Fic: Take Me Back
“Take me home, Dexter,” she says after a while and I don’t understand. She drove here; I parked my car four blocks away, it would be much easier if we leave in her car and come back for mine tomorrow. But her eyes are clear of tears; I can see quiet acceptance. Deb knows that I killed Ray Spelzer and isn’t more repulsed, she’s glad. It hits me then, my sister isn’t asking me to take her home, she’s giving me a small nod of approval, a step towards rebuilding of our relationship. She’s taking me back and I won’t waste this chance.
“Okay,” I say and she nods, tries a smile and fails and I lean my head on the seat and listen to the quiet murmur of the engine. We drove back to Deb’s house in silence and for the first time, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable but I know now, that it can never be like it was before. I might not understand her reasoning, can’t imagine how she sees me now but I’m willing to try it.
I follow her back to her place, she leaves the door open for me. It’s a good sign, I think but after I close them and look for Deb, she already has a bottle of whisky in her hand and I doubt she’s going to celebrate Ray Spelzer sniffing the daisies. She takes a gulp of the bottle and I watch her swallow, watch her almost invisible shudder, her shaking hands and only now I finally realize what I did to her.
Harry tried to tell me, he had tried to tell me while we were still teenagers, but I had ignored him because I wanted her acceptance more than anything. I don’t need people to praise me, to be called a hero. I just want someone who would understand.
“Want some?” Deb asks me holding up a bottle. She’s hiding from me behind the counter and I don’t want to scare her away but somehow I think that accepting might a good idea. I nod curtly and feel the need to hide my hands, there’s a tension between us, it’s new and I’m still not sure if I dislike it. I know I’m the cause but want to ask her about it.
We sit down in the living room, Deb folds herself in the armchair and I take the couch. The bottle lies between us and I reach first, pour us each a drink and try to think about a toast but she doesn’t wait for me to collect my thoughts and I follow her lead. It burns exactly like I imagined it.
“Did you...,” she isn’t looking at me when she speaks; instead she bends over the table and pours us another. When she’s back up her eyes finally find my face and I try to be ready for her question. “Did you take his blood?”
I’m almost proud to shake my head; maybe it really was the best thing to do. “No, I didn’t Deb,” I still need to say it too and Deb nods and I can see her hands, she’s squeezing them nervously and her lips are moving but no words come out. She’s preparing each word, tasting it before it could be spoken.
I watch them, try to read the words that might push us forward or thrust us back. I realize I’m afraid; pretending was with Deb always difficult, like it was with Harry. She knows me, now completely even though she thinks that I’m suddenly a different person. I’m still your brother, Deb, I want to say but she has the right to speak first, we’ve established that already.
“How did you feel when you found Rita?” she finally pushes the words past her lips and I am taken aback. I don’t know what I expected, maybe more questions about Spelzer, but not this. I take a deep breath and think about my wife, about how happy I felt when I was coming home from dumping Trinity’s body. It was a new beginning for me, for my family, only for it to be taken from me in the most violent way.
I remember seeing the blood, just the blood. It blinded me, filled me up and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on the body in the bathtub. It couldn’t be Rita, I thought then, she left for our honeymoon. I had still been in denial when I touched her face, her beautiful innocent face and then I heard Harrison and my world crumbled around me. The flashbacks from my mother’s death came to me then as I picked up my son and run. I realize it still hurts, a pain that never ends just hides under layers of things we tend to label as important.
It must be showing on my face because when I look at Deb, she looks worried, like she almost regrets she asked.
I grip the cushions under me and feel the tension filling my body again. I suddenly feel very alive, almost human. Thank you, Deb, I want to say, instead I answer. “Like my whole world ended. Just like that, with a snap of someone’s fingers and there was nothing before and nothing after. I didn’t see Rita or Harrison, I have seen my childhood nightmares happening in front of me,” does she hear the pain in my voice? I ask myself as I close my eyes and try to understand when feeling stopped being new for me.
