American Beauty, American Psycho

American Psycho

Allen stomped back to his apartment, covered in cuts and bruises from being removed from Alfred's house. He'd never felt more betrayed and dumb in his life. I shoulda just backed offa pretty boy, he thought to himself. I shoulda just let him live his damn life, clearly he doesn't want me involved in it.
"Damn rich sonuva," Allen growled to himself, stuffing a bowl of ramen in his microwave. A surge of anger came over him, and he channeled it by punching the number pad on the microwave. The pad caved in, sparked, and a tiny plume of smoke rose from it. "SHIT!" Allen yelled, tearing at his hair. "God...ahhh. I'll just order a fuckin pizza." He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then dialed the number; when he put his cell up to his ear, he heard the rage-inducing hold music on the other end. "RESTAURANTS DONT HAVE HOLD!" He screamed, throwing his phone on the floor and feeling relieved when he saw it in pieces. For the first time in life, he genuinely had no clue what was going on or what to do about it. He'd felt less clueless in high school math courses. But here he was, two broken electronics and completely alone. I wish Matt was here, he thought to himself and sighed. Why'd I send him away? To try and get with someone I clearly never stood a chance with.
Running his hands through his tangled, greasy hair, he shuffled down the hall to take a shower.
He pulled his shirt off over his head and kicked the bathroom door shut as he did so. He used his shirt to wipe a spot in his grimy, dirty mirror where he could clearly see himself. He ran a hand over his chest and stomach. Damn, I need to hit the gym soon. He grunted and unzipped his jeans and kicked them away blindly, then turned to find them sitting in the toilet bowl. He stared at his jeans for a long, long time before hanging his head. He was completely out of anger, out of emotion. Feeling beaten and exhausted, he turned his shower on and stepped into the tub.
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Alfred had to set things straight. He'd been lying on his couch for hours now, thinking about all the best food he'd ever tried, but he still couldn't shake the look of pure anger and betrayal he'd seen in Allen's eyes when the guards dragged him out. That glint in his eyes that Alfred felt familiar with, had died. In its place was rage.
He needed to find out why Allen suddenly booked it over to his mansion. He'd clearly wanted to say something, but never had the chance. "I'm going out alone!" He yelled to his guards, and before his mind could clue in to what he was doing, he was pulling his bomber jacket on and walking out the door.
He wasn't afraid this time. He had a gun on his person, ready to face whatever crawled out of the alleys at him. Allen's neck of the woods wasn't so scary as long as Alfred kept his eyes on his feet and breathed through his mouth so he could barely smell anything. He approached the apartment, and as he did, there was a scream and a man went flying through a window; it broke, and Alfred quickly covered his head to protect himself from falling shards of glass. The man landed on the ground with a thud that echoed through the eerily silent area. Alfred swallowed and clenched his fists at his sides. "Oh god, Allen, you don't deserve this life..." he whispered to himself, knowing he could give Allen a life he'd never had before. Alfred could give Allen a big house in a nice area where nobody died on a weekly basis; he could give Allen the best food he could ever ask for; he could give Allen the life Alfred knew he deserved. Alfred marched forward and up the stairs, bracing himself for the scary blond brother he knew was an obstacle he'd have to overcome. But as he walked upstairs, he found the door to Allen's apartment swung open. Has he been robbed? Alfred thought. Oh god, is he okay? He bit his lip to keep from yelling out, and trudged into the apartment quietly instead.
Alfred looked around, and his nose curled at the smell. Who would actually want to rob this place?! He thought to himself, then grunted at himself for even thinking it. What an elitist thought. He pushed it out of his mind. Wait a minute...Allen's in a gang. They...they would have gang rivals...Alfred shivered at the thought, and scared himself when he heard a crunch at his feet. He glanced down slowly, and saw Allen's smashed phone on the floor. The thought of a rival gang breaking in and hurting Allen was becoming very real to him. He sniffed the air, smelling something burning but seeing no fire; he quickly scanned the room, and his eyes fell on the smoking microwave number pad. When he walked over, he touched the number pad but jumped back from the shock he received. He had to bite his tongue to stay silent; while he looked around, he heard the shower being turned off from down the hall. Oh thank god, Allen's okay. Alfred let out a long sigh of relief. Oh god, Allen's okay! He suddenly thought in a panic, and ran out of the apartment quickly, closing the door over slightly. He ran down the hall of the building and flew down the stairs, then sat on the steps to the front doors of the building. He'd been showering...Alfred let his mind wander to what Allen was like in the shower. The tanned skin set against the soft, gentle steam of the water; water, which was trailing down his chiseled body, his head leaned back slightly so he could run his rough, calloused hands through that thick hair...
Alfred shook the thought from his mind, standing up awkwardly and trying to think about other things so he wouldn't get himself bothered in a neighborhood like this one. He knew exactly what he needed to do. Zipping up his coat, he set off down the street.
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Allen stepped out of his shower and dried himself off with a crusty, dirty towel, then leaned against the bathroom counter to think about what had just taken place. He'd smashed his phone, so he'd need a new phone...his microwave was shot, he'd probably need a new one of those...
"Awww damn, those were my good jeans too!" He growled, using a pair of kitchen tongs to lift his jeans out of the toilet. "Fuck." He grunted, tossing them clean out the window. Normally he'd just wash them a few times and then wear them like nothing had happened, but a dead rat lay drowned in his toilet this time, and he knew the pants were toast if they came in contact with it. His stomach growling snapped him back to the present, and he realized he was starving.
"Ahhh, I'll just go charm my way to a meal at the club." He muttered to himself, pulling his shirt back on and frantically searching for a pair of jeans that weren't completely disgusting. Pulling on a ripped, but mostly clean, pair of dark washed jeans, he went to his door and reached to open it. Wait a second. He frowned. I left this door flung open when I came home.
"WHO'S THERE!" He yelled to his empty apartment, reaching for the nailbat he kept behind his coat rack. "I'VE KILLED BEFORE!" Raising his bat over his shoulder and preparing to swing, he threw his door open and backed up from it.
There, on his doorstep, sat a brand new microwave oven. "What the..." He kneeled down, pulling a little "open me!" sticker off the door. He apprehensively grabbed the handle and opened the door of it, and on the inside there was an unopened container of ramen noodles, and an iPhone. A new iPhone. "Holy hell..." He whispered to himself, snatching the phone up and powering it on; it was completely unused. He blinked a little before realizing exactly what he was looking at, then slowly picked up the microwave and kicked his front door shut.
Still partially in shock, he microwaved the noodles, sat down on his couch, and ate them in front of a blank tv.