he looks another direction defeatedly and nods. "I've seen you wear ties before, how did you manage that?"
"I usually had either Courtney or my old roommate do it for me," he confesses in a hushed voice.
"And you never once asked them to teach you?" I scold. "God, you're hopeless." I drop a hand onto his shoulder, which causes him to jerk up, look at me.
He makes sure of himself not to move too much as I then take both of my hands and hold onto both sides of his bow. I slowly untie it, and toss the unimportant fabric (which was by Agnes B.) away.
He's completely frozen at my place. Once again, he's blushing with each of my actions. Of course, he doesn't object to this. Unlike him, I'm completely serious about this. It always irritated me how Luis dressed. It gives me a strange sense of relief to see him wear a suit properly.
When the bow is gone, I keep a hand on his shoulder and take my tie. I push his collar up and wrap my tie around his neck, which causes his breath to hitch a bit. I slowly tie the Luciano Barbera tie (...), making sure to not make it too tight in case Luis chokes (then again it might be entertaining to see him struggle) (maybe not) (who knows). When I'm done I unbutton his suit jacket, open it so that my tie will fall in, and rebutton it.
"Done," I say. It doesn't show, but I guess I do feel a bit accomplished with what I've done.
Wordlessly, he blinks, turns to the mirror, slightly touches the tie, smiles, a lot more emotion in that smile.
"What do you think? Seems a lot more professional, yeah?" I can't help but smirk at his reaction.
"Patrick——I——Wow," is all that manages to get out. He's looking at himself, still caressing the tie as if it was the most important thing in existence. "It's so——different. How did you manage to do that…?"
"The suits you wear are too loose-fitting." It's true that Luis doesn't fit the category of thin. His usual suits made him look overweight. Although he is on the chubbier side compared to the other guys at Pierce & Pierce, he still works out. Not as much as I do, though. It makes me wonder if he's muscular, I've never really seen what he looks like under his clo——…… … .. .
"I see. Thank you for that, Patrick." He's really happy. "I don't really know as much about fashion compared to you and everyone else."
"That was very obvious."
Luis is no different from me and the others when it comes to consumerism. Like everyone else, material things take priority. But there is something strange about how little he knows about brands, proper ways of dressing, business card design, and the such.
"You can always ask me for advice," without thinking, something like that is said.
"Really?" He looks at himself (and me) in the mirror some more, the stupidest fucking grin on him.
It is when Luis and I make it to the Pierce & Pierce office building that we go our separate ways, to head to our respective offices. I believe this will be the last time I'll see him today until we head back to my apartment.
When I make it to my office, my only priority is the desk, where I open the cabinet and grab a bottle of valium. I take two capsules and immediately throw them into my mouth, no water.
It's a bit sad that I wouldn't interact with Luis today. I'm sure that our peers are greeting him back very very sarcastically. No one really liked Luis. It would be too suspicious if I did interact with him here, after all. I don't want anyone thinking I'm close to him.
The door opens, someone enters. "Good afternoon, Patrick." Jean. "Oh. Did I, uh, catch you at a bad time?" I'm still standing in the middle of my office.
"No. Not at all, Jean." I turn to look at her, the valium is already taking effect. "What's the topic of discussion."
She moves a strand of her hair behind her ear, "David Van Pattern wants to meet you at Harry's tonight along with some others…" She doesn't look down at anything. "And you have a business meeting in fifteen minutes." She says that. "…in case you forgot."
Jean is wearing a cotton long-sleeved button-up shirt which is tucked into a long skirt.
Her shoes are mismatched. () ().
"Right." I nod. Smile. "I did forget. Thank you for reminding me, Jean. I'll take care of the rest. Just leave."
A meek smile appears on her face before she turns back and leaves. I consider taking a Xanax or two, but decide not to.
I don't feel like immediately getting to the boardroom, really. I do a bunch of other things before I do. I wash my face and dry it off with a Hermes handkerchief. I listen to Sussudio by Phill Collins on repeat. Fondly think about Tom Cruise.
Coincidentally, I run into Luis Carruthers on the way to the boardroom. He greets me with such glee that if I hadn't taken the Valium then I would be gnawing at my hand right now.