“Dex, I’m sorry,” I hear her whisper, shuffle in the chair and I almost expect her to come and comfort me. She doesn’t and I feel like I have just lost something.
“No, you were right. It was every bit my fault. I played my game for too long,” it’s not a revelation for me, I knew it all along. Every time I defied the code, someone close to me got hurt, I changed the rules and the result has never been good. I’m not sure Deb understands it the same way.
Right now she looks like she wants to oppose but I suspect she doesn’t want to lift the guilt of me so I speak before she has a chance to do something else. “How did you feel when Lundy died?” I’m curious, I want to know how real people feel pain and no one was ever more real to me that Debra. She’s the model of humanity I always wanted to copy and even though she never hid her feelings, I want to know her answer right now, after she made me remember things I want to forget.
Her eyes look haunted, maybe she feels my question isn’t fair and maybe she feels exactly the opposite. She swallows another drink before she answers. I see her gripping the glass, her eyes filling with tears and I want to take the question back. I don’t want to hurt her even when she sometimes thinks I do. I stand and take a careful step toward her.
Deb watches my every movement and the doubt is nagging me. Is she really scared of me? Does she really think I would hurt her? “No, you have a right to ask,” she says quietly when I stand before her. She never wanted to stop me. So I sit on the coffee table in front of her and she starts to remember too.
“It felt like someone dug a hole in the middle of my chest and took away everything that was there. All the memories, everything I remembered about Frank was gone and I couldn’t feel anything except for the pain, a burning pain. But now I remember him, remember the way I used to love him,” her voice has the soft quality I used to hear before she found out what I am. When she comforted me after Rita’s death, when we talked about dad and kids and my darkness was still hidden deep inside me. I long for those times.
“I’m sorry,” my voice is soft too and I look up. Deb is putting the glass away, it lands near my thigh and I watch a wet patch form on the dark tablecloth. I hear her moving but I’m unable to tear my eyes from it. It looks like blood to me, everything does and it eventually controls me, makes me forget the person I want to be and become someone else. I became My Dark Passenger. I kill. I die.
“Dexter,” our knees touch and it’s the reason I finally look at Deb, her voice is lost in my inner thoughts. She looks sad and scared and determined and I have no idea what it could mean but I sense it might be the first step. I nod and lean on my knees. It brings us even closer and if she feels uncomfortable, she doesn’t let it on, instead she continues talking.
“I’m still not able to understand too many things and there’re too many questions I need your answers for,” she looks at me then and I nod understanding. “But I trust you, Dex, I still fucking trust you with my life and I can’t forget about everything you’ve done for me. I just...,” she pauses and looks away. I don’t know what to expect and I reach for her hand. It makes her breath hitch and I try to remember what it could mean.
She wants to continue, I know that and I try to reassure her I want to listen. I squeeze her hand between mine. Deb watches me, watches our hands and I could feel her words dying in her throat. Something else is happening, someone has changed the rules and forgot the tell me. Was it Deb, or me?
Second hand is joining the first one I observe fascinated, smaller and delicate, yet with force that made me flinch just a couple of days ago. It touches mine and is rising towards my face, I’m not sure if I should back or lean in. I choose the second option and Deb cups my cheek, it’s a familiar gesture, one I got used to with Rita.
She palms my cheek completely, letting her fingers spread and her thumb touches my lower lip. I shudder but I’m too confused to understand why then. “What happened to you, Dex?” I’m not sure she expects an answer as I’m not sure why having her this close makes me feel things I haven’t in such a long time. “What’s happening to me?” this time she definitely isn’t waiting for an answer because the distance between us is practically non-existent and Deb just needs to breathe to make our lips touch.
I take a deep breath and push myself closer, my hand finds her thigh and this certainly isn’t a brother-sister kiss because Deb moves too and suddenly she’s straddling me and I can’t seem to find the power to stop her. The table creaks under our weight and it makes us part. Her face is hovering above mine, she’s searching for something in my eyes, a glimpse of a man she knew, someone who knows how to feel and I try so hard.
