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cobaltperun · 1 month ago

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The Catalyst (7) - Way Away

WandaNat x Female Reader

Chapter summary: Captured, with no hopes of escape, all you could do was wait for the rescue that would never come. For the first time in your life you have to let go, you have to let the heat burn within you.

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Word Count: 5.3k

Note: This chapter opens with Natasha’s POV and goes back to right after she abandoned Reader.

-I've made it this far now and I'm not burning out-

She should have heard from Clint by now. He should have reached you, gotten you out and perhaps she should have even seen him, Coulson and Hill arriving, but there was no one in sight, and it made Natasha dread the worst possible outcome. That she made a mistake that could never be undone.

So, the moment she was back in the safe house she quickly contacted Clint. “How is she?!” she immediately asked the moment Clint picked up.

“What? Nat, what are you talking about?” he had no idea what she was talking about, he sounded like she had just woken him up.

Fury lied to her.

“I have to go,” she hung up and rushed outside, running faster than ever before back to the base. She had to make it back in time, she had to reach you, had to save you. Consequences be damned she would give you the antidote and you would live. You had to, because she wasn’t sure if she had what it takes to get over your death.

Her legs were complaining, aching from the brutal pace she maintained as she sprinted up the rocky hills like a woman possessed. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, and each breath felt a tiny bit more difficult to take, yet she kept running. She kept sprinting, pushing her body to its limit. Her super soldier serum was designed with quick bursts of energy in mind unlike Steve Rogers’ serum.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she kept repeating to herself as if that would allow you to hear it. As if anything she could say would erase this. She reached the base, shooting anyone in her path, not that there were many thugs left, but you just weren’t there. All she found was a bloodstain and your earpiece on the lowest floor.

A scream that tore through her throat felt unfamiliar, raw, as if it contained all the emotions she ever felt, and all that remained after it was numbness that consumes all of her.

She put her faith in an empty, false promise, and you paid for it. The blood she knelt in permanently staining her ledger red.

~X~

He never dwelled much on it, but becoming an agent meant losing parts of yourself, adopting traits that were never your own in a way that made them seem like they were integral to who you were as a person. It wasn’t rare to see agents unable to separate who they once were from who they were meant to be during the mission. But that was nothing to what the Red Room did. At least him and his colleagues got to choose. Once a handful of agents began training before they turned eighteen, and though some joined because they were given a second chance they always got to choose whether or not they would take it.

The Red Room was different. Girls, torn from their families before they could even remember them, taught that they had no place in the world, not even forming bonds with one another because that only meant being forced to fight to the death.

Even after three years Natasha still carried it with her. From day to day life, to her following orders with little to no questioning. When he offered her the second chance, the chance to wipe her ledger clean as she said, he didn’t think he’d basically throw her to Fury. She wasn’t like the rest of them. Him, Hill, Coulson, you, two things you had in common were being some of the best agents and occasionally disobeying direct orders. Natasha wasn’t like that. The Red Room made her a perfect agent, and Fury gave her just enough freedom to seem better than them.

So, when Natasha sounded like she was on the verge of a panic attack hung up he decided to go after her. She was on the mission with you, so something must have really went wrong.

Clint expected lots of things when he flew to Russia in a quinjet, getting there in record time, but still too late. He didn’t expect to see Natasha on her knees in a dried-up puddle of blood. “Nat?” he tried cautiously, but her eyes were empty, and that frightened him. Her eyes weren’t this empty even while she was in the Red Room. “What happened?” where were you? Was that your blood? If so where was your body? All of that could wait at the moment. Whatever happened to you by now it was too late to do anything, so, as cold as it was, he focused solely on Natasha. He focused on doing what he could do, and maybe that would let him get to you as well.

“I abandoned her,” Natasha whispered, her voice hoarse, as if she screamed until her throat could no longer take it. “She needed me, she was bleeding out, and I left,” how wrong did the mission go then? You were gone, that much was clear, whether you were taken alive or whether your body was taken there was no doubt that you were no longer in the base.

Clint reached down, trying to pull Natasha back to her feet, and he expected resistance, so he pulled harder than necessary, but she didn’t resist and he stumbled back, barely keeping the two of them standing. “Come on, we need to get you out of here,” there would be time to grieve later, after they did their best to find you.

~X~

She was still numb when Clint brought her back to the main headquarters, she was still numb when she was given a medical check-up, there was nothing physically wrong with her. No, what was wrong had nothing to do with her body, and it couldn’t be fixed by doctors.

“What do you mean you won’t search for her?!” she heard Clint yelling at Fury, but Fury did nothing wrong. He prioritized the entire organization and the mission over one agent. She was the one who chose to leave you behind. “Y/N is one of the best agents, not to mention she gave seven years of her life to your cause!” but they were all replaceable, no matter how capable they were. All she could see was that blood, there was so much of it, so much that she was almost certain you couldn’t survive unless you were immediately treated.

Natasha just lay down, empty, exhausted, wishing she could sleep, but sleep abandoned her much like she abandoned you. She wished, not for the first time, that this hell would end, but she knew the truth. She didn’t deserve the end, not yet; not until she suffered and paid for all the pain she caused.

~X~

There was no way Clint was just going to let this be, for both you and Natasha. He couldn’t watch Natasha suffer like this, and he wasn’t about to give up on you either, so, even though computers and hacking and all of that wasn’t exactly his strongest suit, he managed to restore the footage from the cameras in the base.

He watched the footage, he went pale when he saw what happened to you, how you got impaled and how you fell several floors down. It was definitely bad, but then he saw them, several women, dressed in the same uniform Natasha wore while she was part of the Red Room, going down and an hour later retrieving your unconscious body.

“Shit,” he cursed, knowing he had to let Natasha know immediately. Not only was the Red Room still active, but they took you.

What followed was a month of Natasha nearly losing her mind, frantically trying to locate you, threatening several times to just outright go rogue, with him having to talk her out of it, convincing her that it would only make finding you more difficult. She had to wait at least until they got your location and then they’d go and get you back. He promised that, but she did damn near all the work. So much so that he found her passed out after days spent searching for you.

For the first time in Natasha’s life she was rejecting any orders, no matter how reasonable they were, and in the end it meant nothing. They were too late. They missed you by less than an hour, but that was more than enough.

~X~ Red Room Base, four weeks later ~X~

Natasha’s betrayal left a huge crack in the Red Room, even three years down the line. It made the entire organization vulnerable, made the government doubt their ability to keep their own agents under control. After all, how could they be trusted after they lost the only super soldier? The shaken trust could not be rebuilt that easily, if at all.

The broken trust led to less funds, less money led to whole facilities being shut down, and by the end of it all everything was happening here, from research to training of the new widows. That was also why the Red Room went to the base you and Natalia attacked, to get the same data you were after and progress the research on mutants, all in order to get some of that broken trust repaired.

None of it mattered, Yelena was going to leave it all behind, but she knew what would happen. You’d burn the whole building to the ground, destroy everything, at least that’s what you promised. And she murdered innocent people before, but she couldn’t leave the girls still in training behind. So, instead of using the hour you gave her to escape she used it to get all the girls out of their shackles and out of the base. She snuck them through the base masterfully, doing exactly what she was trained to. There were about three dozen girls close to her, and she wasn’t about to let any of them die here. Maybe she could find their families, or what was left of them, maybe they could have the lives she didn’t get to have.

As for the other widows, she considered warning them, she wanted to do it, but there was no way of knowing which ones were already brainwashed, and telling one of those would mean Madame B would know in minutes.

As the girls, trained to be quiet and to never show fear, followed after her, clearly afraid of the consequences but hopeful for the future, clutching each other tightly, she knew she couldn’t risk it, even if it meant leaving the other Widows to die.

Alarms suddenly going off made the girls behind her whimper in fear, but she knew what was going on. You made your move, and she needed to be quick.

~X~

Lightning coursed through your body, sparks igniting the flames as the temperature in the room rose. You’ve given Yelena enough time, maybe even more than you promised, after all, you sort of lost a sense of time in this cell. The flames engulfed your wrists, burning the shackles holding you captive and you could finally see the entire empty cell.

The betrayal, the torture, the fear, it all fueled your flames, and for the first time in your life it felt good to burn, it felt intoxicating as the shackles around your wrists burnt and took shapes of two ribbons made of intertwined lightning and fire.

The first steps made you feel like you were once again learning how to walk, consequences of being tied up and tortured for a month. But, you’d push through it. The weakness of your body, the lost muscles, all of that could be regained, and all of that could be made up for with your mutant powers. You stared at the glaive that injured you, remembering the special properties it had to absorb flames and picked it up, getting a feel for its weight in your hands. It was a good weapon, compatible with your powers, though you currently lacked the strength to properly fight with it, your swings would be slow, and even then you couldn’t do it for long. For now you’d use it as a walking stick.

You zapped the mechanism keeping the doors closed a bit too hard, opening the doors but also setting off the alarms. Not that it mattered, you wanted to burn this whole place down, you went down the stairs to a large, open area, probably one of the training rooms for Widows. You wondered if Natasha ever trained here. The thought of her made you feel bitter, but underneath that feeling, hidden deep down, was also rage. These people took her childhood from her, took everything from her. And somehow that rage made whatever anger you felt toward Natasha seem almost insignificant.

The root cause of Natasha’s betrayal was her inability to disobey orders. And that was something these people, this organization, beat into her. You leaned your weight on the glaive as a small army approached you from different directions, and you waited with a bit of a grin on your face. When they all rounded the corners you saw eight women, wearing their uniform, armed, still unsure if you were meant to be capture alive or killed. Each one of them went through what Natasha went through, and maybe each and every one of them desperately wanted to leave this life behind.

“I’ll only say this once,” you spoke up much calmer than you actually were. “If anyone wants to live, then leave this place otherwise,” they raised their guns and fired and instinctively you let out a burst of lightning, stopping the bullets, followed by flames melting them down. “Burn with this cursed place.”

They didn’t even consider it. They were brainwashed, taught to rush into fire as long as they accomplished their mission. They didn’t make this choice, it was made for them, but you couldn’t reverse their brainwashing. One way or another this would end in their deaths.

Two of them rushed at you with knives, since bullets clearly didn’t work at long range, the other six circled around you, and you had no doubt in your mind that they’d attack soon as well. As weak as you were you had to end this fight quickly. You met one of the two Widows rushing you in the middle, blocking the knife with the handle of the glaive and pushing back against her. You brought the glaive down, making her dodge to the side and managed to grab her wrist. They were nowhere near Natasha’s level. You pulled the Widow you grabbed between you and the other Widow charging at you, trying to see if that would stop her charge, but she slammed into her teammate or whatever they were and you heard a click of the gun.

“Shit!” you cursed as she shot right through the Widow you were holding and grazing your side with a bullet. You winced at the pain, amplified by all the pain you endured, and another Widow tackled you to the ground. You gasped, dropping the glaive next to you and forearm pressed against your throat, choking you. You tried to grab your glaive but a foot stepped onto your forearm. It was difficult to breathe, and you thought for a moment that you must have been naïve to think you’d have a chance to escape even with your powers not accessible to you.

Wait. Your powers.

‘I’m stupid,’ right, you were so used to never using them that you just forgot how to instinctively rely on them. No, that wasn’t right, you never even learnt how to do that.

You blasted the three Widows near you with a burst of lightning and propelled your body into the air with flames. “I warned you,” you said and shot electricity at the glaive to pull it back to your hand. You flew up close to the ceiling and charged flames into the blade of the glaive and then charged down, landing in the middle of the room and causing an explosion that hit Widows. It wasn’t enough to kill them, but it was enough to make them stay on the floor, some unconscious, some whimpering in pain.

You dropped down to one knee, leaning almost all of your weight on the glaive as you gasped for air. You weren’t paying enough attention to it, but if you did you would have seen that as weak as the explosion and that entire display of power was it still burnt through two thirds of your ribbons.

You should have been alarmed by your skin turning yellow and your skin starting to crack like a broken glass, especially since the cracks were blue, and the immense heat within you should have worried you, but it was as if you instinctively knew this was a part of your powers.

This wasn’t over yet. You had those two to kill. You had no idea how you would destroy the entire base, but deep down you knew you could do it. That would come later though. After Dreykov and Madame B were dead. You grunted, pushing your body to stand up. Each step felt more difficult than the previous one, but then you felt a hand grasp onto your ankle, and you looked down at a barely conscious Black Widow. Her light brown hair was as long as Natasha’s was and her eyes, while not the same piercing shade of green, reminded you just a tiny bit of Natasha. “Kill us, please. End this hell,” she pleaded, just for a moment breaking through the brainwashing to plead for her own death, for release from the Red Room.

“Where are Dreykov and Madame B?” you asked, hoping she knew.

“Second floor, far right corner,” for once you were lucky.

“What if you ran?” you suggested but she shook her head.

“No peace for us, ever, anywhere,” the words struck you, not particularly because of this Black Widow or any of the ones that attacked you, but because of Natasha and Yelena. These were your enemies, but you still hesitated as you placed your hand to the side of her neck. You looked her in the eyes, your face was the last thing she’d see, and you sent a burst of electricity to her brain, killing her.

A quick, almost painless death. That was the most you could offer each and every one of them. As you got up your legs were no longer trembling. The adrenaline in your body let you ignore the fatigue and burst through the ceiling until you were outside, hovering in air. It almost sent you into a shock when you breathed fresh air in after a month and you took in the area around you. Endless nothingness naturally hidden by what seemed like a constant snowstorm. Considering the base wasn’t all that big it was no wonder no one found them.

You zeroed in on the far right side of the second floor and charged an explosion at the tip of your glaive, bringing it down once more and blasting through the ceiling to come face to face with Dreykov and Madame B.

Dreykov looked bored as you panted, catching your breath as your ribbons nearly disappeared. “I wonder if our brainwashing works on mutants,” he seemed unbothered by Yelena escaping, or by you killing eight Widows.

