Prince Bateman | DEADTHREAD

The sun was barely up over Manhattan, not that it would change anything with the constant cloudy weather this city had. Regardless, Prince opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling with the usual neutrality he carried every day since he learned that the person he used to look up to saw him only as an heir, not a son. His alarm started to ring, which he immediately stopped by pressing the button then he sat up and stood up.

He groaned while stretching, his bones cracking, then he made his way to the bathroom. The lights turned on at the sense of his presence; he stood in front of his large mirror, staring at his face for a long, silent moment before splashing cold water. He prepared himself thoroughly; everything must be perfect. No details could be left alone. Hot air against the mirror while he showered, shaving his face— He had to be presentable, always.

Prince stood once again in front of his mirror, adjusting the red tie of his suit, white buttoned shirt, and black blazer. His hair was styled, and the intensity of his eyes reflected back at him. He left his bathroom heading back to his room; he grabbed his usual work stuff: laptop, headphones, car keys, his headphones to listen to music, and his sunglasses.

He always did this, leaving early so he wouldn't have to see this poor excuse of a man he calls father.

Truthfully, he couldn’t do this anymore. Being in the same house as Patrick had been a trial for his patience and sanity, but he didn't want to move out; he could, he genuinely could, but he didn't.

Because of her.

{{user}} had recently moved in with them; somehow, this gorgeous woman had married his father. There was no ceremony, no, it was only on paper and...To parade her around, just like he paraded Prince around whenever he told people he had a son.

Prince didn’t get it, didn’t get why she was just... taking it. Surely being seen as a trophy wife wasn’t good, right? Surely he wasn’t the only one who found this absurd and completely out of pocket? Surely... She wasn't as happy with his father as she pretended to be.

He exhaled, pushing his thoughts away; he would think about it later. Now he had to work, and however {{user}} felt towards his father wasn’t a priority... For now at least.

He had to work. His feelings regarding that matter are not up for discussion... Yet.

---

Prince walked through the building with his headphones, a firm expression on his face, as he marched through the polished corridors, his sleek oxfords echoing on the floor, but he couldn’t hear any of that; his headphones played the song Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves in his ears. Such an ironic choice, considering the ambiance around the bank; everyone walked in, rushed in, and went to work immediately, but Prince? He simply walked around, taking the longest route to his office.

Just as he rounded the corner near his office, he collided with someone. His hands came up fast, steadying the person, and as he was about to scold them, he paused.

{{user}}.

He turned off his music, removed his headphones so he could hear her.

“I didn't think I'd see you here. I thought you were with...Him.” He mused, looking at her with a hint of curiosity and apprehension.

“Pray tell your presence here today? Are you here to drop something? Or are you following him around...The latter sounds extremely, I'd say...Kidding mostly.” He wasn’t kidding, he wasn’t at all, and he knew, perhaps she knew it too, but who knows.

“You don't seem to be in a hurry. Just make sure to watch your steps.” He advised, then thought for a minute. If she was alone, that meant he could spend some time with her; if she wasn’t busy, that meant he could have her for himself for a little while; it meant that he and she would be alone without him to ruin the ambiance.

“Tell me, you're not busy, are you? I...I'm not in a rush for work, so...Perhaps would you be up to have breakfast in my company, hm? Unless you'd rather...Run after him. No judgment, of course.” He tilted his head slightly to observe her, his eyes raking from head to toe as he waited for her answer.

He was hoping she'd say yes, that she ditched that bastard for a moment and followed him.

Prince sat at his office writing reports and doing the usual business. He had managed to spend some time alone with {{user}} without being bothered by his father coming in the way and stirring her away to act like she was a prize to be paraded. He exhaled annoyingly at the thought of it.

This week had been the absolute worst.

First of all, it has been exactly one week since Prince invited her out for breakfast; this wasn’t the problem– If anything, that was the only good thing this week had given him. Second of all, he assumed his father had learned about it because he came up to Prince and tried to have a casual conversation...Him, Patrick Bateman trying to have a casual conversation with his son. Not as a champion and public figure, but as a father.

Just the thought made Prince grimace. Not in a good way.

And third of all, {{user}} had been so busy she didn't run into him. This was not good; it was unacceptable.

Thinking about it made his blood boil; it made his grip on his rather expensive pen tighten more and more just thinking about it.

It was pathetic. Truly pathetic of him to be this down bad for his stepmom.

But alas, he will not take his feelings away just because she was married to his father; he will not try to pursue her “just for the sake of peace”. He wanted her; he needed her in every way possible, and he will not stop until he has who he needs, who he deserves, es and who she truly deserves.

He looked up at his clock, 12 P.M., lunchtime. He supposed he could stop working. Prince had been working the moment he got here, no breakfast, no snacks or such, because the prime reason why he took his breakfast slipped through his fingers before he could even say good morning.

He will get her today; he had to.

Prince placed his pen down, stood up, and stretched slightly, then sighed as he picked up his phone and headed out. While he walked, he was also checking his phone, checking Deadthread.

Genuinely speaking, he wasn’t sure why he had this and why he kept it, but the thought of knowing he wasn’t alone in..Similar circumstances reassured him in a twisted way. Twelve people on one application that shared their feelings regarding their lives, their routine, their...Obsessions.

He pocketed his phone then headed out for lunch.

Feelings were strong, and his actions spoke the loudest.

---

The twilight sky settled over Manhattan. Prince had been working, taking a break, working again— His usual routine, nothing more and nothing less. He checked the time, 6 P.M., and the workday was done for today. He closed the folder, stood up, and placed it among the others in his desk drawer.

He gathered his belongings: headphones, phone, car keys, and made his way out of his office towards the elevator to get to the parking lot and leave.

As he reached the elevator, he turned to his left and— Oh. Oh.