She must’ve found something because she’s taking my hand and leading me towards the couch. I cover her body with mine then and everything seems so wrong that it might just be right. I think about the day I killed my brother for her, about the rage I felt when I though Trinity tried to kill her, about how much seeing her broken makes me feel. And then, then I don’t think at all.
“Okay,” I say and she nods, tries a smile and fails and I lean my head on the seat and listen to the quiet murmur of the engine. We drove back to Deb’s house in silence and for the first time, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable but I know now, that it can never be like it was before. I might not understand her reasoning, can’t imagine how she sees me now but I’m willing to try it.
I follow her back to her place, she leaves the door open for me. It’s a good sign, I think but after I close them and look for Deb, she already has a bottle of whisky in her hand and I doubt she’s going to celebrate Ray Spelzer sniffing the daisies. She takes a gulp of the bottle and I watch her swallow, watch her almost invisible shudder, her shaking hands and only now I finally realize what I did to her.
Harry tried to tell me, he had tried to tell me while we were still teenagers, but I had ignored him because I wanted her acceptance more than anything. I don’t need people to praise me, to be called a hero. I just want someone who would understand.
“Want some?” Deb asks me holding up a bottle. She’s hiding from me behind the counter and I don’t want to scare her away but somehow I think that accepting might a good idea. I nod curtly and feel the need to hide my hands, there’s a tension between us, it’s new and I’m still not sure if I dislike it. I know I’m the cause but want to ask her about it.
We sit down in the living room, Deb folds herself in the armchair and I take the couch. The bottle lies between us and I reach first, pour us each a drink and try to think about a toast but she doesn’t wait for me to collect my thoughts and I follow her lead. It burns exactly like I imagined it.
“Did you...,” she isn’t looking at me when she speaks; instead she bends over the table and pours us another. When she’s back up her eyes finally find my face and I try to be ready for her question. “Did you take his blood?”
I’m almost proud to shake my head; maybe it really was the best thing to do. “No, I didn’t Deb,” I still need to say it too and Deb nods and I can see her hands, she’s squeezing them nervously and her lips are moving but no words come out. She’s preparing each word, tasting it before it could be spoken.
I watch them, try to read the words that might push us forward or thrust us back. I realize I’m afraid; pretending was with Deb always difficult, like it was with Harry. She knows me, now completely even though she thinks that I’m suddenly a different person. I’m still your brother, Deb, I want to say but she has the right to speak first, we’ve established that already.
“How did you feel when you found Rita?” she finally pushes the words past her lips and I am taken aback. I don’t know what I expected, maybe more questions about Spelzer, but not this. I take a deep breath and think about my wife, about how happy I felt when I was coming home from dumping Trinity’s body. It was a new beginning for me, for my family, only for it to be taken from me in the most violent way.
I remember seeing the blood, just the blood. It blinded me, filled me up and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on the body in the bathtub. It couldn’t be Rita, I thought then, she left for our honeymoon. I had still been in denial when I touched her face, her beautiful innocent face and then I heard Harrison and my world crumbled around me. The flashbacks from my mother’s death came to me then as I picked up my son and run. I realize it still hurts, a pain that never ends just hides under layers of things we tend to label as important.
It must be showing on my face because when I look at Deb, she looks worried, like she almost regrets she asked.
I grip the cushions under me and feel the tension filling my body again. I suddenly feel very alive, almost human. Thank you, Deb, I want to say, instead I answer. “Like my whole world ended. Just like that, with a snap of someone’s fingers and there was nothing before and nothing after. I didn’t see Rita or Harrison, I have seen my childhood nightmares happening in front of me,” does she hear the pain in my voice? I ask myself as I close my eyes and try to understand when feeling stopped being new for me.
“Dex, I’m sorry,” I hear her whisper, shuffle in the chair and I almost expect her to come and comfort me. She doesn’t and I feel like I have just lost something.
“No, you were right. It was every bit my fault. I played my game for too long,” it’s not a revelation for me, I knew it all along. Every time I defied the code, someone close to me got hurt, I changed the rules and the result has never been good. I’m not sure Deb understands it the same way.
