American Beauty, American Psycho

American Psycho

Alfred lay in bed, staring at the ceiling tile Allen had removed to come onto the bookshelf. What was that glint in his eyes? In an instant, that glint had caused Alfred to trust his intruder entirely, as if they had something in common...
Sighing, Alfred turned over. Will he come back? Alfred put his face in his hands. What did he even want? What could I possibly give him? His eyes...his eyes could get him anything he wanted. Alfred hid his head under his pillow. Maybe... maybe I'll have the guards off duty for tomorrow...in case...in case he returns.
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Allen bolted down the hallway, praying he wouldn't find a security guard. As he rounded a corner, he collided head on with a shadow; being a city boy, Allen's first instinct was to throw a heavy punch straight into the figure's jaw.
"AH! AL, ITS ME!" Matt groaned, leaning back against the wall.
"Jeez, sorry, didn't think you'd come out of the wall," Allen muttered to him.
"Do you play hockey and not tell me?" Matt asked, wincing and trying to set his jaw back in place.
"We have to go." Allen ignored the question.
"Wha—why? What happened to you in there?" Matt stared at him.
"I can't explain. Just...we have to go. Now. We don't need anything, we just have to go," Allen growled at him, pulling him to a window.
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"Al, what the hell happened in there? You're never this discreet about anything. Something musta gone wrong, eh?" Matt said, trying to keep a steady pace with his panicked, jogging brother. Matt was surprised at how fast Allen could run, considering how many packs he smoked a day.
"Nothin. I already told you. I just...ran into a guard."
"And you didn't fight him? That doesn't sound like you." Matt grumbled. There was something about Allen that told Matt a lot more than just a run-in with a guard had taken place. "Want to come back another night?"
"God no," Allen hissed. "I wanna stay as far away from there as possible." In a flash, Allen ducked into his apartment, and was gone. Matt stood in place and frowned. Allen had never, ever been like this. When he was angry about something, he confronted it, eager to punch his problems into oblivion. He never ran away from anything. What could he be hiding from?
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"Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!" Allen yelled, throwing hitting his punching bag harder with each swear. He was pissed, but he didn't know why he was pissed, which made him even more pissed; is this what chicks feel like on their periods? God, I don't give 'em enough credit, he thought. He flopped back onto his couch and unwrapped the tape around his knuckles, then splashed a bit of cold water on his face. A feeling had been eating away at him for the longest time, but he couldn't place it. Sadness? Yeah, probably, but that wasn't it. Anger? Definitely, but he felt that on a daily basis; this was different. He loved his lifestyle; go out, meet a girl, take her home, repeat. But something about it wasn't fulfilling enough. Maybe he wanted to take someone home for longer than a night? But how? That was what he was used to. Could he date? Maybe, if he set his mind to it, but he'd be terrible at it. He was so inexperienced at committed relationships, the thought of them made him embarrassed. He shook his head to erase the feeling, then went to get a drink from the fridge.
Something about that rich boy's eyes had made Allen's feelings of anger, embarrassment, and sadness disappear for a second. Something about that guy had made Allen feel...happy? Not alone? Something like that. Allen didn't wanna think about it. He brushed off the feeling, and went to go take a nap.