Chapter Text
The sounds of the hocksetter household waking up, Patrick's parents going to work, while Patrick gets up, he actually needs to get up today and presentable as it's actually the school prom tonight, not this is something Patrick or the Bowers gang would ever care about but they wanted to steal any girls some losers managed to pull and Patrick didnt want anything to do with it originally after hearing his stupid parents say itll make him more like a normal person he reluctuntly grunts in approval.
On the walk to the gang's shared car to school patrick thinks about who he could possibly bring, stupid and pretty enough to go along with him, should be pretty easy considering everyone in the world is there to bend to his will anyway
Once at the school, the four of the boys go their separate ways, knowing who to go for immediately. Patrick was staring at all the girls as he crawled through the hallways, eyeing up some pretty prey, and he found her...
pleasing face that matches her hair, he couldn't help but leer, squeezing through the small gaggle of girls to meet her, voices cutting down one by one as they noticed, he had the effect on people, it was delightful. Patrick's heart and pulse begin to race in her presence, smiling down at her unblinking gaze, into her wide eyes, and when that beautiful colour flicks away, he breathes again, speaking low and slow
"Hello ---, would you be my prom queen?"
Before she could answer, another irrelevant girl pushed Patrick's chest hard, a bold move given his reputation, which made him move back.
"Get lost! she'd rather die"
The herd of popular princesses backs away protectively. Patrick sulked back towards his friends; they all laughed at what they forced or pulled, but Patrick couldn't get her out of his head, knowing he should accept the rejection, but it didnt come from her lips, it mustn't count.
He spends all day plotting, following her around, and somehow, nothing is suspected, even when he's in the bleachers for her gym practice, and he wonders why it's her. But yet he wants a new pet, a shy little thing on his arm... but 'go away! She'd rather die,' the horrid screech called a voice echoes in his mind.
She has so many different friends, would they care if she were dead, or were they just pretending? All making plans in high-pitched voices to get together and drives from their houses and what lipstick to wear, one touches her top adjusting it and other adjusts her hiar, he dosent understand why it makes him feel sick to the core and yet he suspects why, a girl that would apologise when he stabbed her even if she had a date he didnt care in the slightest, no one has talked to him since this morning but hes being talking to himself all day "shes gotta die"
After school, there are only a few people who stayed to prep for the prom in the gym and being as sweet as the prom queen, of course, shed stay to help, the backbone doing all the work. Sweet girls like her were built for that sort of thing. Doing everyone else’s work. Smiling while they used her. Paying for things, fixing things, making herself smaller so everyone else could have a good time. He almost doesn't even need to kill her.
And for one reason or another, his target wandered off to the locker room, perfect.
The air smelled like sweat, cheap perfume, and the damp cotton of abandoned gym towels. Too polite to leave a mess, too soft to tell people no, standing alone at her locker.
Patrick watched from the doorway for a moment. She looked tired.
She turned when she heard him, surprise flashing across her face first, then that polite nervousness he'd come to want.
"Oh, Patrick, I'm so-"
That was all she got.
The towel was rough in his hands. He moved fast, faster than she expected, wrapping it tight and forcing her backwards before the scream could properly leave her throat. Her chewed nails and chipped polish clawed at his wrists, trianers squeak as they scrape against the tile, panic flooding her eyes as if she still thought someone would come help.
It was almost too fucking easy.
Patrick held the towel tightly against her until the room was silent apart from his own breathing, pulling away as she finally went still, her mouth had fallen slightly open, lipstick still neat at the edges, gloss catching under the fluorescent lights like she might still complain about it smudging. The soft pink flush she’d always carried had already started fading, leaving her lips touched with blue beneath the shine.
Patrick looked at her for a long time.
She was still pretty.
That mattered.
Her eyes stared at nothing now, emptied of whatever made people difficult. No more nervous little smiles. No more polite excuses. No more letting other people answer for her.
soft hair had come loose around her shoulders, messy from the fight, and he reached down almost absently to smooth a strand back into place.