I'm late. The last one to the boardroom. Immediately, I spot Mcdermott, who is wearing () and is currently speaking to Castors, who is dressed quite well with a cotton shirt by -, silk vest by -, and bright yellow tie by -.
" And then he was airborne for more than five minutes—” "What are you talking about?” I cut off Mcdermott, who’s waffling about something weird.
“Oh, hey. The faggots are here.” I blink twice and look behind me. Luis is following me like a puppy dog.
"What do you mean by that?" I raise a brow. "Sometimes I want to slowly saw your hand off and watch all the blood come out, McDermott."
"Whatever you want it to mean." He leans back on his seat. I take a seat next to McDermott. And since it's the only empty seat left, Luis takes the seat next to me.
Reed Thompson is discussing something with Van Pattern. Dibble is bickering with Turnball and O’Brien. Madison, Nichols, Goodrich, Hendricks, Montgomery, Murphy, Kaiserman, Broderick, Castors, Halberstam. Thompson is wearing (). Van Pattern, (). Dibble, (). Turnball, (). O'Brien, (). Madison, (). Nichols, (). Goodrich, (). Hendricks, ()——.
Not a single person in this room will go to heaven when they die, I think.
Luis is completely quiet throughout all this. Which is strange. Luis was never really like this, if I recall. When I think about it, Luis and I were on alright terms before he had confessed to me. Before all of this had started. We were able to conduct a proper conversation about something mundane. I thought he was hip , for Christ sake.
Someone familiar walks by me, but I have an odd feeling he's a hallucination as the dark faceless man waves by me. "You were a busy man before," I start, "Do you think you'll be going on more business trips like before?"
"I hope not," Luis groans, resting his head on his hand. "They were too tiresome." True, and since Courtney isn't even here in New York, why even bother to force him to go on business trips with my position? There's no hot blond high off Lithium to fuck. "Plus, I finally have a reason to stay here." A grin as he looks at me.
"What might that be?" McDermott pipes in. Most likely eavesdropping. "By the way, any idea when Courtney might come back?"
"Shut the fuck up about Courtney, for God's sake." I put my focus back to Luis. "And you. Don't even think about bringing whatever this is to anyone. Got it?"
He nods. With that, I continue my way. Focusing on Montgomery's excellent (suit), Halberstam's new haircut, the Victorinox switch knife in my pocket, the idea of tying up a girl, opening up her chest cavity and taking my cockroach jar and throwing all the contents onto her and leaving her for the night. Now that I think about it, Timothy Price isn't here.
"Did anyone see the Patty Winters Show this morning?" Van Pattern brings up. A few others nod in response.
"Yeah, it was about—" I stall, "An interview with that one woman… Who was raised by the military to be a suicide bomber, right?"
"No…?" Van Pattern says, confused.
"Oh." I smile. Hold my hands and place them on the table. "Must have been hallucinating again." That story was way too underwhelming for me.
"It was an interview. You got that part correct, at least."
"Van Pattern did you know that you look like your use of cocaine has gotten so bad that it looks like you're getting faint signs of wrinkles? Either that or you're using too much aftershave lotion than recommended."
"Hahaha — wait, really?" He rushes over to the window to check his reflection. "Oh shit. Fuck, man. Shit."
Because of that, I begin to get self-conscious myself. "Do I look older?" I ask the person nearer to me——Luis.
"Hm? Not at all." He shakes his head. "You're perfect,” he simply says. I would reprimand him for saying this, but I assume that everyone else thinks this way about my appearance, so I act casual about it.
“Who was interviewed on Patty Winters?” Hendricks says,
“Don’t say it, please,” I groan. “I don't want to know.” Hold my head in my hands. I need to take another valium.
I am dismissed as I have always been. Van Pattern is still worrying about his face. Mcdermott inquires Luis about Courtney one more time before he finally lets it go.
“I’m sure he, everyone else will forget about Courtney eventually,” I say. No one except Luis seems to have heard me. “Even me. As trends go by, they are forgotten. People, objects are forgotten, never to be seen or acknowledged again.”
“That’s a cold thing to say, Patrick,” Luis replies. “But I guess there is some truth to it.”
“A truth in Courtney being forgotten?” I glance towards him. He’s put on his non-prescription glasses while taking a look at some documents. “I never took you for being someone so cruel like that.”