Right now she looks like she wants to oppose but I suspect she doesn’t want to lift the guilt of me so I speak before she has a chance to do something else. “How did you feel when Lundy died?” I’m curious, I want to know how real people feel pain and no one was ever more real to me that Debra. She’s the model of humanity I always wanted to copy and even though she never hid her feelings, I want to know her answer right now, after she made me remember things I want to forget.
Her eyes look haunted, maybe she feels my question isn’t fair and maybe she feels exactly the opposite. She swallows another drink before she answers. I see her gripping the glass, her eyes filling with tears and I want to take the question back. I don’t want to hurt her even when she sometimes thinks I do. I stand and take a careful step toward her.
Deb watches my every movement and the doubt is nagging me. Is she really scared of me? Does she really think I would hurt her? “No, you have a right to ask,” she says quietly when I stand before her. She never wanted to stop me. So I sit on the coffee table in front of her and she starts to remember too.
“It felt like someone dug a hole in the middle of my chest and took away everything that was there. All the memories, everything I remembered about Frank was gone and I couldn’t feel anything except for the pain, a burning pain. But now I remember him, remember the way I used to love him,” her voice has the soft quality I used to hear before she found out what I am. When she comforted me after Rita’s death, when we talked about dad and kids and my darkness was still hidden deep inside me. I long for those times.
“I’m sorry,” my voice is soft too and I look up. Deb is putting the glass away, it lands near my thigh and I watch a wet patch form on the dark tablecloth. I hear her moving but I’m unable to tear my eyes from it. It looks like blood to me, everything does and it eventually controls me, makes me forget the person I want to be and become someone else. I became My Dark Passenger. I kill. I die.
“Dexter,” our knees touch and it’s the reason I finally look at Deb, her voice is lost in my inner thoughts. She looks sad and scared and determined and I have no idea what it could mean but I sense it might be the first step. I nod and lean on my knees. It brings us even closer and if she feels uncomfortable, she doesn’t let it on, instead she continues talking.
“I’m still not able to understand too many things and there’re too many questions I need your answers for,” she looks at me then and I nod understanding. “But I trust you, Dex, I still fucking trust you with my life and I can’t forget about everything you’ve done for me. I just...,” she pauses and looks away. I don’t know what to expect and I reach for her hand. It makes her breath hitch and I try to remember what it could mean.
She wants to continue, I know that and I try to reassure her I want to listen. I squeeze her hand between mine. Deb watches me, watches our hands and I could feel her words dying in her throat. Something else is happening, someone has changed the rules and forgot the tell me. Was it Deb, or me?
Second hand is joining the first one I observe fascinated, smaller and delicate, yet with force that made me flinch just a couple of days ago. It touches mine and is rising towards my face, I’m not sure if I should back or lean in. I choose the second option and Deb cups my cheek, it’s a familiar gesture, one I got used to with Rita.
She palms my cheek completely, letting her fingers spread and her thumb touches my lower lip. I shudder but I’m too confused to understand why then. “What happened to you, Dex?” I’m not sure she expects an answer as I’m not sure why having her this close makes me feel things I haven’t in such a long time. “What’s happening to me?” this time she definitely isn’t waiting for an answer because the distance between us is practically non-existent and Deb just needs to breathe to make our lips touch.
I take a deep breath and push myself closer, my hand finds her thigh and this certainly isn’t a brother-sister kiss because Deb moves too and suddenly she’s straddling me and I can’t seem to find the power to stop her. The table creaks under our weight and it makes us part. Her face is hovering above mine, she’s searching for something in my eyes, a glimpse of a man she knew, someone who knows how to feel and I try so hard.
She must’ve found something because she’s taking my hand and leading me towards the couch. I cover her body with mine then and everything seems so wrong that it might just be right. I think about the day I killed my brother for her, about the rage I felt when I though Trinity tried to kill her, about how much seeing her broken makes me feel. And then, then I don’t think at all.