American Psycho does not belong to me.

This is simply an AU of mine that takes place after the movie (and borrows parts from the book). I'm posting this to get the AU in order and to help myself, so this is really just a personal thing than much else. However, if you do read, enjoy.

Jean and I are driving down a dirt road and I realize that I absolutely despise places like this. We're going to meet her parents since we're engaged. It's only just now happening because they live in another state (Tennessee to be exact) and we finally made plans to go see them. Jean is driving and she seems nervous. She's been nervous about this entire trip actually, so I decide to try and make her feel better about it.

"It'll be fine, Jean," I tell her, looking out the window to see us pass a field of cows. I don't really like Tennessee that much so far, but maybe it'll surprise me. Besides, I haven't even gotten out of the car other than to stay at a few hotels. Though, Jean told me we would be staying with her parents for the week of the trip.

She sighs in response, "I'm just stressed is all. My parents never liked any of my other boyfriends."

"I don't think I'm like your other boyfriends."

"You're not," she laughs, shaking her head a little. "That's why I'm worried. My parents don't really trust… er… city folk." I look over to her, amused, because that sounds absolutely ridiculous. I stifle back a laugh and clear my throat. Jean speaks again, changing the conversation topic, "Are you sure you don't even want to get a permit?"

She's talking about a driving permit. She had sworn to me that she wanted to teach me how to drive, but every time an opportunity came I came up with an excuse not to. I don't really see the point in learning how to drive, not when other people had drove me my entire life. I had grown used to the idea of cabs, even if their drivers were complete idiots at times. "I mean, I totally could," I say. "But I don't see the point. You can drive. I can take a cab if you don't feel like carpooling me." I smile at her jokingly and when she glances over at me I think she lets a small giggle escape her.

Jean grins, "Are you sure you're not just scared?"

"Scared? Why would I be scared, Jean? Of course not."

"I think you're just scared," she teases.

I give her a look before pursing my lips into a tight lipped smile, "Okay. Maybe I am scared, but I don't think I really want to admit it." She laughs then, proceeding to turn the A/C up. It's a bit hot since it's the summertime.

There's a pause in between our conversation until Jean talks again. "Maybe don't mention you can't drive with my parents," she admits, gritting her teeth. "They're… traditional."

"You know… "traditional" is just the polite term for 'close minded,'" I tell her, squinting in her direction until she notices. She waves it off and nods, knowing what I said is right because that's exactly how she meant it. I suddenly give her a sly smirk, "How traditional are we talking about, Jean?"

"My dad owns a butcher shop and my mom has always been a housewife. She never had a job. She married right out of high school, Patrick," she explains, letting a heavy breath escape her. "Oh, that reminds me… don't talk about politics, sexism, racism, or anything touchy with them, okay?"

"Christ, what can I talk about then?" I joke.

She tightens her grip on the steering wheel a little, "Don't joke like that! You know I'm stressed out about this."

I nod and put my hand up defensively, giving her a small fit of laughter. I look back out the window for a split second to see more cows, in which I notice a specific one awkwardly chewing at a bush instead of the grass, before I take my attention back to Jean. "Okay, Jean, I have an idea. I'll tell them I love country music. I'll even dress up in cowboy boots and a plaid shirt. Christ, might as well throw the hat in there too," I tease, in which I can see Jean grow a little annoyed. "Oh, Jean, I'll be the best man they had ever met."

"Stop being such an ass," she grumbles, though I can hear the faint sound of playfulness in her voice, despite how much she wants to act like she's mad at me. She turns and I can tell we're suddenly going down a long driveway towards what would be her parents' house. "I'm happy you opted for no suit," she tells me. "I know they would've judged you as soon as you walked through the door…"

I'm wearing faded jeans and a red Polo shirt. I figured I didn't exactly have to dress up to meet people from Tennessee. I packed my bags mostly with casual clothing, though I did bring a few suits just in case we went out to eat or something. Though, I figure now there probably won't be any five star restaurants near all these cow fields.

"Aren't suits normally-" I begin, but Jean cuts me off.

"My parents don't like men in suits, either, Patrick."

"Ohmygod," I groan. "Jean, I can't believe you're related to small town rednecks. Hillbillies? Oh, what's the difference?" Jean's hand slaps my shoulder before going back to the steering wheel. We begin to drive up to a house then, in which I'm surprised that it's bigger than I expected. It actually isn't the small trailer that I pictured, but a rather nice brick home protected by a gate. I'm almost in shock that Jean's parents have some kind of money, especially if they only have an income of a butcher shop. I look to Jean, "How… big is that butcher shop?"

"Okay," she grits her teeth, realizing she was caught up in a lie. "It's more of a slaughterhouse. But I don't like calling it that. I hate that place…"

"Your father owns a slaughterhouse? That makes a lot more sense."

Jean pulls up to the gate intercom and presses the button to speak. We wait a few moments before someone answers, "Who is it?" I can hear a country twang from the other end and I somewhat want to cringe, but I hold it in.

"It's Jean, Mom."

"Oh! Come on in!"

The gate opens and we pull up in in front of the house, parking the car so we could get our things. Jean cuts the car off and takes her seatbelt off, I follow, but we sit there in silence for a few minutes in thought. I realize I might not be able to handle this, but I'd have to get through a week of this torture for Jean. "Ready?" I ask with a fake smile, opening up my door. Jean sighs and nods. We open up the trunk and get our suitcases as we walk up to the front door, in which Jean goes to knock but is stopped when it opens up to reveal an older woman.