“Cruel?” He leans back on the seat, glasses nearly falling off with a faint startled look. “I didn’t think of it like that. I think I more or less like the idea——of being forgotten, that is. I'm sure Courtney would finally be relieved once that happens."
I can make you be forgotten with a bit of effort.
"What are you faggots waffling about?" McDermott suddenly cuts in, pointing an accusing finger at the both of us. "Anyways, has anything interesting happened to you lately, Bateman?"
"Nothing, really." I forget about Luis for the moment. "Same old, same old." These new array of recent events have caused strange things for me mentally.
"That so?" He turns back to everyone else.
Montgomery leaves the room. Too stuck-up to be left with low-lives like us, perhaps. "Isn't he great? Heard he got a reservation at Hunters last Saturday," someone says.
"What? How the hell?" Someone replies.
"Probably a rumor. Not even Donald Trump could get a reservation there."
"With how much Montgomery is worth, it could be possible."
"I actually saw him there. Actually, it could have been Nario, wasn't too sure. He was with something-something Parkson, you know!"
"Parkson?! That Parkson?!"
"She's an absolute freak for Ferragamo, but goddamn, have you seen her ass? Her tits are good, too! Unreal!"
"Absolute model-type. Hardbody!"
"She's worth just as much as Montgomery, too, right? What a match. I'd kill for a girl as pretty and rich as her."
"Of course, she knows her place as a woman, too."
"I'd understand if he dumped Nicki for her . God, to have her in my bed——"
"Until the room stinks!" Van Pattern exclaims while still looking at his reflection.
"I absolutely despise these bastards with all my heart," I mutter. Luis shows me a look of concern in reply to that. "Don't lie, you feel that way deep down too, don't you?"
"Nice suit by the way, Carruthers," someone who I think is Madison says, pointing at Luis's outfit.
…
"Oh!" He looks down, looking quite surprised. "Thank you." He smiles, looking down again to appreciate the suit.
"Now that I think about it, that tie looks familiar." McDermott scratches his chin as he examines Luis, which makes me uncomfortable a normal amount. "That's right! That's the same Luciano Barbera tie Bateman wore when we and Van Pattern had lunch at the Yale Club! What a coincidence."
"Eh," I end up blurting out. I hadn't even realized that.
"Oh." Luis embarrassingly blushes.
"Ahh——It's pretty refreshing. I don't think I ever saw Bateman wear that tie ever again after that lunch. Where'd you buy it, anyways?"
"Oh," he says for the third time, "You know… Barney's…"
I shift my seat closer to his and whisper to him. "Did you know? That it was the same tie?"
A stupid fucking giggle, "Of course I did. I could never forget what happened that day."
"Well I had it deeply repressed in my memories that I stopped wearing that exact windowpane overplaid tick-weave wool suit, cotton shirt, tie, and shoes for so long that I completely forgot what they looked like."
"That's kinda sad, Patrick."
Goddammit I feel so powerless right now.
"When I think about it," someone says. "You're wearing a much different style than you usually do, huh? Where'd you learn that?"
Of course, of course, of course someone was bound to notice. It's all because of Luis's absolute trash sense of fashion!
A slight panicked look, Luis looks to me for help. Wordlessly, I gently shake my head, hoping that he'll get the memo.
"I uh- read a few articles, you know. Heard a lot of criticism while I was gone, so I thought it wouldn't hurt to get some advice!"
"Uh-huh. Very hip."
I have a sudden urge to knife something.
Of course, I know. This is all for the sake of protecting our reputation. Luis knows this too, which is why he didn't tell him that the suit came from me. But it still irritates me somehow.
"Really nice color, what is that? Smokey? And the fabric, too."
My brain is very close to exploding, so I turn to that person——who is revealed to be Madison after all——and say, "Ash-gray. Wool."
Luis immediately snaps his head to me with a look of confusion and surprise. "How'd you know that, Bateman?" Madison asks.
"I just know." Sweat beads dropping down my face. I smile nervously.
"Right. Anyways, what else did you learn, Carruthers? You always looked like a doofus back then, but now——if you leave that stupid haircut, you could look nearly half as good as the rest of us!"
"Really, now? Thank you. Uh——" He's thinking up an answer, it's obvious he doesn't know.