“We haven’t had a chance to try,” Madame B got up from her seat, moving with deadly grace much closer to Natasha’s than other Widows you briefly fought. She was easily in her sixties, but she still seemed formidable. “Well, it works on pigs,” your smirked at that, refusing to take the bait.

“Yeah, keep yapping,” you encouraged her, slammed the dull end of the glaive on the floor and taunted her to come closer with your other hand.

“What about? Perhaps the traitor?” she tossed an open file at your feet, and you saw a family tree that was vaguely familiar to you. “Princess turned into the greatest assassin in history. Ironic, isn’t it?” there were some rumors, speculations really, but this did seem to confirm that Natasha’s last name wasn’t a coincidence. “Or maybe you’d like to talk about her training? Kill count? Sterilization?” you didn’t even realize you were burning down what little remained on the ribbons out of pure rage. “You’ll bring the traitor back to us, mutant, and we’ll simply fix the malfunctioning tool,” she smirked as flames engulfed you and burnt the files in front of you.

“Don’t,” your voice sounded almost animalistic as you gave into the rage. “Talk about Natasha like she is some object!” your face contorted in rage, sparks flying all around you, the flames vanished but the lightning erupted from you, paralyzing now alarmed Madame B.

“Ribbons are gone,” she gasped, believing that meant you would no longer have your powers.

You lunged forward, glaive at the ready and piercing through her and Dreykov at the same time, even though you avoided vital organs and with the glaive still going through them you released lightning into their bodies, putting them through the same torture they put you through as well as sealing their wounds closed. Madame B bit her lip, refusing to scream, but Dreykov was screaming like a bitch.

“Does she have any family left?!” you demanded, consumed by rage, desire for vengeance. They didn’t answer and you increased the voltage. “Speak and I’ll stop,” that enticed them,

“No!” Dreykov cried out and you kicked them off your glaive, watching as they slumped onto the ground, barely alive. “We killed them,” he admitted, and you expected as much.

“Well then, time to watch your world burn,” you weren’t sure if you’d be able to do it, but you would sure as hell try. You let the flames and lightning consume you, your body transforming entirely much to their horror. Once more you pierced them with your glaive, keeping their brains and heart working with small bursts of electricity as fire exploded from your body. The glaive absorbed what would have burnt Dreykov and Madame B to ashes, lightning burst through, destroying everything in its path and flames followed after it, within ten seconds the entire base became engulfed in flames. You screamed, letting everything within you fuel the fire and lightning as they spread, obliterating everything.

And then it was over and you gave them a moment to see the end of the Red Room before you yanked the glaive out, killing them.

You took a step back as your body reverted back to normal and you looked around, eyes wild and consumed by something you didn’t quite understand. The rage was gone, but you didn’t feel any better.

You felt worse. Wondering just how many lives you took by destroying the entire base.

You stumbled out of the ruins, vulnerable, with no energy left. You were yet to figure it out, but you wouldn’t be able to use your powers for hours. You suppressed the need to vomit as you were reminded of the destruction Magneto caused. In the end you were no different than him, you were just as capable of destroying and killing as he was.

A red smoke signal caught your attention, and you looked to your far right, seeing Yelena in the distance. And she wasn’t alone. You pushed your body, refusing to lose consciousness now, and made your way to her, only to see her standing in front of more than thirty girls, none of whom could be older than twelve, though some were as young as seven, maybe eight years old.

It didn’t make what you did any better, it made it even worse. Because there was no way for you to know that these girls were safe. They could have been caught up in that inferno, and it was only Yelena’s decision that saved their lives. You felt as if you were no different from the monsters you just killed.

You fell to your knees, emotionally and physically drained. “Come on, there’s an old jet we can use,” Yelena urged you to get back to your feet and it worked. You were going to leave this all behind. Violence, fighting, all of that would be behind you.

You should have known better. Violence always follows those with power.

~X~

Gone. The Red Room base, everything they worked on here, every person that led the Red Room, including Dreykov and Madame B, it was all gone, but most importantly you were gone too. Natasha could count on one hand how many times she had trouble walking with how shaky her legs were. First was after she killed the first time, the second was when she graduated and was forced to get ready for the final ceremony, the third was when she was leaving you to die, and now, as she watched the destruction you caused, was the fourth time. And for the first time in years Natasha cried, she cried because she failed you, because she left you to die and then left you at the mercy of the Red Room, knowing what they were capable of.

Clint pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back, but his touch felt foreign, different from your own. She pulled away from him, trying to smile and reassure him that she was fine but the words remained stuck in her throat and her lips wouldn’t curve the way she tried to make them do. Instead, Natasha just shook her head and walked further into the ruins, surrounded by blue flames and smoke coming from what remained of the building. Both her and Clint could smell the carnage caused by your powers, it seemed like a torrent of fire was released from one place. The further they went the bigger the damage was. The corpses near the edges of destruction were burnt, but still recognizable, though they all died instantly, but further they went toward the center the worse the damage was. What began as charred walls broken down by the explosion turned to piles of ash on the blackened ground. Same with bodies. There was no telling how many people you killed in what seemed to be an instant attack engulfing the entire base.

Fury had given you the codename ‘Firestorm’, Natasha didn’t really see it, until today. But this? This definitely earned you that codename. And then they reached the center of explosion, the eye of the storm of sorts and Natasha fell to her knees before Clint could catch her.

“Are those?” he recognized the two people in the middle of the room. Dreykov and Madame B, their bodies safe from explosion, as if you personally made sure the flames wouldn’t even touch them. You made it all disappear. The monsters she believed she killed were now dead without a shadow of a doubt. Their corpses, killed by a large blade impaling their bodies, were the proof.

Clint approached them, taking note of things Natasha wasn’t ready to see. She wasn’t ready to come face to face with her nightmares, even if they were dead. “This wasn’t just escape. This was rage,” he told her and she figured a month of torture would cause that.

~X~

Natasha wasn’t getting it, she was too stuck in her guilt to see it. Sure, being held captive and tortured didn’t help Dreykov or Madame B, but there was more to this. If you were only angry for what they did to you, you would have burnt them like everyone else here. No, this was deliberate, intentional, you wanted Natasha to be certain that these two were dead.

They weren’t just impaled, you hurt them, you wanted them to pay, and even though he was sure you’d deny it, there was no doubt in Clint’s mind that this rage was because of what they did to Natasha.

Even if she couldn’t see it right now.

So, Clint chose to hope. He decided that sooner or later you and Natasha would reunite, that you’d figure this out, that Natasha would get a second chance. It might take time, maybe even years, but he was sure this wasn’t the end of you and Natasha.

This rage proved it to him.

~X~ Present day ~X~

It took Yelena and you half a year to find all the families and make sure the girls were reunited with them. And Yelena kept an eye on all of them from the shadows, making sure they were happy and healthy, that they led a good life and got the help they needed. And yet, her guilt persisted. She directly saved three dozen lives, and indirectly probably saved even more than that because some of those girls would have grown up to be Widows, killing for Dreykov.

It wasn’t enough. She carried the guilt only Natasha could understand, felt emptiness only Natasha could know how to fill. Or at least try to fill. Despite everything you understood there was only one person who could help Yelena now. “I think you should talk to Natasha,” you didn’t beat around the bush, you just directly said it and Yelena whipped her head in your direction.

“Did you get hit in the head?” she asked in disbelief and you shrugged, the battle in New York was hectic, and you did briefly end up in space.

“I just think she is the only person who can understand what you’re going through,” even if Natasha was probably terrified of reuniting with Yelena and facing the guilt she felt over never seeking the girl out.

“No way,” yet Yelena refused it and stood up so abruptly the legs of the chair scrapped the floor. “She abandoned me, she never tried to find me, it doesn’t matter if she didn’t know I was in the Red Room, she still didn’t look for me. She doesn’t see me as her sister, I was just a part of the mission she was on,” she was getting emotional. “I never mattered to anyone, Y/N,” she sobbed and you quickly got up, hugging her. And this time she didn’t try to stay strong, she clung to you.

“Let it out, I’m not going anywhere, I’m not leaving you,” you whispered softly as Yelena now openly sobbed into your chest.

“I’ve been going from place to place, thinking: I’ll settle down here, I’ll get attached. And then I realize that I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to care about people, I don’t know how to make friends, or even acquaintances. I don’t know how to let people care for me either. They took it all from me,” her fingers gingerly grasped onto your shirt. “I’m empty. Just a shell shaped like a human being,” and you had no answers for her pain, you’ve loved and were loved, the closest she ever got to that was the three years with Natasha that she barely even remembered.

You thought hard about what to say. How to approach this conversation? It didn’t matter to Yelena that she saved those girls, she believed that was something she did out of some sense of duty, not because she cared about them. “Perhaps,” you came to only one conclusion. The reason why Natasha joined S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t just to wipe her ledger clean, though that was the main reason. There was also a secondary reason. S.H.I.E.L.D. was the only place where she could find people who had something in common with her on a more personal level. “You should join the Avengers,” S.H.I.E.L.D. might be pushing it, forcing Yelena to go through that trauma again, but the Avengers were, or at least should, be different. Might give her a purpose beyond once again being a spy or an assassin or plain and simple an agent, even if it arguably would be more dangerous.

Yelena pulled away from you, looking at you in utter disbelief.

A/N: So… Yelena in the Avengers? Yes? No?

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megameatymatt · 1 year ago

Note

TW !! can you do matt comforting reader after her panic attack ? 🎀

Overwhelmed - Matt Sturniolo

TW!: fighting, crying, swearing, panic attack, angst, fluff

A/N: feedback and requests are appreciated!

You walk into your apartment, kicking off your shoes and plopping onto your bed, tears forming in your eyes. You pick up your phone to call Matt, no answer. You try again, no answer. This usually wouldn't have bothered you, but you and Matt had planned this night together days prior. The both of you have been so busy and stressed you haven’t had time to see each other. You were on the verge of tears the entire day. The only thing that got you through it was knowing you would get to curl up in Matt’s arms. He made you feel safe

You try texting him, asking when he's gonna be here

*read at 10:35pm*

You feel your heartache. “Is he mad?”, “Maybe he’s just busy”, “what did I do?” You start to overthink, thoughts filling up to the brink of your mind.

You didn't want to let this bother you, maybe he's filming. You stumble onto your feet and into the bathroom. You look in the mirror, and puffy red eyes stare back at you. You let out a deep sigh before soaking in a hot bath and then putting on your pyjamas. As you walk into your living room, you hear a familiar knock at the door. Your eyes light up and you rush over to unlock it. “Matt!” you squeal, leaping into his arms.

He smiles looking down at you, You lift your head off his chest to look at him “Why the fuck did you leave me on read?” you say faking an angry tone. “I was busy,” he says, brushing past you to take off his shoes. You furrow your eyebrows and walk into the kitchen locking the door behind you.

“You didn’t bring any snacks? You always bring snacks on movie night...” you tell him, a little disappointed “ God, Y/N. When did you become such a big fucking baby? Always whining about everything” His words spill out his mouth laced with anger.

It feels like you’ve been stabbed in your stomach. The last thing you needed today was someone yelling at you, and out of everyone, it had to be the person you loved the most.

“I'm sorry Matt, I-” you start trembling, your vision blurry “Now you’re fucking crying, oh my gosh Y/N. Grow the fuck up, not everything's gonna go- ” He stops.

he watches you grip the counter, hands shaking, tears streaming down your face. He immediately walks over to you, getting you to sit on the floor as he holds you in his arms.

You can’t even explain what’s happening. Your head is spinning, you can barely breathe, and your hands are shaky and sweaty. You're so overwhelmed by all the emotion you're feeling, you're convinced you're gonna pass out. Then you hear Matt’s voice. “Hey baby, look at me, listen to me” Somehow, your eyes manage to find his.

This has happened before but never this bad, this was new. “Breathe for me. In and out, slowly okay?” He breathes in and out with you, holding your hand the entire time. You take many shaky breaths letting out a sob between each one, before slowly calming down. You look away from him, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Hey, are you okay baby? You alright now?” He says running his fingers through your hair as you lay in his lap. “I'm fine Matt,” you say, letting go of his hand. He quickly takes your hand back, holding it tighter.

“I’m so fucking sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean any of it, you know that. I would never say that to you I'm such a fucking idiot.” You stare at him, his eyes glistening. “You didn’t deserve that, I've just been so stressed and tired lately. But I know you’ve been hurting too. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get a hold of me like that.” He’s crying now, tears staining his cheeks. “I love you Y/N, I hope you know that”. You smile, moving the hair from his face. “I love you too Matt. I'm sorry for stressing you out like that, it was wrong”He kisses your forehead before lifting you up and dropping you on the couch, peppering your face with more kisses. You squeal with joy and he laughs before sitting beside you and taking out his phone. “Pick a movie, I'll order some pizza,” he says, handing you the TV remote. You take it and snuggle up next to him. “I'm still mad about the snacks” He rolls his eyes and laughs. You feel warmth grow in your cheeks, your head no longer pounding. You're not stressed, angry, or overwhelmed with Matt by your side.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturn #matt sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you

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makeyoumine69 · 8 months ago

Text

Last Memory (Memory Reboot x5)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Some time after Patrick and Evelyn got married, Bateman thought he could live a normal life and finally forget about you, but he didn't realize that he was already starting to lose his grip on reality, slowly but surely.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW, Patrick's POV, angst, lots of sex, canon violence, blood, near-death experiences, dark themes, obsession, strong hallucinations, blowjobs, pussy eating, rough vaginal and anal sex, cum eating, tainted love vibes, drug use, depressing thoughts and intentions, blackout and fainting, rough choking, spanking, masturbation, cheating, dirty talk and slurs, pet names, degradation kink, self-harm and panic attacks implied, unstable Patrick is a warning himself, I might have forgotten something because this chapter is long af, so forgive me if I really did.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 15k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: VØJ, Narvent—Last Memory; Timecop1983—Back to You

ᴀ/ɴ: Hello dear readers, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I just wanted to make this chapter as good as possible! After several rewrites, I think I am finally happy with the result. I'm very sad that Memory Reboot will end in the next update, but I hope you enjoy this angsty story! Also, there are some easter eggs in this chapter, so be on the lookout! And please be aware that there is a lot of trigger material in this chapter, so be careful! Thank you so much for sticking with me, you are all incredible!