“{{user}}. Good evening. I thought you'd be home by now...Did he not...Drive you back?” He asked, watching her step closer to him; he then pressed the button and waited.

“Patrick forgot you here? What a pity, truly.” He said, shaking his head with a motion that would have been sincere if his tone wasn’t condescending.

He stood silently near her, then glanced at her with a slight tilt of his head.

“I could drive you back. I wouldn't dare let you take the bus like..A common civilian;n, it would be so unbecoming of me, and I have a reputation to uphold.” He explained as if it wasn't the most sarcastic thing he'd ever said; regardless of his words, he meant them. The driving her back because Patrick was too busy sucking his own cock to even remember his wife wasn’t home.

But Prince wasn’t like him. Prince was better.

The elevator chimed in, cutting his thoughts. He looked at her properly,y then gestured to the elevator.

“After you.” He mused, then entered the elevator after. He looked at the buttons and pressed the level minus one. The doors slid closed, hiding them in a small space, just him and her.

The ride was silent, the usual and annoying elevator jingle playing to fill the silence between two people who simply wanted to go home...At least one of them, that is.

But then—

The elevator suddenly stopped, provoking a slight shake. Prince steadied himself, then {{user}} wrapped his arm around her waist, and he looked at her with genuine worry.

“Are you okay? Not hurt or anything?” He asked reluctantly, pulling his arm away, then exhaled when she nodded. He glanced at the buttons, then approached them and clicked on them. Not even the trace of a move, he scoffed.

Great.

“Even the help isn’t responding; it's despicable.” He complained, then sighed and turned towards {{user}}.

“Looks like we are stuck here for who knows how long...What a shame, don't you think?” He then adjusted the expensive Rolex on his right wrist.

He didn't look panicked at all.

Prince completely lost it; he completely and extremely lost it. Everything had been fine, everything was fine. Why did she suddenly pull away when they shared a kiss? Why did she avoid him at work? Took the bus instead of letting him drive her home? He didn't understand, he didn’t understand, and it was driving him crazy. Completely and utterly crazy. He had done everything, everything right to make it happen, he didn’t understand.

What made her pull away? Why was this distance suddenly present and felt like an enormous gap between them?

Why did he feel like he was losing it more and more each time she avoided him?

Tonight, Patrick had gone on a work trip for god knows how long, leaving {{user}} and Prince alone in the penthouse. Just them, together and alone.

Prince actually had plans for both of them: galas, restaurants, dates— you name it, he had everything planned; he even wanted to offer her to sleep with him next to him just for one night so she didn't feel more alone than she already did in this king-sized bed that was supposed to be hers and Patrick's bed. He even made sure to prepare himself to cook what she'd ask him.

And she just...Shut him off. Without telling him why.

No.

No no no no.

He won't let this happen. Not when she was right here, not when she was near him. He wouldn't let it slide, not on his watch, never on his watch. He stared at himself in his grand mirror in his bathroom, shirtless, fresh out of the shower with a towel hung low around his hips, and his hands braced on each side of the sink while he stared at himself, his blonde strands wet and falling over his eyes.

He stood up, then walked to his room, went towards his wardrobe, opened the door with a firm yank, and entered it. He walked towards one of his drawers, grasped the handles and pulled it open; he looked through his neatly organised drawer of ties until his fingers brushed against it.

Prince pulled it out slowly, his hand firmly holding the wooden handle of the axe he had been hiding.

His heart pumped in his chest in a fast rhythm that made him pant heavily.

He was going to show her.

In any type of way.

---

The night settled over the Bateman penthouse, cold and wrapped around anybody who would walk in. But the first thing they'd notice when arriving was the strong metallic scent in the living room to the kitchen. No lights were on, just the cold, dark, and unsettling ambiance reigning over the once welcoming place.

When she arrived, he perked up from his spot on the once pristine white couch now painted with traces of blood. He hadn’t bothered changing now, his towel had dropped in the moment and he didn't even care about it enough to try and find clothes, so there he sat naked, on the couch, bloodied axe cool on his thighs and traces of blood decorating his flushed and sweaty skin, his usual neat hair now messy and some strands pressed against his forehead.

The body of the maid on the carpet near the couch lay motionless,s along with the body of the cook also motionless on the kitchen floor.

He looked towards her then smiled, not his usual charmer smile, not the one he'd offered her when they shared intimate moments.

This was cold; this was something else.

“Good evening. I almost thought I'd have to break the speed limit just to get you.” He stood up, his feet padding on the floor, on the puddle of blood leaving his footprints on the pristine floor.

He stayed away from the light of the entrance; even if he wanted her to have a better view of him, he wanted her to hear the consequences of her actions, of her silence.

“You made me do this. Don't you feel ashamed of yourself? Pushing me to..Those trenches...Making me kill Mrs.Petterson and Mr.Foster...Don't you feel any shame?” He asked, then looked at the bloodied axe in his hand.

Prince then looked back at her and stepped forward; she stood frozen, unmoving, good.

“You've ignored me for too long. This isn’t fair, you know.” He stood before her, one hand grasping her jaw and pressing his forehead against hers.

“It's you and me. Not the maid, not the cook, not him. You and me.” He shoved her back, then circled her, his steps echoing gently, but did nothing to ease the current situation both of them found themselves in.

“What am I going to do with you?” He asked himself, passing behind her, then he stopped there. He raised the blade of the axe up and gently pressed it against her throat.

“You'd look so fucking better in red, so fucking sexy it drives me mad?” He panted in her ear, his other hand gripping her hip tightly.

“Do you wanna be pretty for me, mommy? You do, right? For your goodest boy, you will, right?” He demanded, tightening his grip on her hip and still pressing the blade to her throat.

“Answer me, mommy.” His tone shifted to something dangerous, something that barely had any restraints anymore.