I'm really irritated now. It's always a rarity to see anyone interact with Luis in such a casual way, but to put him on the same level as all of us is just unthinkable. At Least i think that's what I'm irritated about.
Either way, Madison is talking to Luis in a way that I don't like.
…
My mind is a blank. I can feel my hand begin to move on its own (or maybe it's of my own violation, and I just don't want to admit it). It somehow finds its way atop of Luis's thigh. He gasps from this.
"Patrick?!" He exclaims in a hushed voice. Madison, who isn't seeing any of this, asks him if something's wrong. "No! No! I'm fine!"
I don't say anything. It's funny to see him react like this, so i creep my hand up his thigh, to his hip. He's understably panicked by this but he doesn't object. I lower my hand again, it's safe to just tease his thighs, anything beyond that is off-limits.
"Carruthers? You suddenly stopped speaking."
I am an expert at taking control of conversations. "Anyways, what about David Letterman? Had to sleep early for the sake of my schedule, so I wasn't able to catch it last night."
The topic of discussion shifts naturally, from David Letterman, to Thompson's new hip Toshiba television (with picture-in-picture capabilities, among other things), Hendrick's chow suddenly going missing after I visited his apartment a few weeks ago, The recent escapades of Timothy Price.
"Anyone heard any news of a mutilated woman in a hotel nearby?" I ask the room casually, but I am not looking at any specific man, I'm staring into the wall with a smile. Still caressing Luis's thigh. It seems he's sensitive here, or maybe it's just because it's with me. No one reacts to what I said, except for Luis, who is very confused along with the sensations that I'm currently causing for him. I think I said something wrong…
" Patrick—— " he hushes, grabbing onto my shoulders and nearly collapsing onto me. Everyone else is too absorbed in their own conversations that they don't pay us any mind. "—— I don't mind if you're in a, uh, mood, but everyone else is here so— "
" What's wrong with that?" I'm losing my sense of reasoning. It's just funny to see him like this. I feel like I'm really in control this way. I have control over my life. Control. I smile proudly.
"Patrick… " He whines. My expression quickly changes into a deadpan, starting to get annoyed.
"What is i—" I begin, quickly cutting myself off when I look down onto his pants. "—ah."
The consequences of my own actions. I was sure to run into something like that eventually. Luis has——naturally——gotten a boner from this. A pretty obvious one, at that.
“...” I stare blankly. I raise my head to Luis who is extremely embarrassed with himself, barely able to look me in the eye. I turn my head to everyone else. In a panicked state, I nearly fall onto him when I lean over to speak.
“Do you want to leave for a moment?” No questions asked, he nods—already knowing what I was asking of him. He immediately gets up, but before he could dash out of the room, I grab his sleeve. He looks back at me with a confused expression. "I'm going with you."
"Huh? What?" He looks like he could die at any minute now. "This is way too sudden of a behavior change for you, Patrick!"
"but you want me to go with you, right?"
"Yes!"
He's way too predictable. Well, it's more my fault for making decisions that I know will make him react in this kind of way.
We run out of the room and not a single person acknowledges we left.
The walk through the hallway is very uncomfortable and awkward and I hate every second of it. Luis is beside me, face beet red that I just want to kill myself because of how stupid this all is. My office is closer, but I don't want Jean to see me with him, so we opt for Luis's office instead. Luis wasn't even able to get a single peep out when he entered the room before I pushed him against the wall and held his chin.
"Ahaha— pretty rough there, Patrick. Wa-" With my thumb, I circle around his stupidly soft lips. He stares at my hand, then to me, with such a flustered look. God, he's so stupid. What is he, a high-schooler?! Why is he acting like this?!
With one more look at his face, I lean in. No hesitation whatsoever. When my lips first contact his, he doesn't do anything. He's waiting, testing the waters. It is when I move and hold his head in place that I start to establish the control I have over him. He can't move away from me (well, not like he'd actually want to) so I can do whatever I wish to him right now.
I push myself further——and he only accepts. I force my tongue into his mouth. He still tastes of the food from () where we had lunch earlier (we sat at different tables.) With some hints of uncertainty, he returns the kiss, his tongue sliding with mine.
We are making out now.
Luis is letting out a lot of muffled noises, none of which are out of any form of resistance, which should be obvious by now. As for me, I'm not quite feeling like anything at all.