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]

An annoying, sonorous alarm sound woke me up and I had to hit it with my fist, almost breaking it, to make it fucking stop. Yawning, I sat on the bed and realized that I was still in Evelyn's apartment; these cream-colored sheets made me want to cry from how much I hate them, but instead of ripping them off, I stretched my arms. The tension in my body, coursing from my shoulders down to my groin, was an eloquent sign that I needed release. With a loud groan, I stood up and briefly grabbed my dick through my white underwear, which seemed to have been hard all night since that bitch Evelyn, who was my wife by the way, refused to have sex again. It was the second time in a row. Sliding my messy hair back, I walked into the living room and noticed that Evelyn had already left. I sighed with relief that I didn't have to see her irritated face since I was already on the verge of going nuts.

In the kitchen, I took the bottle of Evian from the fridge and made a long gulp before checking the time on my Rolex, frowning right away as I remembered Evelyn yapping about me always keeping them on, even when I went to bed.

God, why can't women have their mouths shut sometimes?

With a wry grin, I placed the bottle on the counter and paused for a moment to check my reflection in the gleaming metal door of the refrigerator. Today’s day in the office was going to be tough as hell since I had a fuck ton of stupid meetings I tried to convince Jean to cancel, but she reassured me that it would be too rude to ignore my business partners for too long. Hmmph…

A bit later, when I was almost finishing my work out, I suddenly realized that it had already been two months since me and Evelyn got married. And no, I couldn’t really believe this since all days were like one long day—a day that seemed to never end. Huffing, I did another push-up, the 50th in a row, feeling not tired at all. Small beads of sweat rolled down my tensed forehead and I could care less about brushing them off as I was so focused on the pleasant feeling of my muscles flexing each time my chest almost touched the mat. Normally, sports could easily help me to distract myself, to let off steam, to feel refreshed and clear-headed, but now I was more detached from reality than ever before. And it seemed that no amount of exercise could help. Also, my condition was aggravated by the lack of sex, proper sex. When my muscles finally began to hurt, I stopped doing everything and just lay on the mat, panting and looking at the ceiling above. Then, I slowly looked down at my groin—still hard as rock–before my hand involuntarily grabbed it, eliciting a small gasp to fall from my wet lips. Fuck, I was about to explode from my own touch. That was not normal at all. It was pathetic.

Frustrated, I was certain that even a quick release in the shower wouldn’t soothe my mounting tension. It never did, considering that over the past few days I couldn’t even sleep, and what was worse was that even violence couldn’t bring me this much-needed relief. As I made my way to the bathroom, I was thinking, literally drowning in my obsessive thoughts.

I need more…I really need to get this done. I REALLY NEED IT! I NEED THEM!

I bit my lip and turned on the shower, then got rid of my white boxers, stepped out of them, and strided on the cold marble. The water washed over me like a tidal wave. I closed my eyes and let the steam splash along my flushed face. My skin felt like it was on fire, as if I were about to crash into the sun. I couldn't find any way to relax. I felt desperate and angry. I was pretty mad, too. But would killing you have helped me find peace?

If I knew you were gone, if no one could ever be with you the way I was, would that be what I wanted?

I let out a deep, exhausted sigh and pressed my forehead against the wet tiles, ignoring the way the tip of my cock brushed against the wall, sending tingles into my very core. The images of you covered in blood, trapped beneath me, almost sent me over the edge. I didn't let myself think about it for too long, though, because I knew it would lead to addiction. As if I weren't already hooked. My breathing got a little uneven, and I started scratching at the white tiles as I got hit by a sudden, intense rush of memories. I remembered your voice, your moans, and the way you screamed my name. I wanted to ruin you, to make you bleed, to tear you apart and leave you just like you left me. The pain you caused was so deep, it lingered. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't realize what I was doing. I let my hand rest on my throbbing length while the fingers of my other hand slid down my lower back, right between my legs. The moment I touched my tensed asshole, I moaned. I was loud and needy. I was embarrassed but also aroused. I thrust into my hand, slowly at first but gradually losing control, while my digit slid inside my ass completely with ease. I couldn't hold back my whimpers as I was about to cum. My vision was filled with blood, intensifying my fantasies about you. With my eyes closed, I was on the brink of losing it when I suddenly heard some commotion coming from behind the bathroom door.

"Damn!" I groaned and hit the wall in front of me, my dick pulsing even after I let go of it.

"Honey," Evelyn's voice echoed through the bathroom. I turned to see her casually walking to the shower, her blue eyes curiously examining my bare frame as if she was seeing me like this for the first time. "You didn't close the door."

Fuck, I really didn't.

Scrunching my nose, I pushed my wet hair back and spun around completely, giving her the full view of my nakedness. "I thought I'd leave before you got back..." my reply was brash and sharp. "...at least I hoped so."

Evelyn didn't react, she just stood in front of the shower, blinking and staring at me—at the way the water flowed down my sculpted body, to be exact—and something told me that just watching wasn't going to be enough for her.

"So... are you just going to stay and watch?" I said aloud before opening the glass door and letting some steam out of the shower.

The blonde grinned broadly but remained motionless. "You're not trying to bait me like that, are you?"

Jesus Christ, this woman is really driving me crazy.

Irritated, still struggling with my boner, I wanted to drag her into the shower without even asking and make her freshly bought Chanel suit so fucking shitty that she would definitely throw a tantrum, but I managed to control myself.

Leaning against the wet glass, I watched her unclasp her jewels, gems that shone in the dim bathroom light, my hands instinctively slipping down to my aching cock as I was now the one watching Evelyn take off her jacket, the delicate shape of her collarbones forcing me to admit that my wife was, after all, absolutely gorgeous and even though I didn't feel anything... sublime towards her, I couldn't deny that every time she did things like that, she stirred up a burning desire in me.

"What if I do?" My voice dropped lower from the tension building at the base of my spine. "You'll find another stupid excuse to deny me, like you always do?" I gave myself a slow stroke, biting my lips and quickly licking them as Evelyn removed her blouse and placed her leg on the edge of the tub, pulling up her skirt so I could see her black stockings. "Why didn't you go for Bryce when you had the chance?"

My body stopped listening to me as I said these words, as if I was hypnotized, but I felt no remorse, only a pang of conscience for how pathetic I probably was right now, standing in the shower jacking off to the woman I didn't really love, who was probably having an affair with my best friend all this time as a bonus.

"And you're bringing up Bryce again," Evelyn murmured, grinning like a vixen, her hands working meticulously to remove her stockings, stopping only when she was done with her expensive clothes, leaving herself only in a white Vanity Fair lingerie I'd bought her a few days ago to stop her hysteria. "Why is this only bothering you now...after we got married?"

"W-what?" I almost choked on my breath, my hand around my cock stalled in its momentum. "What are you talking about? It...it never bothered me."

Still, her words struck a chord within me and now I was even more angry with myself than before. Evelyn obviously thought she was in control of this situation—her extra confident demeanor, the way she moved and talked, even her blue eyes looked different now, as a wicked spark glinted in them.

For a fleeting moment, I just stood there, trying to lose myself in the warm streams of water, not really knowing what to say, and a suffocating panic crept into my chest, but then, as I found myself gripping the glass shower door with all the force I could muster so that it wouldn't shatter, my vision blurred for a second before I noticed Evelyn's slender body pressed against the glass, her small but pretty breasts looking so damn inviting that I couldn't hold back a groan.

"What were you saying?" She asked indifferently, the water gurgling mixing with her voice inside my head pulling me into a trance.

"Nothing," I replied, leaning forward and pressing myself against the glass door from the opposite side, my dick brushing against it ever so slightly, but even this mere contact made me close my eyes for a dear moment. "I said nothing..." my eyes darkened, pupils dilated. "Now...get in...will you?" I grinned and tilted my head, watching my wife flutter her thick eyelashes like bird wings.

Evelyn didn't answer, standing still with her body pressed against the shower door, and I couldn't hold back anymore—I just dragged her in, not caring about her expensive lingerie getting soggy—I'd buy her a new one if I had to. With a surprised squeal, she then giggled as the streams of water ran down her fit body, her elegant fingers stroking my cheek for a fleeting moment before I picked her up and turned her around to press her against the cool marble wall. Evelyn's gasp echoed through the bathroom, sending a shiver down my spine, as if I were really into her, into all of this, and if that was not me imagining you in her place, if that was not making me want to be somewhere else right now.

Somewhere where nobody could find me. Us.

"Patrick," Evelyn's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Can you hear me? The water's too hot..."

"Too hot?" I repeated, finding her statement so funny for no reason, but I cooled the water with my free hand anyway, still holding Evelyn in my arms as if she weighed nothing. "I'd say something like..."

"It's not the water that's making it hot, it's me," she cut me off, her face turning into a serious grimace, and for a second I felt like I was going to lose my shit. Is she making fun of me? "I've heard that enough, honey."

Frowning at that fucking nickname I really hated, I noticed the way she was pressing on my shoulders, implying that she wanted me to get her down on the floor, and I did—I didn't want to think, I didn't want to guess what was going through her mind—I just wanted to follow. To feel at least something beyond hatred and disgust. But I guess that was too much to ask.

Without saying a word, I knelt before Evelyn, leveled myself with her perfectly waxed pubic area, her breath hitching as I planted a soft kiss on her mound before tracing a finger along her wet from the water folds through the absolutely drenched fabric of her panties, which were now clinging to her like a second skin. I looked up at her with a mischievous grin, the water hitting my eyes painfully, but I held on to watch that raw need emanating from her body—savoring it like a vampire thirsty for blood.

My actions were smooth, calculated. When I got rid of her damp lingerie, I let the wet clothes that were now spread out on the shower floor fall to the ground, forgotten, and I was sure that Evelyn would have to throw them in a garbage can when we were done. The involuntary arch of her back, her hips brushing against my face and the moan she let out when the tip of my tongue flicked around her feverish clit, that was something I could live with.

Letting Evelyn grind against my face, I began to eat her pussy more feverishly, my one hand holding her open while another was wrapped tightly around my hard dick as I jerked off in sync with my oral ministrations. It was actually a turn-on, but only because I managed to block out all thoughts of you... In another situation they would have helped me to orgasm, but now... now they would only destroy everything.

I groaned when Evelyn pulled my hair harder than I liked, but I didn't want to punish her for it, not now, because I was still going to fuck her and this would be a perfect moment to show her how I felt and what I really needed. But then again, all of this made me feel pathetic in some odd, twisted way, that I was a starved dog who had to struggle to find barely any food to survive—what was my life—I was not living, I was surviving.

"Yes...yes...just like that," Evelen keened again as I tongue fucked her flushed cunt. "Keep...g-going..."

I could feel that she was so close to collapsing, it was kind of amusing how fast I could always make her cum, if only she knew that I always did it for myself, not for her, but for me. "Cum around my face," I spat out, my overalls buzzing from the tensind at the base of my cock; these little tingles were going to make me explode, but I didn't hesitate, increasing the pace of my own stroking. "Let it go. Now!"

My voice was muffled, gruff, I was sure its vibration only added to the overwhelming rush of bliss that was about to descend upon my wife as her legs began to tremble, her thigh on my shoulder jerking as I dipped my tongue inside her while my thumb caressed her oversensitive bud. And then she climaxed, convulsing and barely holding herself from screaming, I watched as she silenced herself with her palm, her eyes closed tightly, I reveled in such reactions, I always had, so I didn't stop as I wanted to prolong this scene—a scene full of fake emotions and this was just an echo of something I had experienced and lost— because if I stopped, I would fucking die.

Maybe this is what I always needed? Just to...stop existing?

Panting, I finally moved away from her hot, now swollen cleft, my own heart pounding so fast, but I couldn't move, I just stayed on my knees, the water falling on me like a heavy rain from that day I followed you to the airport and watched the plane take you away from me. For the second fucking time in a row.

Meanwhile, Evelyn was slowly coming down from her high, her chest heaving and falling so fast that for a moment I thought she was going to pass out, but then she turned and leaned against the wall, swaying her hips in the most inviting gesture I'd ever seen her make.

"Shit," I murmured almost imperceptibly, my basic instincts finally taking over. "You want me to fuck you?"

Gasping, she nodded and craned her neck to look back at me, I quickly stood and hugged her from behind, my lips tracing a short trail of kisses along her shoulder as I aligned myself with her entrance, she was so aroused and ready for me that I felt no resistance as I pushed myself into her malleable body. Just a few fleeting seconds for both of us to adjust before my pace picked up, the sound of wet flesh against flesh filling the room, and I pressed closer to Evelyn, her high-pitched moans fading in my delusions as I gave in—the images of you were so clear in my mind now that I clenched my teeth to hold back my own moans—I was weak and I hated myself for it.

Luckily Evelyn was on the pill so I didn't have to worry about a sudden pregnancy, but there was still some fear I tried desperately to ignore, my thrusts became ragged, raw and deep, I was about to spill myself inside her, both palms cupping her breasts, rubbing soft mounds, but then I squeezed them quite roughly and Evelyn's loud whimper was a sheer testament to my ferocity. Feeling my whole system shatter, I managed to stop myself from sinking my teeth into her neck as my vision turned white as I reached my peak with your name on my lips, though I never let myself say it out loud.

A little later that morning, as I dressed in my freshly tailored dark charcoal flannel double-breasted suit with wide white pinstripes, the sun was high in the zenith and its rays bathed Evelyn's bedroom in a soft golden hue. This brief encounter of intimacy with my wife gave me some hope that maybe there was still a chance to live a normal life, the one my mother and father always wanted for me, the American dream family they always told me about, but my parents never really tried to understand me, but since Sean chose a different path in life, not the RIGHT one, the legacy of my family fell on my shoulders.

