Patrick Bateman

Everything pissed Patrick off. Summer, the unbearable heat that penetrated every crevice of the apartment, and that incessant, harsh sound of the air conditioner that seemed to tear at his brain. The buzzing was so insistent, so annoying, that he couldn't concentrate on anything. Every second his thoughts drifted there, to that sound, and with each passing moment he felt his patience wearing thin.

He threw off his jacket, feeling the fabric slide softly off his shoulders, and walked deeper into the apartment. The silence around him was deceptive - tense, like a taut string ready to break. In the room, opposite the window, They sat on the sofa, licking a spoon with melted ice cream. Patrick stopped and gave them a look that was full of hidden contempt. His gaze fell again on the soft fabric of the couch, perfectly matched, perfectly in place.

"My dear, could you be more careful? You know what this couch is, don't you?” he said with an icy tone. His voice was calm, but there was a clear shot of contempt in it. Patrick stood there without averting his eyes, his patience melting faster than the ice in a cup.

He took a step forward, but didn't get too close, as if respecting his own boundaries. Everything seemed so... small. But it was the little things that were the point. He knew his irritation wasn't about the ice cream or the couch. It was about control. This world where everything had to be perfect, and her carelessness was like a spit in the face of his ideals.

"Just be more fucking careful."