American Psycho: Before New York

Author's Note: I noticed while reading "American Psycho" that there are few references to his early life. This got me to thinking what exactly life was like for Patrick. So, that is what this story is about. I decided to take up the part where Patrick was talking about Bethany. Little was mentioned except that he remembered seeing her crying with her arm in a sling. This story discusses that briefly. The main part of is it... well, read it and you'll find out.  I've changed this story a little, as some things were bugging me.

 

This story is mainly based on the book, but if you've only seen the movie I think it'll still work.

 

"Just need some time to myself again

Need to bring back the old days,

When I was in control of my life"

Taproot –"Again and Again"

NO INTRODUCTION NECESSARY

Something is wrong. My killings are becoming less thrilling. Less methodical. It use to be that I knew exactly why I was killing people. Like that girl who was spouting that "Life is not a rehearsal" bullshit at a bar I was at last Monday. Now... now I don't even know why I choose one weapon over another.

My name is Patrick Bateman and I am twenty years old.

My moment of clarity came when I was in Clara's room. Clara was and still is a rich bitch who claimed to be a distant relative of the Trump family. She was chosen after she boasted that she could give me head that "would make my teeth rattle". Apart from being intelligent, Clara is a slut. That was my reason for choosing her. That was it, plain and simple. At least, I thought that was it. However, when we got to her room after a night of drinking and much flirting, she fell to her kness and began blubbing like some soap opera reject.

"We can't do this!" she sobbed , falling to her knees and burying her face into my stomach and staining my shirt with her tears.

"Do what?" I said, calmly removing the knife from above her head and back into the inside coat pocket of my Harvard sports jacket.

Clara looked up at me as I turned away. In her mirror I could see that the mascara was beginning to run. I felt sick.

"I've been going steady with Robert for two months now. I couldn't do this to him now. Not after his friend was murdered last week."

Of course, Robert Hall. That cocksure student who pretends to stand my company and for whom I do the same in return. God, the bile is beginning to rise. Turning suddenly I give Clara a thin smile and stroke my hand across her cheek.

"Fine." I finally say through gritted teeth.

"Oh, you're upset." Clara continued to cry.

"Only enough for me to want to rip out your eyeballs and skull fuck you." I smile,

This seems sentence seems to go over Clara's head as she's crying too hard. However, my previous utterance has scared me. I'm unsure as to whether I actually said that or whether I thought it. Normally I'm able to control myself from saying things like that. Normally.

"I best go." I say making my way to the door.

Clara stands up shakily. "Where are you going?" she says trying to sound  concerned Patrick, don't leave. I'll make some coffee."

She smiles weakly and I begin to feel even worse.

"I , um, I have to return some video tapes" I say, then as an afterthought, "It was just sex, Clara. Fucking sex! You didn't have to go and make a big deal out of it, you stupid bitch!"

I leave, slamming the door behind me.

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF...

wearing ripped Levi's and I walk around the dorms for awhile. Something has died in me and something evil is brewing in its place. I'm unsure whether I'm psychotic or psychopathic. Sane or insane. Republican or Democrat. Pepsi or Coca Cola. Clara was the first person I've ever had a sense of remorse about. That outburst I had didn't help. Why am I feeling this way? I was fine last week before I killed Robert Hall's friend. In fact, I was ecstatic afterwards. I need to talk to someone before I go back to my dorm and torture a couple a lab rats I stole from a biology student who "committed suicide" last night. Otherwise, I'll never sleep tonight. Then, this guy in a red jog suit

BETHANY

"Patrick?"

"Hello Bethany" I say when she finally answers the door.

"What are you doing here? It's two in the morning."

"Is that all you have to say to your boyfriend."

"I didn't mean that..."

"Bethany, I really need to talk to you." I say walking into the room and taking her into my arms.

"Oh Patrick, what's wrong? You're shaking!"

"Can I have a drink?"

"Sure."

Bethany, my one true love, smiles sympathetically and goes over to her desk to us some coffee. I'd prefer something stronger, but I guess she can smell the cheap Smirnoff vodka on my breath. I make myself comfortable on a "Sesame Street" bean bag and begin to nibble at the petals of a $200 bouquet I sent to her this morning. She's too tired to notice. When she's finished making the coffee, the bouquet is missing two stems. One I've eaten. The other is my coat pocket next to the knife which I forgot to remove. At least, I think I meant to remove it.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" Bethany says handing me a cup of coffee.

"Look, Bethany, I think we should separate" I say, choking on my own words.

"Why?"

"I just think it would be for the best."

"Patrick, I don't understand. Where did this all come from. I..."

Oh God! She's beginning to cry. Calm, Bateman, stay calm.

"I've just been thinking a lot tonight. It came to me when I was about to stab Clara in the head with a knife."

There I go again. My mouth running away with me. Only now I feel like being less of a reluctant passenger. Although Bethany has not heard the whole sentence, she has heard some parts and she stands up seething.