Trapped in my thoughts, I didn't even notice the phone ringing somewhere next to me, I turned around to see a small black phone on the nightstand. At first I decided to ignore it, since I didn't really care about Evelyn's business, I didn't care at all, but this time something inside of me started to sting.

Who can call her at this hour?

With a soft click of my tongue, I finished adjusting my cufflinks and looked back at the buzzing phone, deciding to pick it up and find out who the hell was calling my wife. "Yes? Who's this?"

"Hello, Patrick," your voice crawled into my brain like a parasite, I swallowed, my skin covered in goosebumps and I sweated almost instantly. "How's it going? Don't you think it's a bit pathetic to think of me when you're banging your lovely wife?"

"You?" Was the only thing I managed to say. "Where did you get this number?"

I heard you laughing as if you were right next to me. "Tim gave it to me," you replied with blatant audacity. "Uh...you're not happy to hear me? That's a shame because I thought you missed me."

"Listen," I spat into the phone, gripping it so tightly that it was about to break in a half in my hand. "I don't know who you think you are...but believe me when I say I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU AND YOUR FUCKING LIFE! DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

"Patrick? Who are you talking to?" I turned to see Evelyn standing in the doorway, her blue eyes full of concern.

Caught red-handed, I took the phone away from my ear and chuckled. "It's just...a random call...nothing serious." When I said that, her face became even more worried. "Is something wrong, darling?"

Evelyn blinked several times before answering. "I definitely remember turning off the phone before I went to sleep...I always do..."

Her words hung in the air for some time before I could actually continue, and when I finally did, I tugged at my collar from the sudden lack of oxygen in my lungs.

What the fuck?

Under Evelyn's attentive gaze, I looked up at the receiver as if seeing it for the first time in my life, then I pressed it to my ear again and all I heard was silence—a deafening, eerie silence—even a single beep could not be discerned. My throat tightened uncomfortably and I felt like throwing up from the tight knot in my stomach, for I'd never felt such fear before.

"Patrick...are you okay?" The blonde woman asked, not daring to come closer. "Are you taking the medicine your psychiatrist prescribed you..."

"Evelyn!"

"No, I'm serious! This isn't funny Patrick, I'm scared," she suddenly confessed and I swore I couldn't remember seeing her so worried. "You need help...why don't you let people help you?"

With that Evelyn stormed out of the bedroom and I was sure she was crying. Damn women, never give you a chance to explain yourself. I cursed before slamming the phone down on its station with a thud, probably shattering the plastic, but who fucking cared? All they cared about was whether I was taking those fucking pills, but no one really cared about...me.

It took me some time to calm down and finally go to work. I didn't talk to Evelyn before I left, as it was pointless in her current state. As soon as I was outside, I breathed in the fresh air and watched the passers-by walking here and there without even noticing each other, this scene I saw every day, I picked out my Walkman like in a slow motion movie, put the headphones on my head and then attached it to my belt, the next moment I heard Madonna's deep voice surging through my head.

The taxi ride to the Pierce & Pierce office took longer than usual because of the heavy traffic. When I finally entered the high-rise building, I didn't take off my headphones because I didn't really want to talk to anyone, I just walked through the long corridors like a ghost without a name. It was really interesting that I never really thought about my fucking coworkers constantly messing up my name—they didn't know who I was even though we met every week—but you—you remembered it so clearly, there wasn't a single day that you mistook me for someone else. Jean greeted me as always with her sweet smile. Today she wore a dress and high heels. I smiled at such details and pulled up my headphones so I could hear her.

"Did I miss anything?" I asked casually, thinking I was late as I often was.

Brushing her blonde hair, my secretary rose from her seat, clutching her favorite notebook to her chest. "Timothy Bryce called to ask about lunch."

My eyebrows raised in skepticism at her words.

Bryce. Wants to see me after not talking to me for almost a week. Interesting.

"Uh, right, but I thought I had a pretty busy schedule today?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Well, yeah," she quickly opened her notebook and then raised her bright eyes to me. "But you have a little window..."

At some point, Jean's voice became as much white noise as Madonna's song, the lyrics of which slipped away from me like a leaf in the wind. The thought of Tim finally revealing that he and Evelyn were having an affair behind my back, as if they really thought I could be stupid enough not to notice, brought me a strange sense of relief. It was like an itchy splinter in your finger that you couldn't bring yourself to pull out, but you knew that the longer it stayed there, the worse it would get.

"Okay, Jean," I heaved abruptly. "Be a doll and make a rez in a good place. Then call Bryce back."

Jean was noticeably confused, but I was too overwhelmed with my own chaotic thoughts that there was no room for anything else. With a devoted nod, she returned to her seat and I opened the door to my office, where everything was the same, all things in the places I had left them. At least there seemed to be something constant in my life.

The rustling of chatter and the clinking of silverware against plates mingled in a wild cacophony of sounds I was quite familiar with—I was born in the middle of this madness, to say the least, the lush life of people like me was something you couldn't really avoid, though I never tried to avoid it, I enjoyed every little benefit I got from being rich.

So now I was sitting in Delmonico's lash interior, holding a glass of J&B on rocks in one hand and a cigar in the other. I waited for Bryce to come and soon I noticed his approaching figure, his black hair slicked back as usual, and I even chuckled at how fucking punctilious this man always was. Tim ordered a glass of Russian vodka and some seafood appetizers. After a short casual conversation we both fell silent and just when I was expecting him to tell me the reason why he wanted to see me, he suddenly picked up a shiny cardholder and put it on the table, then took out a pack of cigarettes to grab one.

"New cardholder?" I asked, definitely remembering that Bryce used to have a different one. "Looks...nice."

"It's platinum," Timothy commented before lighting his cigarette, his gray eyes scanning the room before focusing on me. "It's a gift...from our mutual friend."

Friend?

I almost bit the inside of my cheek to the point of bleeding. "Really?"

Bryce let out a puff of smoke and pointed to my empty glass. "I heard you quit drinking," he grinned and dabbed the ash from his cigarette. "That you're on... some medication."

"I wonder who told you that," my jaw almost snapped in anger, I had to claw at my knee to regain some composure. "And yes, I had to take medication for a while...but I'm on a break now." I hoped he could tell by the tone of my voice that I wasn't going to continue this conversation. "Who else would know how it works better than you since you went through rehab. Am I right, Bryce?"

I knew how much he hated talking about it, so his recent bravado faded like a cloud of smoke, but his cheeky grin never left his face.

"I get it, I get it," he laughed softly before sipping his drink. "You definitely got off on the wrong foot today, but it's okay," the man swirled his glass in his hand, watching the ice cubes clink against its walls. "I just wanted to tell you that... you're definitely missing something. Or maybe I should say—someone."

Narrowing my eyes, I tilted my head to the side. "Maybe you can tell me something more...specific, or are we going to play that crappy guessing game?"

Bryce shifted in his seat and wanted to say something, but he was interrupted by two familiar voices—Craig and David.

Shit, why did those two idiots have to come right now?

The moment was ruined, and so was I.

"Wow, I can't believe my eyes! See, I told you they had a date," McDermott let out a loud chuckle, my fists clenched, and if we were somewhere else, preferably alone, I'd fucking break my glass against his smug face. "I called Jean and she said you two were having lunch together. Isn't that sweet?"

"Oh, fuck you, McDermott!" Bryce retorted, but he wasn't really angry. "Fuck you and your cheap jokes. Your sense of humor is as flat as the ass of that chick you met in the Tunnel yesterday. Besides, how was she?"

The Tunnel, that damn club that started all this shit. I closed my eyes and tried to shake off the unwelcome memories of that day, but all I wanted to do was leave this place. Bryce's words became a breaking point, they helped a cup of weights to turn to another side without him even knowing it. Slowly I rose from the table, ignoring any questions, dismissing them with a clumsy gesture.

This evening was destined to be spent in the Tunnel after everything that happened today. I didn't tell anyone about my spontaneous venture to find some escape in the nightclub full of drug-addicted chicks and yuppies like me. My mind was racing with the idea of doing some coke, all I had to do was find the dealer that Bryce and I always hang out with and get a gram. A very simple plan to forget about all the shit that was going on in my life for a while.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say.

As I strolled across the dance floor, I noticed the bar was pretty empty, so I decided to have a drink before finding the dealer, as the glass of whiskey I had at lunch was not enough. The bartender greeted me with a polite smile as he cleaned the bar.

"Good evening, sir," the man took a shiny glass and set it in front of me. "What would you like to drink?"

"A J&B straight and a Corona." I replied, taking a seat and fumbling for my wallet.

The bartender nodded and went to get my drinks. While I waited, I looked around when I noticed the only person sitting at the bar—it turned out to be a redheaded girl, a very good looking one—I hummed to myself, absolutely sure that such a girl was definitely not alone tonight.

"Your drinks, sir." The bartender placed an open bottle of Corona next to my glass, now filled with my favorite whiskey.

"Thank you." I handed him a few bills before he could even tell me how much I had to pay.

The young man babbled something incoherent that I couldn't even make out, but after I gave him a dead stare, he just took the money and finally left me alone. Annoyed, I checked the time on my Rolex before grabbing a bottle of Corona to take a sip, but I was interrupted again. This time not by the bartender.

"Hey," a soft female voice hung over my ear, sending a massive wave of excitement through me. I turned to see that the chick from the other end of the bar was now standing so close to me that I could smell her flowery perfume. "Are you here alone?"

I wish I could say that, but my thoughts of you were always here, with me, but instead of saying that bullshit, I nodded and grinned, checking her body in the most humiliating way, thinking it would scare her away from me, but the gleam in her green eyes only increased after my move.

God, she doesn't know what she's asking for.

"Yeah, you could say that." I smiled again as she sat down next to me. "What about you?"

The girl leaned against the bar, her ginger hair cascading down her elegant shoulders, and for a moment I couldn't take my eyes off her. "I wasn't supposed to be alone tonight, but...you know how it is...most men are total jerks."

I could barely keep myself from bursting out laughing. "Did someone offend you?" She played with the gold bracelet on her wrist and nodded shyly, a move I suddenly found very sexy. "Do you mind if I get you a drink?"

"First, tell me your name," she muttered in a challenging way—a blatant provocation that I ate like a starved man. "Then I'll think about it."

This girl is so sweet, I bet her insides are the same.

At first I wanted to use a fake name, like I always did, but then I just gave her my real name, because in the end it would make no difference. "Patrick....Patrick Bateman," I finally took a sip of Corona and savored the taste. "And you?"

"Nicole," the girl said, still fiddling with her jewelry. "But I used to have a lot of different names."

"I like this one," I chuckled, smiling charmingly. "It suits a girl like you."

"A girl like me?"

"A beautiful girl...very beautiful I must say." My voice was deep and soft like silk, I noticed the way she straightened her shoulders, slowly but gradually relaxing.

"You really think so?" She asked me, her eyes roaming over my mischievous face, then down to my lips.

Instead of answering, I just smiled in the most enchanting way possible before calling for the bartender to order her a drink. Nicole and I talked for a while—she told me she was from Canada and didn't really have any friends in New York—it was strangely satisfying but I tried to be sympathetic and supportive even though my mind was so far away from here. The ginger girl didn't even notice how she finished one cocktail and then another, while I didn't even touch my whiskey, just idly sipped my bottle of Corona because for some reason I wanted to be as sober as possible.

As the club was getting more and more empty, Nicole was ready to give me a blowjob right at the bar, but I convinced her to go to my place and to be honest, I didn't expect it to be that easy since I hadn't really planned anything like that. I forgot about the drug dealer because now I had to worry about what I was going to say to Evelyn tomorrow because I was definitely not going to spend the night with her.

"Patrick..." Nicole nestled into my side as we sat in the cab. "Did I tell you I know...F-French?"

I crossed my arms and shook my head in dismay. "No, you didn't," I said, looking down at her red, messy hair. "But it's nothing special...you're from Canada and French is your second official language."

Nicole let out a cartoonish giggle that made me cringe. "Oh...you know it? Damn, you're such a smart man...Mr. Bateman...so fucking smart...most guys I've slept with....didn't know that..." she giggled again and tried to pinch my nose, but I shooed her away. "Can you believe that?"

At a certain point, I was even starting to regret bringing her along, but I hoped I'd be able to shut her mouth with something...sharp and maybe deadly. "It happens, Nicole. Like you said, there were so many bad people in this town. Fortunately, you're lucky to have met someone like me."

The girl hugged me at my words, I could feel her drunk breath next to my lips, but instead of turning away I let her kiss me and it felt better than I expected. Soon the cab pulled up to the American Gardens Building. The walk up to my apartment didn't take much time, I was already thinking about how I was going to dispose of her body after I was done with her. Nicole, completely unaware of my dark thoughts, walked around my apartment barefoot as she kicked off her shoes, complaining about how fucking uncomfortable they were.

"Oh, this place is so fucking...c-cool!" She managed to say, swaying from side to side while moving. "Jesus, is that a telescope? Why do you even need that?" Nicole giggled like a child seeing one for the first time, but who knew, maybe she really was seeing it for the first time. "Do you... spy on people with that... thing?"

"No, Nicole." I replied curtly, standing next to her with my hands hidden in the pockets of my tailored pants.

"Are you...an astronaut...from NASA?" She asked, then winced when she finally noticed my looming figure. "Are you... going to send me to the moon tonight, handsome?"

"I'll do more than that," I crooned, placing my hand on her waist and pulling her closer. "But I must say one thing you may not like..." a short pause, then a soft rumble left my throat. "I prefer that beautiful mouth of yours to be closed. Do you understand?"

I was expecting anything other than this bitch dropping to her knees and immediately working on unbuckling my belt. The way she was behaving was both amusing and enticing, but what I enjoyed most was that she was so naive and completely dumb.