There was still work to do.
Her locker was easy.
Folders. Gym bag taking a selfish breath in of. Loose papers folded into notebooks, keys, but maybe he'll keep those. A stupid little pen with flowers from the football field taped to it. Tiny, useless things people leave behind without thinking.
He took all of it.
The boiler room beneath the school was hotter than he expected, the kind of heat that sat heavy in the lungs. Patrick fed everything in piece by piece, watching handwritten notes blackening at the edges before folding in on itself. Homework. Notes from friends. Schedules. A biology test with red pen marking at the top.
It was dark when he left the body slumped across his weak shoulder, not totally prepared for the weight of such a girl, worried so much about her size.
It sounds kinda cheap to have prom in his cellar, at least he would never have to tell her.
placing the body carefully down, panting as Patrick looms over her from on the beat up couch, the feel of the 17 dollars he stole out of a cat shaped purse of hers, along with his own 4, ready to buy some snacks and decorations that he spent too long looking at the nachos and booze.
Setting up wasn't too bad, but Patrick kept hitting his head on the ceiling, which was too fucking tall, but he needed to make it present if not himself, then for the novelty it brought some twisted sense in him that wasn't describable.
a small table held spiked punch and plain chips, not nobody, but he'll have, it's almost done, only having to find some appropriate clothes now.
Patrick stepped back to look at it all. It felt wrong.
Not bad, just wrong in the way something almost normal always did. Like he was copying a picture from memory and getting the details right without understanding why they mattered.
Patrick moves silently through the house, finding himself a vest and dress shirt and then taking the dress he saw the other day that his father hated, saying it made his mother look like a whore. This is a better use for it, regardless.
The hardest part was his hard-on while undressing her, skin with little bumps and stretch marks, all so beautiful, almost real, so close to being real, but he'd have to hold back just a little longer from straight up fucking her.
he took care putting the red dress on, and even zipping up the back of it tempted to snap the bra he so kindedly left on and moving hair once more.
placing some music on some old record player as it crackles to life is when he picks his prom queen up, the feeling of the soft fabric swaying as they danced together felt nice as the heavy head rested against Patrick's shoulder, a small smile crossed his face again, maybe this was how normal people felt... maybe this was kinda wack that the only feeling of love he felt was for a corpse of an already broken girl.
A hand pulled her frozen skin closer, a kiss pressed against pale cheeks. He spoke in what felt like days, admitting with a small amount of guilt in his tone, not enough to be forgiven.
"I would have taken you to school like a normal man, but I had to kill you first, they just wouldn't understand"
A lack of response shouldn't make blood rush down to his hips, and yet it did. Curiosity is winning as he couldn't take the throbbing pain in his pants any longer.
Even desperate, he still placed her down with reverence, although not leaving room for any play, just ripping off his belt and trousers down enough to run his cock in the lukewarm heat, surprisingly slick and ignoring the faint smell of urine, it was a thrill, a disgusting satisfaction as he leaned down close to bite her shoulder, the texture of still cold blood was strange but not unpleasent, fragil slin broke so easily and embarisingly he came too fast, but that left experimental feelings...
grabbing his switch blade thats always close and experemantaly cut a thin line slicing the dress and then soft skin above the abdomen, blood spills and no scream tears through the air almost dissapointed, and yet as the sight of muscles red and fresh, he digs deeper, once satisfied pressed the tip of his dick in, it was a little warmer than he thought, feeling almost like bliss or close to it, how itd usually feel and yet so erotic as his tip kept leaking into the large wound, as he thrusts a few times distracting by carving his initials large and deep in the center of her torso not caring about the damadge knowing full well nobody would find the corpse, the police too incompitent.
Once he's had his fill, he looks down at the body covered in blood and cum, painting already pale skin. Now the disposal, a simple pit in the forest, would do.
The sun rises slowly once he's done, and somehow, when he gets back home, Patrick sleeps peacefully... no matter what crimes he's committed, he sleeps just like anyone else.