American Pyscho final - Jessica Ropati

My name is Patrick Bateman. I live in the American Gardens building, on the 11^th floor with better views than what you would have. I live in the beautiful minimalistic white on white apartment, cleaner than your apartment would ever be. I strongly imagine that you must surround yourself with perfection in order to attain it. I believe in making sure that I am always the perfect version of myself. I follow a rigorous exercise and personal maintenance regime. However I am now aware, no matter how hard I attempt to hide beneath this façade of anti aging balms and protective moisturizing lotions, the evil in my heart is beginning to show.

I belonged to no one who belonged to everyone. Whilst I look and even act like a normal human - on the inside something is ticking away and pulling my entire being in different directions, feelings and compulsions that consume every single one of my actions and thoughts. I tell myself this as part of my morning routine to see if I feel something, guilt perhaps, but nothing. Every move I make is a fabrication, an attempt to convince people I am simply CEO of Pierce and Pierce, on Wall Street. You should have heard of it. I am a noncontingent human being. My personality is wavering and uneasy as the ocean with no moral compass and no genuine concern towards others. You may think we are similar if we were too meet in the street but I can assure you we are not, despite my psychotic tendencies I will always remain better than you. You can have hopes, dreams and real feelings to experience however you are all simply living in my world. Nobody is safe; as I am the most unforgiving soulless human on the planet.

I enjoy killing people and getting away with it. I am the American Physco.

It is the evening of my 27^th birthday and I have unfortunately been forced to attend a dinner function at Dorsia, supposedly the best restaurant in New York City however I feel it is overrated. As always I am impeccably dressed, my company refuse to grasp why I take delight in obsessively detailing my clothing but the Versace suit I am wearing demands attention. The young waitress has caught my eye as I walk in to the lowly light room she would look like a work of art in my apartment. However Evelyn my supposed fiancée will be arriving any moment so I push the thought to the back cortex of my brain to revive on another day. Great, David is here. He has a better colouring on his business card so I remain in a deep state of hatred towards him.

“Patrick, you’re getting old what are you 30 yet?”

I hated when David talked to me.

“No David, I am 27 therefore making me younger than you and I am more successful so I do not quite comprehend why you have that snide look on your face.”

“Come on, Bateman, what do you think of the waitress over there?”

I acted indifferent to the comment but a fire rose inside of me. As I studied her movements, the way she walked, interacted with other people.. I wanted her. Not in some disgusting sexual or even romantic way. I wanted to feel my hands around her neck as her air supply became limited. I continued to ignore the pathetic conversations around the table and avoided all eye contact with Evelyn. As our meals came and went from in front of us, drinks were poured and drunk, I felt tightness in my back creeping its hold over the muscles in my body. I needed to release this anger, frustration and hatred to this damn useless waitress. Stress isn’t good for the ageing process after all.

After everybody had finished there less than desirable meals I waited for my opportunity to excuse myself and talk to the waitress. Evelyn had left with David, trying to pretend like I didn’t know she was sleeping with him. Pity I didn’t care about her. The waitress wasn’t hard to find, waiting at the bar for me like a desperate child. I didn’t bother talking to her; I grabbed her firmly around the wrist and led her outside to the car where my driver was waiting for me. The blood lust rose in me in the brief amount of time we were in the car, for every idiotic sentence that left her mouth the desire to permanently make her quiet rose.

The next thing that I can remember I am sitting on the white chaise lounger back in my apartment with a serrated knife on the oak side table next to me. I turn the volume up on my speakers and let the enchanting sounds of Phil Collins soothe me. I need a deep breath, the gargling and gasping sounds of the waitress lying on the floor is very off putting and is beginning to ruin the song slightly.

For a brief second I contemplate putting her out of her misery but she said the stain on my oak floors didn’t match the rest of my apartment so I shall let her suffer a little while longer. What would an uneducated waitress know about wood stains? I take an antibacterial wipe from the drawer in the side table and wipe down my face before..  Perfect, there’s blood on my new tie.

I sat back in my chair as the noises became quieter, glancing over my shoulder her lifeless body was still on the plastic that I had put on the ground as I had just had it polished again. I felt the tension from my body releasing and I was able to bask in a euphoric state of relaxation and the soothing sounds of Phil Collins. She was young, but nobody will miss her, I have nothing to feel guilty for. I am simply clearing up the streets of New York City one waste of space at a time; I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Satisfaction.

The waitress who I could not bring myself to inquire her name, as I truly did not care was not the first person I killed, I thought of those before her… my old assistant, the homeless man and his dog, Paul Allen, those boys from the fraternity these were only the ones worth remembering. We were up to a body count of at least 32, just doing my part to keep the streets clean like a vigilante or even a mercenary. Basking in the ecstasy that I was feeling, she would not be the last person to die at my hands either.

Reference : Ellis, B E. (1991).  American Pyscho United States Vintage Press