"Look at you," I murmured before grabbing a handful of her ginger curls that were blocking her vision. "So inpatient, huh?"

By the time she managed to undo my pants, I was already so hard that my dick sprang out of the confines of my clothes and almost slapped her face, but it didn't bother her at all—I could only see an uncontrollable desire in those big green eyes that were now looking at me as if asking for my permission.

Shameless, pathetic whore.

With a practiced move, I grabbed the back of her head to pull her closer to my crotch, then pressed my engorged dick against her lips, sliding it along them and making her lick off my pre-cum. "Yeah," I croaked, biting my own lips. "I definitely like you more like this...open your mouth, bitch."

Nicole obeyed and the next thing I knew I was thrusting into her mouth, her warmth welcoming me and making me grunt as I bucked my hips into her face, pushing myself further until I heard her gag around my shaft.

"'C'mon, choke on my dick," I snarled, pulling on her hair with brutal force, her nose rubbing against my pubis and I snaked my hand down to rest on her throat, wanting to feel my cock slide along it. "I'm sure no one has ever face fucked you like that...am I right, honey?"

I used that ugly nickname Evelyn always gave me and pulled myself out of her mouth to hear her answer, but she just gulped desperately for air and grabbed my legs for any semblance of support.

"Oh-Christ...you're...s-so fucking big," she wept, trying to wipe the liquid mixture off her chin, but I wouldn't let her, pulling her head back. "Shit...you're really one of those guys...who likes it rough?"

With a devilish smile, I gave myself several quick strokes before answering. "Oh, darling. You can't even imagine how MUCH I like that kind of thing."

Panting, Nicole was not ready for me to invade her mouth again, but I didn't care, just as I ignored her little protest when I fucked her throat and felt the curve of my dick slide into her wet, tight channel. It was a bliss I had always sought, that fleeting moment of raw control over another human, once you tasted it you couldn't stop yourself.

Perfection.

As time passed, I came at least twice in her abused mouth, each time making sure she swallowed every drop, but then I got bored of fucking her face and left her sprawled out on my expensive living room floor, which I would definitely have to call the maid service to clean. Barely alive, Nicole literally vomited my sperm mixed with her blood, her plump lips swollen and bruised from my beatings—I couldn't stress her pathetic whimpering anymore, so I had to act—but she would last a while longer, I was sure of it.

As I rummaged through my stuff in the bedroom to get a condom, Nicole's pathetic whimpering was like music to my ears, but at some point I considered turning on some real music to muffle the girl's screams, although to my surprise she was not that loud. But just in case, I returned to the living room and stepped over Nicole, who was still lying on the floor, to get to my stereo and put on the latest Talking Heads album, True Stories.

"I didn't ask you what kind of music you like," I suddenly chuckled and moved closer to the sobbing girl to crouch down beside her. "But I doubt it would change anything."

After that, I stood up and decided to strip completely, every move I made calculated and mastered to perfection. One second, two seconds....ten seconds and I was almost naked, when the only thing left on me was my gold Rolex, I heard her weak, shaky voice:

"Whitney Houston," she murmured, barely audible. "I love Whitney Houston."

I stopped in my tracks. "Oh...really? What is your favorite song?"

My lips were curled in a smile that came dangerously close to something insane as I carefully placed all my clothes on one of my black chairs before picking up the girl and moving her to the window—away from my white couch that I didn't want to stain with her fucking blood. She didn't struggle, she didn't struggle at all as I positioned her against the window, pressing her bruised face against the cold glass.

"Take Good Care of My Heart," the redhead added as I began to poke at her soaked pussy, which was not shaved like most of the girls I used to have, and to be honest, I really liked it. "I...I really love the whole album."

"Oh yeah," I chuckled into her ear, fixing her in place as the tip of my cock plunged into her, causing her legs to shake. "This is such a good album..."

With that I bottomed her out completely, my balls slapping against her ass, red from my spanking, I thought I could see the outline of my hand. Her little cunt felt no worse than her mouth, but it was not as tight...after being with you, nothing seemed tight enough to me.

Fuck it!

Cursing under my breath, I sped up to pound into her as hard as I could. Thank God the glass didn't break, but I changed our position anyway. Now Nicole was bent over my black leather chair, her ass wiggling every time I thrust into her and I couldn't stop myself from spanking her, I wanted her to fucking scream and cry out in pain but all I could get from her was nothing that could signal that she was in pain. On the contrary, this girl seemed to enjoy it so much, as her hips moved in rhythm with mine, she bucked in my direction to meet my movements.

"Shit, you fuck like a whore," I blurted out, grabbing her hair in a self-made ponytail. "Is that why you came to America? To be a fucktoy for men like me?"

"Mmm...f-fuck me...please...fuck me!" Nicole didn't seem to hear me, I had to squeeze her throat to shut her up. "Ye-yes...fucking...c-choke me...please!"

Stupid bitch.

In one swift motion, I pulled out only to slam into her unprepared asshole, making her scream in pain and fuck, she sounded amazing. Quickly wiping the sweat from my forehead, I pushed her down on my cock, noticing the crimson drops of her blood on my dick, which only spurred me to move faster and more ferociously. This bitch didn't see it coming, but she was still pretty obedient, which started to seem pretty weird to me, because usually by this time women start to panic, fight and try to escape, but this fucking hoe didn't even say a word about the way I was treating her.

And that started to disappoint me.

When I thought I was not going to climax, I closed my eyes and let my imagination take control of my brain. Huffing, I rammed into Nicole harder, fantasizing about you—how we could go 69, your fingers buried deep inside my asshole - I could fucking feel the sensation of them and it sent an electric shock right through my tensed sac.

"Oh, fuck," I gripped her waist with both hands, fucking her with pure abandon. "You...fucking...arrogant prick...I hate you! I hate you s-so fucking much!"

All my curses fell on deaf ears as Nicole only whimpered in response, gripping the back of the chair and the next second I found her cumming around my cock, her inner walls spasming around me, triggering my own orgasm.

When I was finally finished with her, I stood over her trembling body as she lay on the floor again. The girl was shaking and giggling, I thought she probably lost her mind already, so instead of using a knife or something, I decided to just strangle her with my bare hands. I wanted to see life slowly leave her body. I fucking craved it.

"Nicole," I shook her before getting on top of her, pressing her down with the weight of my muscular body. "Look at me."

Nicole's bloodshot eyes couldn't focus on mine for some time, she was stunned, dazed, ruined and intoxicated, I had to slap her face several times before she finally locked her hazy gaze with mine. The sweet anticipation of the kill enveloped my mind, my cock grew hard again as I placed both hands around her fragile neck, I began to squeeze it, lightly at first but then more and more forcefully.

"You made a big mistake coming to America, Nicole." I let out a taunt, not really expecting her to hear it or respond to it.

Everything was going according to plan when she suddenly smiled and covered my hands, not to take them off, but to stroke them with a wicked... attraction?

"Please...kill me already...I beg you..." She couldn't stop herself from crying and laughing.

This was a psychotic episode I had experienced so many times, but I never expected to see it with my own eyes. I froze in shock, losing my grip, and as I did, Nicole pulled my hands back to her throat, shaking me as if to wake me up.

"No, no, no, no! Please...don't stop...please...I want to die! Patrick, please...set me free!" Nicole's voice cracked and I could finally see the sheer desperation in her green eyes, but this kind of desperation was different.

This wasn't the kind of despair I'd seen before...this was something completely different. It was kind of a turn-off for me. The whole evening was fucking ruined, I couldn't believe it. Shaking my head, I stood up and stepped away from her as if from a fire.

"Patrick...please!"

"Shut up!" I yelled, looking down at my own hands—they were shaking so badly. "Shut the fuck up!"

In a panic, I rushed to the bathroom to wash my hands for who knows what reason, then grabbed my robe and put it on. I couldn't really explain what was happening to me, but when I got back to the living room, I picked up Nicole's clothes and threw them at her.

"Get dressed," I ordered, and then I went into the bedroom to unlock my safe and take out several bundles of money. What was I doing? Panting, I paused in the doorway to watch her get dressed, then walked over to her and handed her the money. "I want you to take this, go to a hospital and get back to Canada. Do you hear me, Nicole?"

The redhead was silent, just looking at me with her pleading eyes. "But I don't want to go..."

"You have to." I emphasized the words by lowering my voice. "Just do what I say and everything should be... okay."

"But I don't want it to be okay." Nicole tried to touch me, but I pulled away.

"Just go," I repeated my previous words, this time in a more serious voice. "And never come back."

I spent the rest of the night sitting in the shower, literally sitting on the floor, crying. A lot. My eyes were so red and puffy that I didn't know which ice mask would help me look normal tomorrow. The hatred of myself that rose from my chest to my cheeks and made me nauseous—I hated myself so much that I finally admitted that I had changed—you had changed me and there was no going back. The man I was before died, now I was just an empty being, or maybe a new man had been born in my shallow soul?

When I finally managed to drag my ass out of the bathroom, the phone rang and I was sure it was Evelyn trying to fuck my brain for not coming back to her apartment and to be fair, I wasn't ready for anything like that at that moment, but considering how much of a pain in the ass she was, I didn't want any more consequences if I didn't pick up the fucking call.

As I walked into the bedroom, I took the phone from my nightstand and finally answered the call. "Yes?"

"Patrick! Jesus, I thought you weren't going to answer the call!" It was you, damn it, it was you.

My teeth almost creaked with anger and disbelief. "How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off?! Are you stalking me or what? How the fuck did you know I was in my apartment?"

"I... I didn't know... I just decided to try my luck and here we are," you replied, your voice was different than it sounded this morning. "Listen Patrick, I'm in New York right now...maybe we can see each other?"

"See each other?" Those words made me sick. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"I know that...things are pretty tense between us, but...maybe we can at least talk about it?"

"No, we can't," I clutched the phone as tightly as I could. "I don't want to see you and I don't want to hear you. Do you understand? If you ever call me again, I'll fucking find you and KILL YOU!"

With that, I dropped the phone on the floor and screamed so loudly that my throat began to hurt. Right now I was nothing but a living madness, the things that were happening in my mind were like an open chasm to hell—a place I'd be one day, I had no doubt about it.

The few days I spent in a dizzy state, I couldn't really remember what I was doing, but the only thing I was sure of was that I couldn't stop thinking about you. Also, I didn't kill anyone for lack of thrill, there was no more adrenaline or excitement—you changed me and now spilling some blood couldn't help me to relieve myself anymore. I felt like I was being shattered into pieces, decomposed into something primitive, for the first time I saw myself as being even more inhuman than I really was.

Inhuman.

What a perfect word to describe everything about me, but I still couldn't understand where I belonged? If not here, could there be a place for a creature like me?

This question was swirling around in my head like a brain worm; that damn rainy evening when I decided to stalk my dear wife. After my rather long absence, Evelyn was about to go to the police, but then I showed up at the door of her apartment at night, high as hell, but she didn't seem surprised at all. I expected her to be mad and angry, but instead she treated me really nice, I could hear her crying and her desperate touch when she hugged me, weeping and sobbing something about being so scared and worried about me and although I didn't believe a single word that came out of her mouth, something stirred inside of me.

The raindrops were falling on my umbrella like Morse code, hitting the surface with such a precise rhythm that I really thought maybe something or someone was trying to send me a sign. The level of absurdity was over the top, and if I were in a different state mentally and physically, I'd be laughing my ass off at this shit, but today I couldn't do anything funny. I couldn't smile, I couldn't sneer, I was like a ghost, a shadow of the person I was before I met you. So here I was, following Evelyn down the street after the taxi ride until I saw her stop at some hotel—a luxury hotel in Upper Manhattan to be exact— and then, after some time, when I thought nothing interesting would happen, a sleek black Cadillac stopped by the street and I saw Timothy Bryce get out of the car—he was holding a black umbrella just like me. Evelyn was so excited to see him that she didn't even wait for them to go inside the hotel, she kissed him now and then without holding back her emotions. This scene made the stone fall off my shoulders; I was so damn happy that I was right and that this fake marriage was about to collapse, but I still couldn't understand why Evelyn married me at all. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if one day, when we finally had a serious talk about it, she would confess that she loved both of us—me and Bryce— and suggested that we all live together.

Say hello to an altered version of the American dream family.

The reality was always cruel, and I knew it too well.

A loud clap of thunder echoed through my apartment, waking me up in my living room, drenched in sweat. Breathing heavily, I turned around to register some pornography playing on my TV, my robe was undone, I was completely naked underneath, some remnants of my cum stuck to my stomach.

Shit, I just blacked out jerking off? This porn really sucks.

And this was the 5th or maybe 10th porn tape I had watched, and I only managed to cum once. Cursing and scowling, I fidgeted on my couch to find a remote control. I was disgusted with my current situation, but then I noticed two thin lines of white powder on my glass coffee table and a twisted $100 bill. Now everything started to fall into place.

Fuck, where did I even get this gram?

I rubbed my head, and instead of turning off the porn, I turned it up louder—two perfect bimbos making out, their oiled bodies wrapped around each other like two snakes—my hand instinctively sliding back to my hard cock, throbbing and soaked with my cum.

"Oh-fuck..." I murmured through clenched teeth as I pumped myself, watching the girls play with their large breasts. "Yeah...suck her tits...suck them like a fucking pacifier..."

The louder their moaning got, the more excited I got, and just when I thought I was about to climax again, I heard... a fucking phone ringing loudly—it hurt my hearing. Confused, I stopped doing anything, ignoring the fact that one slut was now riding on the face of another. There was only one thing I could think about right now— had I turned off my phone or not? Because I definitely remembered pulling the fucking cords out of it, but that thing kept ringing?

Slowly I got up on my stiff legs and walked to the kitchen island to grab the phone, the only light coming from my playing TV and I bumped into something pretty hard before the fucking receiver was in my hand.

