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Patrick just could not stand the sight of Beatrice and Paul Allen together — laughing and smiling — that should've been him. He and Beatrice made the perfect couple — what did she even see in Paul? He was an asshole who thought he was better than everyone (well, so is Patrick). "Patrick? What's gotten into you?" Evelyn has been asking the question for about a minute now — she's flustered from the sudden kiss — Patrick doesn't look at her as he rips the antlers off of his head, he drops them on the ground and walks off — he knew he could get a dinner with Paul, he just had to make sure he would bring Beatrice along.

Walking over to Paul, Patrick places a hand on his shoulder, he stumbles to look at Patrick. "Oh~Halberstram!" He slurs — drunk out of his mind, Beatrice stands in front of him, it's clear that she's angry at Paul's drunkenness and at Patrick for walking over. "Paul! I forgot to ask, would you and Beatrice like to accompany me to dinner? This whole party scene is making me want to crawl out of my skin." Patrick fakes a chuckle as Paul cackles loudly — Beatrice is embarrassed, vulnerable, right where Patrick wants her. Her eyes are burning into Patrick's head as Paul nods and says yes to the dinner and that Beatrice would be happy to come along.

Patrick looks at Beatrice and knows that he's won. "I want to kill you." Beatrice says into his ear as she walks next to him before looking at Paul, "Paul, are you sure you want to go to dinner? You're drunk." Paul waves her off, "I'll be fine." The three of them slip out of the party and get into a cab — Beatrice sits between the two men and she just hopes that she could kill the two of them, she couldn't believe the situation she was put in.

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The restaurant they had went to was Barcadia. It was a small, empty, and somewhat cheap spot — Paul and Patrick chatted about something while Beatrice walked behind the two. Paul laughed again before the three entered the restaurant. The hostess quickly sat them down and Beatrice was the only one that thanked her for doing so. "So, Paul.. about that Fisher account." (Oh.. so that's what Patrick was after). Beatrice looked between the two men, seeing who would break first, "Blah, blah, what about it?" Paul grabbed the champagne from the middle of the table and began to drink it straight from the bottle. "How did you get it Paul?" Patrick gritted and Paul shrugged, "Well, apparently I was given it because of something to do with Rothschild and him not being able to handle it."

Paul took another drink, "I guess they thought I'd handle it better. You know that loser Patrick Bateman? They said it was between me and him on who would get it." Beatrice smiled as she saw Patrick lean back in his chair and put on a fake smile, he nodded. Paul continued to insult Patrick right to his face without even knowing it, "Oh, Patrick Bateman is the biggest loser I've ever met." Beatrice joined in making Paul laugh, Patrick looked at Beatrice and faked a laugh, "I'm gonna rip your guts out before fucking you." He whispered into her ear making Beatrice laugh. "Oh, Marcus, that's funny." Paul seemed to be getting more and more drunk — Patrick realized now was his time to strike.

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Patrick had taken Beatrice and a very drunk Paul back to his apartment. Paul sat in a white chair — Beatrice couldn't tell what brand it was — while she sat on the white chaise lounge. Patrick was clearly up to something as he started to place newspapers all over the ground — Paul was too drunk to realize what he was doing, another bottle in his hand. Patrick seemed eager, he stood up and grinned inhumanely at Beatrice, she quirked a brow. Patrick walks over to his CD player and holds up a CD — "You like Huey Lewis and The News?" It's clear that Patrick is speaking only to Paul — Beatrice watches as she leans back into the chaise, taking her heels off as she did. "Um... they're okay.." Paul answers, his eyes barely open. Patrick places the CD into the player, "Their early work was a little too new wave for my taste. But when Sports came out in '83, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that gives the song a big boost. He's been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor."

As Patrick said this, he had made his way to the bathroom and back — now wearing a clear raincoat and carrying an axe which he places on the ground against the kitchen island. "Hey Halberstram?" Paul slurs and Patrick answers, "Yes Allen?" Paul is slumped in the chair — "Why are there copies of the Styles section all over the floor? Do you..." he laughs to himself, "Do you have a dog? A little chow or something?" Patrick shakes his head — he begins to button the raincoat, "No Allen." He's still smiling. Beatrice is like a fly on the wall — neither male pays her any attention.

Paul looks over his shoulder and sees Patrick, he's even more confused, "Is that a raincoat?" He slurs again, his voice raising slightly in confusion. Patrick smiles, "Yes it is!" He exclaims before walking over to the CD player and pressing the start button, "In '87, Huey released this; Fore!, their most accomplished album. I think their undisputed masterpiece is Hip To Be Square," as Patrick says this, the song he speaks of plays over the speaker, he does a little dance that makes Beatrice chuckle, "A song so catchy, most people probably don't listen to the lyrics, but they should," Patrick has made his way back over to the axe and grabs it, he begins to speak more frantically, "because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself."

Patrick raises the axe, "Hey Paul!"

The song seems to get louder as Patrick swings the axe down on Paul's head — instantly slicing into it, Beatrice's eyes are wide — she's splattered in blood — she can't believe she's watching the man she thought was okay and the only interesting part of her social, love, and sex life was now dying right in front of her. Paul falls to the floor. Patrick brings the axe down again and again on Paul's head, his face covered in blood, "Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now, you fucking stupid bastard!" Patrick brings the axe back down onto Paul's head, it looks like a mushy mess where his head should be. Beatrice watches as Paul's body twitches and his blood pools and seeps out and around his body, some of it getting on her feet.

Patrick huffs as he lets the axe fall next to Paul's body — his hair is out of place and his face is bloodied. He takes the raincoat off and lets it fall — his suit spotless. He steps over Paul's body and sits down next to Beatrice, smoothing his hair back before he reaches into his breast pocket — pulling out a cigar. He puts the cigar between his lips and pulls out a lighter, which he uses to light the cigar. His eyes close and it seems like he's content with what he did. Beatrice on the other hand looks like a wild animal — her eyes wide, nails digging into the chaise lounge, covered in blood — she looks over to Patrick, "Why?" Is all she can say and Patrick looks at her, he holds the cigar between his fingers, "Because you should've never been with someone like Paul Allen. You're different, we're different... and I don't know if that's a good thing but I know that you need to be with me... everything about you is addicting to me.." Beatrice can't help but move closer to him, "Good..." She smashes her lips against his — "Patrick... you should fuck me right here.."

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