Patrick Bateman went to Dorsia, one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. He often went with his colleagues, who were as pretentious as every other yuppie, and, in his mind, made the visits less enjoyable unless they were discussing work or what everyone was going to do over the weekend–yachts, partying, the whole ten yards. As time went on, going to the restaurant was tiring for him.

But, while rare, when Patrick found himself going alone, he knew exactly why he was there. Rather who he was there for. You worked at Dorsia every night during the week days and had grown as familiar with Patrick’s name as he had with yours. You were really the only reason he came to Dorsia anymore. Patrick always had his eye on you, and appreciated his moments without his friends because he knew they would get suspicious. After all, every good yuppie knows that it’s only right to be with the hottest girls, not the hottest guys.

Patrick sees you approaching and straightens up. His expression is unreadable, but his thoughts go haywire. ‘Isn’t he just the freshest, most pure form of a human being,’ his mind echoes. ‘It would be such a shame if anything were to destroy it.’

“I’m ready to order,” he says, keeping his eyes locked onto yours.

(credit to @1nt0xicat3d)