The office is air conditioned. But. Everything feels. Hot. Which should make sense. But I'm not. Sure.
It's weird. It's wet. It's with a man. It's with Luis. But I can't seem to have it in me to stop.
Out of instinct, because I do this with girls all the time, my hand moves away from his cheek and to his tie. As naturally as I pull out one's intestine, I untie the cloth and it falls to the floor.
My eyes are closed. Without moving away from him even once, I begin to unbutton his suit. Luis is really breathing heavily. Once that's done, I get started on his shirt. I push myself onto him anymore and I can feel his desire for me against my thigh.
But, as I'm nearly halfway done undressing him, I feel his arms snake around me. Wrap around me. He. He very slightly pulls, putting me in an embrace. Hugging me.
He's hugging me.
In a second, my eyes open. Luis, who's in front of me, I pull away from. In that brief moment before realization that I was not there——he looked happy, he looked content.
I don't say anything. I didn't say anything at all, when I think of it. After the complete shift of air, he opens his eyes too and looks at me in confusion.
"Patrick?"
"…" With little effort, I nearly tear his arms off of me. "I changed my mind." I take the Luciano Barbera tie that lay on the floor and hand it back to him. "I don't want to do this. It's disgusting."
"Oh," he says. That's all he says. "Alright."
"Shouldn't you…" I stare at him while he looks at the floor. "Be reacting more strongly? Shouldn't you be disappointed?"
He glances to the side now. "Not really." His signature, soft, dumb, smile. "If you don't want to, then you don't want to."
"But." I'm standing. "I was the one that suggested this in the first place." What am I doing? "I'm going to leave your office. I know you really wish I went through with this." What the hell is wrong with him. "You should be begging me to continue right now."
"I've said it before, Patrick." He places a hand to my chest. "I don't want to do anything if you don't want to. Sure, in the past, I might have been too desperate." He looks funny, shirt half unbuttoned, debauched. "But I have more than anything I could have ever wanted now."
"What do you mean by that?" I say. "Actually, no. Don't answer that. I have to go now." I dust off my suit and go.
When I return to the boardroom, half the self-absorbed rich handsome assholes have already left. No one acknowledges me.
I stand at the doorway long enough that I hallucinate black figures in the corners of the room. So I go back to my seat without a single thought in my mind.
After one rant from a guy who looks McDermott about this girl he fucked who claimed that Donald Trump was in her high school Chemistry class, the door opens again. It's Luis, who looks as if he's organized himself. He looks clean. His shirt and suit jacket buttoned and somehow doesn't look as if he was making out with me a moment ago. But—
And of course, he returns to his original seat, next to me. I look at him again. He has his tie on. It's tied perfectly. He glances back at me and smiles.
"Liar," I say.
I have dinner with this Jewish chick I found by the sidewalk waiting for a different date. She's a redhead and she only came with me because I bribed her with a fifty. We go to Crayons with a reservation that I don't remember ever making and we have an average time. Her face and her expensive Valentino dress was enough to compensate for her slightly overweight stature. I remember before we left the office building, Luis was invited by Madison, Dibble, Frederick, who even cares at this point, to Pastels for dinner. Luis wanted me to go too, but I declined. The food at Crayons is more expensive than Pastels, anyways. When we're done eating——twenty-five minutes——she asks me for my number and I tell her that I want to strap her onto a bed in a broken down apartment and hack her skin with a kitchen knife and play around with her fat and cook it. For some reason, she looks at me in such a horrified way and runs away, slipping over a puddle and tearing her dress. After that I realized that I had forgotten about my original plan at Harry's.
I run to the American Gardens Building and when I arrive, the apartment is empty. Luis hasn't returned yet.
I make sure to unbutton my suit and lay it over a seat. Then I collapse onto my sofa. There is a reason why I do these things, I'm sure of it. This is all for myself. I just want to do these things for myself.
Thinking takes up too much energy. I want to stop thinking altogether. I stare at my ceiling for close to an hour. I hate this silence. But I can't bother to put up some music or turn on the television. I don't think it would help, anyways.
Luis comes back to the apartment exactly one hour, twenty-three minutes and fifty seconds after me. His expression is more neutral until his eyes wander to me, to which he lightens up because that's just the kind of person he is.