"Patrick Bateman's apartment..." I almost whispered, pressing the receiver harder against my head.

"...Pat..." the echo of a familiar voice wailed from the other end of the line, but I still couldn't make out who it was. "...need... -h-help!"

"Who...am I talking to?"

"Patrick, please, help me," your voice sounded so clear now that it echoed inside my skull, drowning out all the sounds of the bad weather outside. "I'm...I'm at Paul Allen's...I need help...please...I think I'm gonna die..."

Was this some kind of prank?

I turned around and scanned my apartment as if someone was watching me right now. I felt insane and cornered, if I was really losing my mind the best option now would be to take more coke and trigger an overdose and then...

"Can you hear me? Please, come here, I'll... give you the address..." and then I heard loud interference and noise, so I had to pull the phone away for a second. "Patrick? Please...talk to me!"

"What...what happened?" I asked, still not believing what I was doing. "Are you in pain?"

"No...yes....Patrick...listen...you should write down the address..."

Without thinking, I grabbed the Vogue magazine lying next to the phone and a pencil, and the next second I was writing down the address where Paul Allen was supposed to live.

"Hold on! I'll be right there!" I suddenly said into the phone, but all I could hear was the agonizing beep. "Hey...I'll be there...do you hear me? I'LL BE THERE!"

Fuck!

I dropped the phone and took several deep breaths before I finally came to my senses, or so I thought. Then I rushed to the bathroom to clean up and put something on without worrying too much. So I grabbed the first suit out of my closet, fixed my hair and left my apartment to take a cab. All the way to Paul's, I was holding a crumpled page of Vogue that I had to rip out. At first I didn't even notice that I wasn't surprised when the cabbie just nodded and we drove off, so this address was real? It meant you really called me? And what about all the previous calls?

Perplexed, I leaned against the cool glass of the car window and watched the nighttime cityscape blur into something unrecognizable, almost falling asleep, but the driver turned on the radio with some cheesy pop songs that kept me awake, as I was too irritated to ignore how much I disliked such music. When the car stopped in front of a towering building like the one I lived in, I paid the driver twice what I was supposed to and got out of the cab. There were no pedestrians and for a moment I really thought that maybe I was still asleep and had to pinch myself to wake up in my living room?

As I entered the building I saw a table where the concierge should be sitting, but there was no one, so I casually opened the journal to find the number of Allen's apartment—I felt a creeping shock when I actually found his name in the journal.

Okay… this feels…too real.

Feeling a strange thrill of the rush, I closed the journal and sauntered quickly across the large lobby to the elevators. Paul's apartment was on the 15th floor, so when the door opened on the floor I needed, I stepped out of the elevator with a heavy weight in my chest. Every step I took resonated with the fast beating of my heart, and when I reached my destination, I didn't know what to do - whether to ring the bell or knock or…

Shaking myself off, I first rang the doorbell—nothing. Then I knocked several times, then again, still no answer. Finally, I put my ear to the door to listen, but I couldn't hear a single sound. Anger overcame me, so I kicked the door and turned to leave. How stupid was I? Maybe mixing my pills and coke wasn't the best idea, but this...

When I got back to the lobby, an old man, who must have been a missing concierge, greeted me with a fake polite smile. "Greetings, sir. How can I help you?"

Annoyed as hell, I stopped next to his small table, adjusted my leather gloves, and pointed to his journal. "I was looking for Paul Allen's apartment, he's my friend and I wanted to see him, but it seems...he's out tonight."

"Oh, Mr. Allen left on a business trip this morning." The concierge said casually, but then he noticed how pale I'd become. "Sir, is something wrong?"

"Did you say he left this morning?" I asked again, feeling a few beads of sweat on my tense forehead.

"Yes, sir," the old man opened the journal and began to leaf through it. "I can even tell you the exact time he left..."

"No need. Thank you." Was all I said before I turned on my heels and headed for the exit.

Outside I noticed that the taxi that had brought me here was still standing by the side of the road. It was strange but I didn't even think about it. I got in and asked the driver to take me back to my place, but first I asked him to give me a moment to sit and think. With shaking hands I picked up the crumpled piece of paper with the address on it, I traced my handwriting before throwing it out the window, my temples pounding so hard I thought my head would explode. Exhausted both mentally and physically, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, not noticing that the concierge I was talking to literally ran out of the building, looking around, seeking someone.

"Let's go." I ordered the cab driver with my eyes still closed. "And can you please turn off the music...my head is killing me."

The taxi drove off and I didn't see or hear the old man following the car. "Sir, wait! I made a mistake about Mr. Allen-"

Today, after I refused to go shopping with Evelyn and help her choose a fucking curtain for her living room, she finally told me that she never loved me, that she wanted a divorce and nothing else from me. The relief I felt was comparable to a good orgasm, to say the least, Evelyn was shocked at my reaction—did she really expect me to beg for forgiveness? But the single mention of Bryce made everything come to its place, I wasn't angry, no, I just couldn't solve this fucking puzzle, what was all this for? If she really liked Bryce, why couldn't she just tell me and go for him? How many times had I told her that? A hundred? A thousand? Millions? Luckily, I wasn't inclined to leave my stuff in her apartment, so I finished my busing with 'moving out' pretty quickly and smoothly, because something glorious and important was waiting for me. The last moment of my drama.

I imagine that maybe someday there will be a show on Broadway based on my life—a great example of a life that no one should have lived—I smiled at the thought, as I always liked to romanticize things in the most clichéd and poetic way. After all, Bryce was right, I was mental, and no matter how hard I tried to run away from the dark version of myself, it would catch up with me one day. And that day seemed to have finally come.

As I walked down Wall Street, wearing my favorite headphones and listening to Huey Lewis and the News, I stumbled by the phone booth—a random idea plagued my mind before I could really think about it. Opening my briefcase, I found my notebook, and soon I was dialing your office number, hoping you wouldn't answer. But my hopes were never to be fulfilled.

To my surprise, I heard a male voice coming from the phone and all the words stuck in my throat like a lump. "Uh...hi...can I talk to..."

"Sorry sir, I can't hear you properly...it might be the bad connection," the voice replied and it made me really nervous. "I'm sorry, but if you want to talk to my boss, they are out of the office right now."

Out of the office…shit.

"Who am I talking to?" I asked, almost fainting.

"Vinc..." an unpleasant static noise came over my brain and I held my eyes closed for a second from the stabbing pain in my temples. "My name is Vincent...I'm .... assistant."

"Listen, Vincent..." I started to speak, not even knowing that he could hear my words. "I want you to tell your boss that...Patrick Bateman called and...this would be my LAST call," I laughed hysterically, leaning against the phone booth door. "I'm going to, uh... disappear..."

A short pause seemed like an eternity.

"You mean you are leaving New York City, sir?" Vincent's question surprised me.

My lips twitched in a wicked smile. "No...I mean...yes..."

"Are you going somewhere in particular, Mr. Bateman?" The man asked me and I stopped breathing for a second.

"I'm going...to a place where no one will ever...find me..."

And with that I hung up the phone. There was already a line of people by the phone booth, and as I walked away, they looked at me with the most disdainful look I could ever dream of mastering. Unfortunately, I wouldn't need it anymore.

Soon the white walls of my apartment would be the only witness to my last confession. My apartment smelled so fresh and good, the maid had just finished cleaning, and I was glad that if the police found my body, they would see that wealth and money were not a panacea for a happy life, although I had believed in it fervently for almost all these years. With deliberate steps, I walked into my bathroom, grabbed a small bottle of medicine prescribed by my psychiatrist, and popped a handful of pills at once. Then I looked at my reflection in the mirror and somehow realized that the mask I had worn for most of my adult life was about to slip. Right now, at this very moment, I was about to die. An abnormal dizziness washed over me, I could barely stand on my feet when I suddenly saw your silhouette behind me in the mirror. I gulped and turned around to see nothing but the empty doorway, my hands shaking so badly that I failed to put the bottle back in its place, dropping it on the floor and scattering pills all over the bathroom.

Holy shit.

A strong gag reflex suddenly took over me and I managed to get to the toilet faster than I could throw up—I threw up all the pills—Jesus Christ, I was so weak I couldn't even finish this... I was so pathetic. In the end, I finally accepted that as the darkness took me in its cold embrace.

Knock…knock…

What is this? Am I still alive?

I kept questioning myself because I didn't feel anything, no pain, no remorse, nothing. But if I were dead, I wouldn't hear that strange sound, would I? I opened my wet eyes and looked up at the white ceiling—I was still in my bathroom— lying on my back, covered in my own vomit, saliva and bile. My mouth smelled like a rotten rat and I knew what I was talking about. The annoying knocking kept coming from my front door, and although I didn't want to get up, I felt that if I didn't, this fucking knocking would never stop.

With careful, unhurried movements, I crawled to the sink and, leaning on the bathroom counter, managed to stand up and quickly brush my teeth, avoiding looking at my reflection because I was sure I looked like shit. After that, I took off my stained clothes and put on a new robe that I had bought myself for no reason a few days ago.

As I approached the front door, the knocking stopped and I thought it was just another hallucination, but I decided to open the door anyway and to my surprise I saw my concierge who looked very worried and even scared.

"Mr. Bateman, thank God you're all right!" The man blurted out, holding his concierge hat in his hands.

"Of course I'm okay," I replied nonchalantly. "What happened? Or did you just come to check on me?"

"Well," the concierge looked away before rubbing his gray mustache. "Someone was looking for you..."

My eyebrows furrowed, and I peered out into the long corridor. "Who was it? Did they give a name? Was it a policeman or something?"

"No, sir." The old man gave me an awkward smile that made me even more angry. "They were so desperate...they were literally storming around the lobby...constantly saying things about you not answering calls and not opening the door...I told them maybe you just left..."

The rest of what he said fell on deaf ears, because now I was absolutely sure who was looking for me. "What time is it now?"

"11 a.m., sir."

"Today is Friday, right?" I asked, my head spinning. "It should be Friday."

The concierge paused. "It's Sunday, sir."

Sunday?

A sharp pang of nausea crept into my stomach, nearly breaking me in half, but I managed to grab hold of the doorjamb for support. "Where is this person?"

"Mr. Bateman, I had to call the police because they were being...kind of aggressive," the concierge explained, stepping back a bit. "The cops arrived pretty quickly...they found out this person had drugs, sir."

I stagger to the side as if from the hard blow. "And what happened next...did they arrest them?"

"I...I guess so?"

I let out a tired sigh, rolling my eyes and trying to keep it together - this poor guy was not guilty, it was just an accident, but how did you get caught with drugs? It was so fucking illogical to me.

My voice was unnaturally soft as I tried my fucking best not to snap at the man across from me. "Did the cops really take them away? Did you see that with your own eyes?" The concierge just nodded, and I could tell by his nervousness that he felt it was his fault at some level. "All right, thank you for your information, remind me to tip you next month." And with that, I closed the front door, leaving the man in a completely bewildered state.

Shit...this whole situation seemed like a fucking joke, but I had to think fast—I needed a plan how to solve this bullshit and maybe I could get some answers if I could help you. I took a moment to collect myself and told myself that one way or another I had to go there...to rescue you.

I'll do it even if I have to burn down this police station.

In record time, my impeccable appearance was ready, and now I confidently walked down the long, dimly lit corridor of the police station that was closest to where I lived—I hoped you were in that station, but if not, I would visit all of them until I found you.

Finally, I reached the reception area, where a pretty policewoman greeted me with a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for..." I opened my briefcase and showed her my notebook with your full name written in it. "Are they here, in this department? I believe they were arrested today."

The officer smiled at me before she turned around and started to rummage through some papers, folds, notes... With each passing moment I was getting more and more impatient, but I had to play it cool.

"I think I found the person you were looking for," the woman said, placing several documents on the reception desk, implying that I should take a look at them. "They were delivered here an hour ago."

"Can I see them?" I asked, putting on my casual, seductive smile.

“And what is your relationship to the suspect?”

Damn, not this fucking question.

I was a little stunned at first, but then I quickly tugged at my red tie and tilted my head in a condescending way. "I'm their lawyer, and I need to see them as soon as possible."

I noticed that her expression suddenly changed, her eyes gliding over my massive form—she was obviously trying to access my appearance and compare it to the look of a successful lawyer living in New York City—when I gave her an intense look and then winked, she visibly blushed.

After a small cough, she took the documents and only then dared to look at me again. "The suspect is now in interrogation room number one. Don't get lost."

"Thanks." I grinned broadly and, after closing my briefcase, left the reception.

It didn't take me long to find the interrogation room I needed. As I stopped right next to the door, I checked myself in the reflection of the nearby window—I looked perfect, not as perfect as I used to be, but not too horrible either.

A light knock on the door before I opened it. "Good afternoon, sorry for the long wait. How is my client? I hope you haven't done anything inappropriate in my absence?"

The moment our eyes met, I could see a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something beyond human understanding.

"And who the hell is that?" One of the officers—a rather fat guy with a messy beard—asked his partner, then looked at you. "You said you were from Chicago and your lawyer had to catch a flight here."

"Yes, that's exactly what I said. Why are you telling me my own words?" You crossed your arms and gave me a scorching gaze, I seized the moment of your confusion to nestle into the empty chair next to you. "Probably...my lawyer has handed this case over to his colleague in New York, so he doesn't have to come here."

Both policemen looked at us as if we were idiots—which we definitely were—but I hoped this affair would work out.

"But you asked to be allowed to make a phone call... the whole damn time," another policeman replied, pointing his finger at you and then at me. "I'm going to send you both to jail if you don't tell me what-"

"Jesus Christ, I told you several times...I was at a party...I took someone's coat by mistake and there was...this fucking bag of cocaine, but it's not mine! You can check the fingerprints and you won't find mine on this fucking bag! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?"

"My client is right. Before we get the results of the fingerprint analysis, the presumption of innocence should not be forgotten." I started in the most serious tone I could manage. "Remember that."