"Oh, so you were with Clara tonight? Well, I had heard, but I really did think you'd put all that kind of behaviour behind you, Patrick!"

I stand up. I need to defuse this situation. Need to.

"Bethany…"

"What?! Was she a good fuck? Was she, Bateman?" she screams, beating her fists against my chest, "Was she good enough to jeopardize everything on?"

"BETHANY!" I scream, grabbing hold of her arms and staring her right in the eyes, "Bethany, I did not fuck Clara. Admittedly, everyone else has, but that doesn't mean I have to."

There's a pause. I take this time to look around Bethany's room. The 'Gone with  the Wind' stills. The books on everything from 'Paradise Lost' to 'The Scarlet Letter'. The silly stuffed toys on her bed, that always used to get in the way of our love making. Finally, Bethany speaks.

"Really?" Bethany looks frightened

"Really." I say soothingly, "Bethany, I have to leave you. I hurt people."

"Oh, Patrick, you'd never hurt me."

"No, not just you. Anyone. I'm no longer selective."

"Patrick, I'm lost."

Jesus, so am I. Must she make this so difficult? Something inside me tells me I should confess. Get it all out in the open, Bateman, you'd feel better for it.

"When was the last time you saw Sarah?" I ask,

"Patrick, don't change the subject. Besides you know she's dead."

I begin to clench my fists into tight balls of skin and bone. Then open them and then close them again.

"I know" I say, hoping she'll catch on.

I know exactly. She was found in a dumpster outside the campus. She was stabbed over forty times. I counted. More times then Julius Caesar. The body was washed of evidence and all hair shaved off. My "reason" for her was because she wouldn't shut the fuck up about the amount of fat in a chocolate bar during one of the most important lectures of my life. Donald Trump was being used as an example of good management.

"Who do you think killed her?" I say impatiently,

"I don't know." Bethany says confused,

For fuck sake's, you dumb BITCH!

"Bethany, I hurt people."

Bethany looks into my eyes and then hugs me.

"Oh, you'll never turn into your father." she says

"What? Who mentioned my fucking father?"

"You, you always said that your father hurt people."

"I think my way of hurting people differs ever so slightly from his."

"Sorry?"

This is getting nowhere. End it, Bateman.

"Bethany! It's over!"

I make my way to the door. Bethany grabs my arm and before I know what I'm doing, I grab her and throw her against the wall. When I snap back to reality, Bethany lies crumpled on the floor cradling her arm.

"Patrick, my arm. It's broken." she sobs

I must have pushed her harder then I thought. I murmur an apology and run out of the room. As I leave the building I bump into Robert Hall.

"Hey, Bateman!"

"Hey Faggot. By the way, Clara's the best damn fuck I've ever had." I say before running away from him, from Bethany, from everything.

BATEMAN IS DEAD

Two days later, I phone the Frat house from a motel in Chicago.

"Hello" says a voice from the other end.

"Hello? It's Bateman."

"Hey Bateman" says the unrecognizable voice, but who I think is John Noonan,

"Listen, which is more disturbing? The rape scene in 'I Spit on Your Grave' or the chest bursting scene in 'Alien'?"

"The pink elephant scene in 'Dumbo'." I reply,

"Ooh, good answer."

"Look, could you get Price for me?"

"Sure."

There's a pause as John or whatever his name is goes looking for Price. As he does, I sit and stare at the prostitute I met last night. Her head now in a waste paper basket and replaced with a dog's head I found in an alley way. Finally I hear Price's voice.

"Bateman?"

"Hello Price." My voice has begun to take a very flat tone.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Chicago."

"Chicago." Price says astonished, "Chicago! What the fuck are you doing in Chicago?"

"I needed a break." I say aiming marbles at the cavity in the prostitute's stomach.

"Speaking of which, I heard about Bethany. Don't worry, she's not pressing charges. She's told the hospital and her parents that she tripped. I'm witness." Price says, proud in his involvement in one of my little dramas,

"Listen, Price." I say ignoring his last utterance, "Could you do something for me?"

"Shoot!"

I pick up the flower from Bethany's room. It's brown now. It looks as if it has been made from leather. A brittle rose wrapped in skin. Bethany...

"Bateman? Yo, Bateman!" shouts Price

Back to reality.

"I'm not going to make it." I say finally,

"What?"

"I'm not going to make it, Price." I say near to tears and crushing the rose in my hand.

"To lectures? Fair enough. Look, I'll get the notes for you. Don't worry. Okay?"

I put the phone down.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Iwonderaboutwhatisgoingtohappentome.NothinggoodIguess.WillIevergettogetherwithBethanyagain?HowwillIhandleitifIdo?WhatifIhurther?WhenIclosemyeyesIseeBethanyandIinafieldhavingapicnic.Myson,PB,isflyingakite.ThemoreIthinkaboutit,themorerealitbecomesandyeteventuallyPBlooksatmeandsays"This is not an option".PatrickBatemandiedtoday.Hisemotionsallshriveledup.LonglivePatrickBateman.