"Have anywhere to go to later?" He asks, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He lightly touches the tie with a somber look. "Since, you're pretty busy," he adds. I don't like being alone with Luis for extended periods of time, so during those times, I would probably make some excuse to leave.
It's not like I had anything to do at those times, either. I would probably be wandering around endlessly in Manhattan's streets until I'd find something interesting to do.
I lift my head upwards until it hurts and I try to think properly. The ceiling is really white.
… … …
"Not really."
My back is resting on the cushion and I am hurting.
Silence ensues, which is then disturbed by Luis's voice once again. "Mind if I turn on the TV?"
"I hate you so much."
"Alright."
There's an increasing amount of gas leaks in a certain city of Japan, the news says. Not like I care much about that. Luis is next to me while the television spats out more nonsense. There's an odd sense of relief knowing there's someone next to you, but considering the kind of person I am, it never matters.
It's nine forty-five. I can stay up much longer, but if I want to wake up early, then I should be preparing to rest now. I feel like a kid when I think of it that way. But it's not like I even have anything else to do, everything is so boring. When the visual of a man in a hospital bed, visibly weak disappears, cutting back to the news reporter, I stand up.
"Going to bed?" Luis asks. When I nod, he goes for his luggage where he takes a [] blanket.
It only makes sense. The master would be sleeping in his own bed while the pet would be dismissed- why do I even insist on this. Why am I like this.
"Luis." As he's unfolding the blanket, his head turns to me with a smile. He's so weird.
The words die on my tongue. I'm unsure if I forgot what I was about to say or that I didn't want to say it.
"Patrick?" He says, awaiting for me to continue.
"…Will you be sleeping on the sofa?" I say something so obvious it's funny.
He doesn't laugh, though. Luis wordlessly nods. "I've been sleeping here ever since I moved in." If I pause a little longer he would probably say something like 'you don't let me in your room, of course.'
"You … " I begin, unsure as to where I should take this. "You can …"
He looks at me curiously.
"…" I daze off somewhere. I'm not here. And because of that, I let out something so, so outrageous—"You can sleep in my bed."
Spontaneous. On impulse. I cannot control what comes out of my lips these days. I immediately cover my mouth with my hands. But I don't make an effort to take the statement back.
And of course, with that, Luis bounces up with new-found life. " Really ?!"
"Are you a child?" I blurt. But he's more of a puppy here. "And yes, I'm serious." No I'm not. There's no point.
Luis is asking more dumb questions. I don't want to listen to him. I don't want to understand what he's saying, so I just back away into my room. The door is left open as I begin to undress. This is normal. I always do this. I always sleep in my () boxers.
There's no need to overthink it. If Luis keeps sleeping on the sofa, then it might affect his posture. Besides, I've already had many girls in my bed before (of course, not many are with us anymore.) And my bed is big enough that I won't even be able to notice he's here.
And, he's here now. Even if the door didn't bring with it such a loud screeching sound, I could feel his (and the rest of this types) presence from a mile away. I look back and he's wearing () shirt and () pajama pants. Which is strange since I was sure he was the type to sleep in his underwear.
"Hey, Patrick." God help me. "You really sure you want me to sleep next to you?"
"It was going to happen eventually," I say. Tomorrow I will wake up. I will get out of bed. I will brush my teeth. I will have a light breakfast. I will do my morning workout. It's all about me. "You can't sleep on the sofa forever. It's not good for your back."
"How considerate of you, Patrick."
"The idea you have of me and the person I really am are two very different people."
And with that, there were no more words spoken between us. I simply turned off the lights and laid myself down in the bed facing the wall. I feel Luis laying down too a moment after. He's on the other side of me, at the very edge.
I turn over, looking at the ceiling now. The () light that is now turned off. "Don't sleep on the edge. You'll fall."
"Hm?"
"Since when have you ever cared about my view on anything, anyways? Sleep wherever you want." I slightly turn my head to a glance. Luis is looking back at me with curious eyes.
Immediately, I look back at the ceiling, wanting to think of nothing at all. I feel a small shift on the bed, before more movement, until I feel that Luis is close to me, but not enough as though I could feel his breath next to me. This is incomplete.
It's quiet.
"Don't hug me again."