Both officers started arguing with each other almost immediately, using many different insults that I would definitely have to remember so that I could present them to Tim— he would love to hear them. I was about to say something clever when the door suddenly opened and a woman with dark hair stepped into the room.

"What the hell is going on?" The woman asked her colleagues, looking disappointed and quite angry. "Everyone can hear you outside."

"Oh, Miss Moore," one of the officers murmured like a guilty child. "Well, we..."

"Detective Moore to you, Rogers," she replied, her posture radiating confidence. You and I both stared at her for a while, I noticed her tanned skin and thick curly hair, she was definitely Hispanic, the accent was also quite noticeable. "Can I confide in you at least once?" Officer Rogers looked at his partner, neither of them said a word, and that made the detective even more annoyed. "We'll talk about it later, now go."

The cops didn't dare protest, and soon they left. Now it was just you, me and Detective Moore in the interrogation room. The tension was palpable in the air, my hands were sweaty and shaking, I had to brush them off my open coat, but before I could, you caught one of them and squeezed it barely sensibly—I gasped, almost choking on my saliva.

After a brief examination of the documents, the woman across from us raised her brown eyes and smiled, not too friendly, but not too menacing either. "So, my name is Andrea Moore," she turned to look at you, holding a piece of paper in her hand. "I already know your name," her piercing gaze finally stopped on me. "May I have your documents, sir?"

Swallowing hard, I unlocked my briefcase to hand her my ID. "Yeah, sure."

"Mr. Bateman...have we met before?"

"No...I don't think so."

Andrea hummed to herself. "Well, I hope you brought your law license with you?"

Your grip on my palm tightened, I almost let out a hysterical squeal. "I... I must have left it in my office."

"Listen," you suddenly spoke up, gesticulating as if you were at a school presentation. "I need to call my assistant, Vincent Eisenhower...he will help sort things out-"

"Wait a minute...did you say Vincent Eisenhower?" Andrea suddenly stopped you, obviously surprised.

"Uh, yeah, he's my assistant at the company I work-"

"...in Chicago?"

"Yes..." you replied in confusion. "Is there something wrong with that?"

The detective didn't answer, and it made me nervous as hell, but you holding my hand in a gentle manner was strangely comforting, even though I despised such displays of affection.

Looking puzzled, Andrea finally took the pen and a clean piece of paper. "Can you give me the number...I'll call Mr. Eisenhower and ask him for...a real lawyer. Mr. Bateman, I hope you understand the consequences of your actions-"

"Leave him alone, it's not his fault," you cut Andrea off before I could say anything in my defense. "He didn't know what he was doing coming here...please...he hasn't done anything bad...he's just going through a hard time in his life and..."

"Enough," the detective raised her hand in a halting gesture. "I hope I can reach out to Mr. Eisenhower....You two better pray for that."

Andrea left as abruptly as she had come. We were finally alone. Both confused, frightened, and lost.

"Why did you even come here?" You asked, not looking at me, but not parting our hands. "How stupid of you to come here and act like you were my lawyer."

"I HAD NO CHOICE!" I almost screamed, turning in my seat to cut the mere distance between us. "Not after you terrorized me with those damn phone calls..."

As I said that, time stood still for us and I could see the inner conflict in your deep, mesmerizing eyes—you were broken and lost just like me—I looked down at our intertwined hands, waiting for your answer.

"What calls, Patrick? What are you talking about?"

"You know WHAT I'm talking about...don't try to fuck with my brain," I husked, inches from your lips. "You think this is funny, huh?"

"And you think it's funny to call my office and tell my assistant about your suicidal intentions?" Your warm breath wafted pleasantly around my face as you moved closer. "You think it's funny to appear and disappear in my life like I'm a toy you can play with whenever you feel bored?"

At first I didn't answer. Instead, I just kept eye contact with you, then I lowered my eyes to our hands again—my palm was bigger than yours, this little detail always made my heart flutter. Did I ever think that such a small thing would stir such strong emotions in me? Probably not.

Definitely not.

"By the way, did you manage to find out anything about that machine you told me about?" I questioned abruptly, putting my arm around your shoulders.

You frowned and chuckled in disbelief. Well, at least the tension was relieved.

"What machine?" You fidgeted in your seat as I pulled you closer. "Hey, don't change the subject..."

"A memory reboot machine," I crooned, leaning forward so our noses rubbed against each other. "If you're here... that means you probably didn't find it."

The urge to indulge in this moment, to follow the passionate momentum and just kiss these lips I'd been thinking about all along, was unbearable, but I didn't want to be the first to fall apart and drop my defenses.

"Maybe I never needed this machine," you replied, pressing your forehead against mine for a brief moment. "Because I never wanted to forget...you?"

Was it a question or a statement—we never knew as we both moved towards each other, my burning lips pressed against your soft ones as we shared the most desirable kiss I could ever imagine. Gasping into my mouth, you let go of my hand only to wrap both of them around my neck as you responded with no less favor than mine. It was so hot, so desperate, so tragic. And it was all mine— your pain, your anger, your hatred.

Because you were my salvation.

With precise deftness, I carefully tilted your head back a little to deepen the kiss, my arms eagerly but not persistently roving around your back, knowing every little detail of your body, every dent and bump. As much as I wanted to tell you how fucking perfect you were for me, I didn't want this kiss to end, but as if you could read my mind, you suddenly pulled me away a little too abruptly and roughly.

"God, I hate you..." you wept, covering your face so I couldn't see your tears. "I really... I really thought you were going to do something bad... I was afraid it was too late..."

I was at a loss, I didn't know how to react or what to say—everything about you confused me, made my brain overload with different thoughts about what you said and why—now was no exception.

"But I'm here now...in one piece," I decided not to touch you, my hand resting on the back of your chair, ready to hug you at any moment if it was needed. "You should understand that...if I really wanted to do this, no one would be able to stop me..." I whisper above your ear and place my hand on the back of your head, gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on the table. "Even you."

I knew that this confession would mean nothing, just like all my previous ones, but as soon as I said it, you raised your tear-stained eyes and whimpered. "Don't say that...don't fucking say that! You can be a total asshole, but that doesn't mean you deserve to die..."

"Darling," I gently brushed your stray locks from your face, trying to distract you and keep you from saying words that would only make things worse. "You know so little about me...but I don't want you to say something you'll regret..."

"I've already said too many things that I now regret," you replied, turning away from me. "Have you ever thought about your family and how they would react if something bad happened to you? Have you thought about Evelyn?"

My eyebrows knitted together, the words you said pierced my heart like sharp daggers, but I didn't want you to stop, because you were right, I was always selfish, but you knew so little about my family, who would surely be sad about the loss, but they would recover pretty quickly, since they still had Sean. And Evelyn? I would laugh if things were not so sad.

Trembling and sobbing, you still sat with your back to my face. "I'm not going to ask you for anything except to promise me that you'll never even think about...hurting yourself."

Oh, dear.

With a soft clink of my chair, I stood up and placed both of my hands on your trembling shoulders. "I promise... if you stay with me, I'll never look back... on my previous life." I felt your body tense under my touch. "We can't reboot the memory, but we can...reboot our lives?"

This was it—the moment I had fantasized about so many times, considering different outcomes, scenarios—I was waiting for your answer when the door creaked and Detective Moore appeared in my vision. She was much more cheerful than before, which worried me a bit.

"So," she took a seat, opened a folder with documents and wrote something on it. "I spoke to Vince, and luckily for you, he has already contacted your lawyer-"

"Vince?" You asked in shock, but at least you stopped crying.

Andrea stuttered and cleared her throat. "I mean..." she paused and twirled the pen in her hand. "It happened that Vincent and I used to know each other..."

What?

We were both speechless, how the hell could such a coincidence have happened?

"Well... I really didn't see it coming..." You murmured, brushing the remnants of tears from your face.

"Neither did I," the detective chuckled curtly before resuming her work on some papers. "Listen, we should wait for the results of the fingerprint analysis, and while we wait, you are forbidden to leave the city. Please put your sign here."

"What is this?"

"Your ticket to freedom," she explained. "A street bail."

I saw you hesitate, so I gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and you looked at me, I simply nodded, and you placed the sign.

"And how long have you known Vincent?" You asked after you handed the document back to Andrea. "Just asking."

"Since childhood, I think."

"Oh... that's... a lot."

"Vince has always been known for being a good boy..." the woman paused, coughing awkwardly. "Uh, you can talk to him about... that if you're interested." Andrea closed the folder and shifted her gaze to me. "And you, I highly recommend that you never do anything like this again."

"So you're not going to put me in a cell?" I replied in a slightly teasing manner.

"No...not this time. But the officer who allowed you to come here will be severely punished, maybe even fired," Andrea explained, getting up from her chair. "It's her first day at the police station, but she let a man go through without even checking his papers. Such violations are very serious."

And although I didn't feel sad for this woman I would probably never see again, I looked at you and your big doe eyes. "Maybe there's a way not to fire her? I assured her that I was a lawyer and...I could pay a fine if I had to."

Detective Moore said nothing, she just grinned and beckoned us to follow her.

An hour later we finally left the police station. For some time we walked in complete silence, the surrounding commotion drawing out my shallow breathing, my mind overclocked with the search for topics to talk about after all the shit that had happened.

"So... where did you stay?" I asked casually, looking at you from above, your eyelashes shimmering in the sunlight. "In the Plaza?"

"No," you replied almost immediately. "Not the Plaza this time...it was all booked up."

"You were really in New York... for the whole time?"

"Depends on what time you mean exactly," your slight smile made me almost stumble, but I pretended to see someone familiar. "Maybe I haven't left New York at all?"

No, that can't be.

"You know, since you can't leave the city... maybe we should spend some time together and... you didn't answer my question."

My offer made you stall, and I followed suit. Passers-by walked past us, not paying attention even though we were standing in the middle of the street.

"Was it really a question?"

"And what do you think it was?"

"A plea?" You smiled and stepped closer to me until there was no space between us. "If you weren't so stubborn...everything could be so much easier."

"And YOU tell me that?" I let myself pull you closer to me. "I have an idea...fuck the place where you stopped! We should go to Newport."

"Newport? Would it count that I left New York?" you asked me a little shyly. "Do you have a house there or...?"

"My family has a house there and since they are out of town we can use it to kill time...have you ever been to Newport?" My hands rested possessively on your waist and before I knew it, I added. "Me and Evelyn are getting divorced..."

"No, I haven't," you replied, finally resting your hands on my shoulders. "But I really want to...since I've heard a lot of good things about this place..." then you suddenly froze. "What... What did you say? Are you kidding me? God, I can't believe this...I..."

You continued to bubble something that made me smile in amusement and I couldn't help but hold you tightly in my arms— the place you always belonged to, though I understood it too late. The fresh breeze of change swirled around us, playing with our hair and clothes. Yesterday I didn't know if I would make it to tomorrow, but today I was sure that there would be so many tomorrows because I wasn't alone anymore.

With you, for you, in your name—I was still alive and finally free.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader

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aphroditelovesu · 9 months ago

Text

⸻ The Lost Queen - XVII ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 3,641.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 17

Your heart was hammering in your chest, each beat a sharp, rapid thud that echoed throughout your body. It was as if it were trying to escape, as if it knew something your mind had yet to process. Your eyes were fixed on the bloodstain that stained the white sheets, a sight that contrasted brutally with the immaculate purity of the fabric. The deep red seemed to pulse, almost as if it were alive, mocking your growing terror.

You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry, as if all the air had been sucked from the room. What did this mean? You didn’t know. And the unknown was an abyss that pulled you deeper with each passing second. Fear coiled in your stomach, squeezing tightly, a suffocating sensation that made it impossible to think clearly.

It couldn’t be a miscarriage, you repeated to yourself, almost like a desperate prayer. There was no pain, and you couldn’t feel the blood running down your thighs. But then… What was it? Confusion swirled through his mind like a storm, each thought more chaotic and dark than the last. Your fingers, almost by reflex, touched the stain. The blood was dried, rough under your skin. Red, thick, almost unreal.

What was happening to you? The answer seemed so distant and yet so terribly close at the same time. The air grew heavy, oppressive, and you began to struggle to breathe. Each breath was a painful effort, as if your chest were being crushed by an invisible weight. Your heart, which was already beating fast, now seemed out of control, and a dull pain began to spread, radiating through your lungs, your ribs.

You knew, in the back of your mind, that you were on the verge of a panic attack. But this realization only seemed to intensify the feeling of despair. Your lungs burned, and each breath you tried to take was short and hurried, insufficient. Your legs began to shake uncontrollably, as if they could no longer support the weight of the fear that was taking over you. And then, without warning, your strength gave out.

You fell to your knees on the floor, your breathing ragged and rapid. The room around you seemed to spin, the walls closing in, as if they wanted to swallow you. Your vision blurred with the tears that you barely noticed falling. The sound of your heart beating was the only clear thing, each beat like a raging drum inside your head. Panic had consumed you completely, and you were lost within it.

"It's okay, I'm here..."

The voice sounded distant, as if it were coming from somewhere outside your inner chaos. It was soft but firm, cutting through the confusion in your mind. At first, you could barely understand what was happening, lost between the feeling of suffocation and the ringing in your ears. But then, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you up with a security that your body needed at that moment.

The warmth of that touch contrasted with the cold that spread across your skin. The embrace was tight, like an anchor in the midst of the whirlwind of emotions. Little by little, almost imperceptibly at first, your breathing began to find a calmer rhythm. The air, which had previously seemed impossible to pull into your lungs, began to flow more steadily, bringing relief. Each frantic beat of your heart slowed, and the panic that dominated your senses slowly receded, like a wave moving away from the shore.

Your eyes, which had been out of focus, began to clear. The dark spots and blurry vision gave way to clearer shapes. You felt your chest rise and fall more gently, and the tremor in your legs began to subside. When you finally felt stable enough to realize where you were, you looked up.

Perdiccas.