"Oh, baby!" The woman lets out, hugging Jean before she can even make it into the house. I stand there awkwardly because I'm not sure what else to do. As I watch Jean hug her mother back and talk with her, I realize I'm soon being pulled into the house with her. The door closes behind me and Jean's mother is looking at me with a big smile.

She's wearing a yellow blouse with dark blue jeans. I couldn't guess the clothing brands, not that I would want to anyway. "So, is this my new son-in-law?" she asks Jean, and I nod in response to save her the headache. Her mother suddenly hugs me and I feel my stomach tighten up. Why the hell is she hugging me? I could see Jean giving a fearful look in the corner of my eye, and I give a heavy sigh, in which I decide not to bark at this old woman for touching me for Jean's sake. "My name is Charlotte but you can call me "Mom," honey," she jokes, pulling away from me with a laugh. She tells us to go ahead and put our things in the guest room so we can hurry back to meet Jean's father.

We walk upstairs together to find our room, and when I close the door and set my suitcases down I look at Jean. Jean looks back at me and we basically stare at each other for a mere thirty seconds before I say, "We need a code word."

"A code word for what?"

"A code word for when I can't handle your parents anymore," I admit. "Jean, she hugged me after knowing me for literally five seconds."

"Patrick, they're not that bad. You haven't even met my dad yet."

"I'm not looking forward to meeting him after that."

Jean shoots me a look but I ignore it. She grabs my hand and basically drags me back downstairs, in which I give small whines in protest, but none of it convinces her to stop. Instead, we end up in the living room, greeted by her parents and hideous interior designing. There's a deer head hanging above the fireplace, a cowskin rug for the centerpiece of the room, and an ugly beige that paints the walls. I push away my thoughts of the design and focus on Jean's parents.

Her father walks over to me and puts his hand out for a handshake. He has a beard that reminds me of a lumberjack, and when I look down I realize he's wearing cowboy boots and a plaid shirt like I had joked about in the car earlier. I grip his hand in a firm handshake, lending him a fake smile. "It's nice to finally meet'cha," he tells me. "I've been wanting to meet the man that's lucky enough to marry my daughter here. Name's Owen. And you?"

"Patrick," I reply, taking my hand away since we finally stop shaking. "Patrick Bateman."

"Well, Pat," he so dearly calls me. "I hope you can prove to me you're good enough for my daughter. I don't recall you ever asking for a blessing."

"A blessing? You're serious?"

Jean laughs and shakes her head, "Patrick's just not used to all that, Daddy. I mean, you know he's from New York." Jean is trying to save me from whatever I had just said.

There's a silence.

"Oh, is this the same fella you… work for?" Owen asks her. I can sense disapproval in his voice. I realize Jean told them about us before, which is understandable, but obviously they didn't quite like us together. The traditional thing was starting to make more sense the more I knew them.

I decide to say something on her behalf, "Yeah, she's my secretary. I don't think it really matters that much." I kiss her cheek as to show them how much I love her. I look back over to her parents, and although they still don't seem happy about it, they decide to brighten up anyway.

Her father jokes and calls me a "Yank," telling me that he had met a few employees and business partners from up North before. I act interested and smile, nodding before I sit down on the couch with Jean. I ask them if they have any plans for our trip down here, and they tell me they're excited to show me around their town. They explain that they're going to take me to the Summer Festival, and that they're going to take me to their church, and that they're going to take me to do something called mudding. The last part doesn't sound very up my alley.

"That all sounds… very fun," I lie, trying to get on their good side. "I'm really happy to finally meet you two."

Jean smiles and leans her head on my shoulder, "Patrick is a lot different than my other boyfriends, but I think it's for the best, you know."

Charlotte laughs, "What about that one boy? What was his name? He was one of the McKinney boys."

"The quarterback?"

"That's the one."

"His name was Bobby, Mom," Jean sighs, obviously disliking the memory. "We went out for a few dates before he dumped me for another girl. A cheerleader." I look to Jean then because I'm surprised to hear such a thing. I don't know if I'm more surprised that she got dumped or that her mother basically just said someone named Bobby would probably be better than me.

We talk for a little more, though Jean's mother leaves to make dinner. Owen tells us to go ahead and get situated in our room because he knows we probably didn't get time to put our clothes away. He says that he'll call us down when dinner is ready. Jean and I go back upstairs into our room and I close the door, sighing before plopping my main suitcase down and unzipping it. I grab some of my shirts and turn to the dresser in front of the bed, opening up a drawer and putting my clothes in. I continue this cycle without saying a word. Jean seems to follow in my footsteps.

"Patrick?" she suddenly lets out.

"Yeah?"

"I know this is going to be hard for you," Jean puts the rest of her clothes away and I follow suit. "I just want you to know that it means a lot to me." She takes the suitcase off the bed and sets it on the ground, sitting on the edge of the bed and gesturing for me to sit next to her. I do as she wants. "Really. I mean it. I really do, Patrick."

I smile at her and peck her on the lips, "I know, Jean."

We sit there for a minute before I lean back and let out a groan. I stretch my arms and legs, "I just can't believe you're the byproduct of those two." Jean lays down next to me and rests her head on my chest. I slow my breathing somewhat, starting to relax, "I mean, you're like, nothing like them."

"I know."

"Thank God you aren't," I tell her. I kiss the top of her head and close my eyes for a moment. We lay like this for what feels like forever, listening to each other's breathing and not saying anything. Though I know in the back of my head it's bound to end because I remember we have dinner soon. I hope that the food won't be terrible. I sigh and try to clear my mind, making sure to keep my relaxing state.

… but then Jean's mother calls us for dinner and I realize this perfect little moment has to end.