He was holding you firmly, his arms still around your waist, as if he were determined not to let you fall again. His face, usually serious and composed, was marked by an expression of genuine concern. He didn't say anything else, but the look he exchanged with you spoke volumes. You weren't alone. That hug, that silent support, was what you needed to find yourself again.

The feeling of relief was accompanied by a slight wave of embarrassment. Not because of what had happened, but because of the intensity with which Perdiccas had witnessed your vulnerability, because it was he, after all the conflicts between you, who had held you when you needed it most. Still, you allowed yourself to relax a little more in his arms, feeling safe for the first time since panic began to consume you. His voice, even with the silence that followed, echoed inside you. "I'm here." And somehow, that was all you needed to hear.

Perdiccas was immersed in a whirlwind of emotions, far beyond what words could express. Holding you in his arms at that moment, feeling the tremors in your body, the weight of your fear, the panic in your eyes, made him question everything he had believed to be right until then.

The news of your pregnancy had come as a brutal blow to him. The silent fury that had taken over him at that moment still consumed him somewhere inside him. Everything seemed out of control. He wanted it to go away – he wanted the pregnancy to disappear like a bad dream. It was a constant reminder that you did not belong completely to him, that a part of you would be his.

He hated it. He hated it so much that he wanted to remove this thing, this disease, from you. He would rip it out before it took shape, before it was born. He had already drawn up his plans, coldly rational, as he always did when faced with obstacles. But then, everything changed.

When he saw you in that condition, on your knees, struggling to breathe, he realized that it wasn't just a distant dilemma, it wasn't just a matter of something he could control. You weren't a piece in this game that he could move at will. You were real, scared, in pain. The blood on the sheets, which had been the trigger for your panic attack, also hit him with unexpected force. That blood, that stain, made him feel terribly responsible.

As he held you tighter, trying to calm your breathing and bring your mind back to reality, he felt the weight of the internal conflict growing. The decision that had once seemed so clear now became unbearably hazy. How could he go ahead with his plans? How could he think of causing you even more pain, more suffering, knowing how much it already consumed you?

He felt the heat of your body against his and realized, for the first time, that he couldn't treat you as an obstacle to be removed. The fear you felt was real, palpable, and somehow, he was also affected by that fear. He couldn't do this to you.

Perdiccas knew that you couldn't, wouldn't be able to, handle so much pain at once. And he didn't want to break you, not entirely, at least.

The heartbreak still dominated him, and his dark desires still lurked in the general's mind. But one thing was clear: he couldn't hurt you like that. He couldn't be the cause of more pain, not after seeing how broken you were, not when he had already caused you more pain than he could ever imagine. As much as the pregnancy haunted him, he knew right then, as you calmed down in his arms, that the plans he had devised could no longer be followed.

Perdiccas closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath. He still didn't know what he would do from then on, but one decision had been made: he wouldn't hurt you again.

Bactria was a barren land, with vast deserts and towering mountains that seemed to stretch to the sky. The heat was oppressive, a dry kind of heat that made the skin burn and the throat dry out quickly. Alexander, despite his great endurance and having faced harsh climates, found the climate of Bactria especially exhausting. The constant heat, the relentless sun... It was not a place he would have chosen for its beauty or comfort.

But the victory over the Bactrians had been decisive, a conquest that further solidified his dominion over that vast region. And as a sign of respect – or perhaps a veiled surrender – the local ruler and his nobles hosted a banquet in honor of Alexander and his army. The invitation came with promises of music, dancing and plenty, something that, after the hardship of the battle, seemed like a well-deserved balm for the exhausted soldiers.

Alexander, ever pragmatic and strategically minded, accepted the invitation. He knew that, beyond celebration, banquets like this were an opportunity to cement alliances, to soothe any spark of resistance that might still lurk in the hearts of the vanquished. Bactria might be hot and desolate, but it was a key to his empire, and winning the favor of its leaders was as important as defeating them on the battlefield.

As night fell, the heat of the day slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a light coolness carried by the desert breeze. The courtyard where the banquet would be held was lit by torches and candelabras, and the aroma of spices wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of musicians tuning their instruments.

Alexander entered the room, flanked by Hephaestion and some of his generals. His eyes scanned the room, always alert for any sign of danger or suspicion. But that night, the faces around him seemed relaxed, although there was a subtle tension, typical of a city that had recently been subjugated. The nobles of Bactria, dressed in rich robes and adorned with jewels, eagerly awaited the arrival of the great conqueror.

The local ruler, Oxyartes, stood as Alexander entered, offering a respectful greeting, his tight smile reflecting both gratitude and fear. He gestured for Alexander to sit in the place of honor, and soon, the banquet began.

Exotic dishes were served, with rare fruits, meats seasoned with oriental spices, and fragrant wines that were unfamiliar to many of the Macedonians present. The sound of local instruments began to fill the air, followed by the entrance of dancers who moved gracefully, their bodies adorned with brightly colored fabrics. The music was mesmerizing, unlike anything the Macedonians were accustomed to, and for a brief moment, even Alexander allowed himself to relax, watching the dance unfold before him.

Although he was not a man easily impressed, he recognized the skill and beauty of the culture. There was something about Bactria that, even under the unbearable heat and hostile landscape, exuded an elegance that was hard to ignore.

As the banquet progressed, Alexander watched with attentive eyes.

Despite the beauty and grace of the dancers, who moved with mesmerizing elegance, Alexander couldn't help but feel his heart and mind far away from there. The women, with their ornate clothes and fluid movements, certainly caught the attention of the men around them, and the banquet seemed like the perfect occasion to relax after so many battles. But for Alexander, all of that seemed distant, almost irrelevant.

The image of (Y/N) wouldn't leave his thoughts. Even as his eyes followed the graceful bodies of the dancers, his mind was focused on his lost wife, kidnapped, taken away from him. The banquet, the dances, the exotic food and the heat of Bactria seemed like shadows, unable to fill the void that (Y/N) had left in his heart.

Hephaestion, sitting next to him, gave him a discreet look, noticing the uneasiness in Alexander's eyes. He knew, more than anyone, that this was a fight that the great conqueror was fighting internally. Hephaestion, for his part, also kept his own silent vow to not rest until Alexander's wife was rescued, but he knew he could not take away the pain his friend felt now.

Alexander clutched the wine glass in his hand, watching the dancers with a distant expression. There was one dancer in particular who would not take her eyes off him. She was very beautiful; with dark eyes, long black hair, and her skin was a dark tone. The way she watched him made Alexander a little uncomfortable.

Roxanna.

''I do not desire a new wife.''

Alexander’s voice cut through the air like a sharp blade. It was cold, almost icy, with a harshness that made the generals present exchange tense glances. There was an unquestionable authority in the king’s words, a decision already made, a line that should not be crossed.

Oxyartes, who stood before him, tried to maintain his composure, but the internal conflict was written all over his face. He knew he was treading on delicate territory, but he also knew he had no choice. He needed to make Alexander accept his daughter, he needed to secure the alliance he so desired for his future. However, Alexander’s relentless response had deeply shaken his hopes.

''But, my king, my daughter is the most beautiful woman in all of Asia!'' Oxyartes’ voice sounded almost like a plea, a desperate man trying to persuade the one who seemed unshakable. Every word was charged with urgency, with an almost wounded pride, as if Roxanna's beauty were a bargaining chip that could soften the great conqueror's heart.

But Alexander did not move, his gaze remained steady and impassive. He watched Oxyartes without any trace of apparent emotion, as if the man's words had not even managed to scratch the surface of his decision. The silence that followed Oxyartes' plea was deafening, and each passing second only increased the tension in the air.

The generals present, watching the scene, remained static, but internally they were attentive to every gesture, every inflection. They knew that Alexander was not a man to be manipulated, much less in matters that involved his personal power and his worldview. And yet, Oxyartes remained there, vulnerable, desperately seeking an opening.

Roxanna's beauty, something that could seduce many kings, seemed to have no such effect on Alexander. The King of Macedonia was no ordinary man, and his desire for conquest and glory often overrode worldly matters. And yet, Oxyartes' request hung in the air like a nagging shadow, waiting to be addressed.

The only wife he wanted was his own. It was (Y/N) back in his arms, safe and sound.

Alexander finally broke the silence, his piercing eyes fixed on Oxyartes. There was no anger, but there was no softness in his tone either.

''I have no need for beauty, Oxyartes. The only woman I care about, the one I desire and want by my side, is my wife. And right now, I could be getting her back, but you are in my way and I will not tolerate anyone getting in my way of getting her back.''

Oxyartes swallowed hard, his fear now clearly visible. He knew he could not push Alexander much further without risking offending him, but the feeling of helplessness was beginning to overwhelm him. He had put everything on the line so that his daughter would be united with a powerful man.

Still, he knew he could not back down. The fate of his family, and perhaps his people, depended on Alexander’s answer. Oxyartes tried to gather his courage one last time.

''Roxanna is not only beautiful, my King. She is strong, intelligent, a true queen. She could be an invaluable ally in your dreams. Please consider this.''

Alexander’s eyes remained fixed on Oxyartes for a long moment, impenetrable and cold. He did not want Roxanna, and even less did he wish to take another wife, despite understanding the political weight that a union with a Persian woman could bring. But his heart was elsewhere, trapped in the anguish of a deep grief. (Y/N), his wife, the woman he loved, had been kidnapped, and every moment without her was an open wound in his soul.

Marrying Roxanna would be a smart move, yes, but he wasn’t driven solely by strategy in this matter. (Y/N)’s absence haunted him, and the idea of accepting another woman into his life while she was still missing seemed like a betrayal impossible to bear.

He took a deep breath, maintaining control in the face of the generals and Oxyartes, whose insistence was beginning to become an unbearable weight. The man's desperate plea, insisting on Roxanna's beauty and qualities, reverberated in his ears, but did not touch the center of his mind, which was focused in another direction.

Not allowing his strong facade to waver, Alexander raised his hand, signaling the end of this conversation.

''Everyone leave,'' hHe ordered, his voice loud and authoritative, cutting through the air like a blade. There was no room for questions, and everyone knew what that tone meant. ''I just want Hephaestion to stay.''

The generals exchanged brief, tense glances before bowing and leaving quickly, respecting the immediate order. Oxyartes hesitated for a second, but the coldness in Alexander's eyes made him retreat as well, leaving the hall silent, except for the presence of Hephaestion.

When the last person left, the weight of the moment fell upon the room. Alexander ran a hand over his face, as if trying to dispel the weariness that consumed him. Hephaestion watched silently, waiting for the king to speak.

"Hephaestion," Alexander began, his voice now filled with a sadness he rarely let show. "I cannot marry Roxanna. Not while (Y/N) is in the hands of the one who took her from me. How can I marry again, knowing that the woman I love is lost somewhere, without my having rescued her? How can I marry another when she still needs me?"

Hephaestion knew that this was the burden that weighed most heavily on Alexander, even amidst all his conquests and battles. He knew that (Y/N) was the center of the king's concerns, and that no alliance, no matter how advantageous, would replace the void left by her absence.

"We will find her, Alexander," Hephaestion repeated, his voice firm as he approached the king. "But you should not completely rule out the idea of taking a second wife. It could gain us the support of the locals."

The words hung in the air between them, charged with a mixture of pragmatism and loyalty. Alexander, standing before his most trusted friend, kept his gaze steady, but his eyes narrowed slightly, reflecting his resistance. He knew that Hephaestion always spoke what he thought was best for him, but this matter touched on something that went beyond any political strategy.

Hephaestion, sensing the tension his words were provoking, stepped forward, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. He knew he had to be cautious, but he also knew he had to be direct.

''You know I would never suggest this unless it was necessary,'' Hephaestion continued, his voice now lower but still filled with conviction. ''We will find (Y/N). We will not rest until she is safely back in your arms. But in the meantime, you must consider the possibility of marrying Roxanna.''

The mention of (Y/N)’s name brought a knot of pain to Alexander’s chest. She, his wife, his Queen, had been ripped from his life, kidnapped by those who sought to hurt him more deeply than any sword thrust, by one of his most loyal friends. The thought of replacing her, of even considering another woman, was a blow to his pride and his heart. But the reality of his achievements, of his dream, forced him to face truths he preferred to ignore.

"Roxanna is a strategic asset, Alexander," Hephaestion continued, seeing that the king was listening to him. "The Persians, the locals... They would accept your leadership more readily if they saw an alliance being sealed. You would have the people on your side, something that could be as valuable as a victory on the battlefield. We can continue the search for (Y/N) at the same time."

Alexander turned his face away, his thoughts racing. He knew Hephaestion was right in many ways, but the conflict inside him tore at him. He had married (Y/N) out of love and perhaps curiosity, and the idea of marrying again while she was missing felt like betrayal.

''You ask me to do the unthinkable, Hephaestion,” Alexander murmured, his voice thick with frustration and pain. ''How can I look at another woman while (Y/N), my wife, is lost? I am not just a king, I am a man... And she is my Queen.''

Hephaestion nodded, his expression softening a little at his friend's pain. "I know, Alexander. And no one understands that better than I. But you are the king of an empire that never stops growing. The weight of the crown is heavy because it demands sacrifices, even those that break the heart. Marrying Roxanna does not mean giving up on (Y/N). It means ensuring stability while we continue to fight for her. You can still bring her back. And when you do, she will have the place she always had."

Alexander was silent for a moment, his thoughts a whirlwind of loyalty, duty, and loss. Hephaestion’s intense gaze met his once more, filled with understanding and, at the same time, challenge.

''I need time to think.'' Alexander finally replied, his voice colder than before, but less rigid than it had been at the beginning of their conversation.

Hephaestion, knowing he had done what he could without pushing him too hard, nodded silently. He only hoped his friend would make the right choice.

— lady l: I know it took me a while to post and I apologize for that! My days have been busy and I finally managed to finish and edit it. I hope you liked it and forgive me for any mistakes!

Love you all and I'll see you soon! ❤️

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