Searching for a Feeling (SPN/Dexter, Dexter & Sam)
I’ve tried it myself. It failed.
I don’t tell him that though. After all, I continue to search for that rush.
It’s the way we are. We both aim to feel. Why? I’m not sure and I don’t think he is either. We don’t feel but, somehow, we still recognize the lack, the places inside of us that are empty. Everyone else takes them for granted but we…we know.
“Does it make you feel good?” Sam asks. “Your hobby?”
My bloody hobby.
I wonder what he will do if I say yes. Will he try it himself? I find myself thinking of how he’d do the deed, if he’d strike down the guilty persons as quickly and messily as he does the monsters he hunts or if he’d take his time with a human subject and make straight, clean cuts. I’d bet on the latter. He seems the type.
“It’s an urge,” I answer.
“I have those,” he says.
I know. Urges are really all we have, aren’t they? Physical gratification. Momentary satisfaction.
He revels in them in a way I don’t.
He never crosses the line though. He has a code. So do I. It’s the reason we are able to coexist. More than coexist. Connect.
“Did you ever think of hunting?” he asks. He licks his lips and adds, “It seems like it’s more…”
“Brutal,” I finish for him, realizing what this little ride he’s taken me on will lead to: a hunt. He wants me to go on a hunt with him, wants to show me his own brand of blood and justice.
I believe I’m touched.
“I wouldn’t object to trying,” I say.
Something like a smile crosses his face. His lips tilt.
It calls forth a similar reaction in me. “You should try my method as well. The preparation and execution can be very satisfying.”
He nods and the car slows down in tiny increments. Perhaps he’s found something, not the rush he was looking for but…something. Perhaps I have too. “I can do that,” he says.
Traditionalists might argue with me but I believe I have a friend.
I don’t tell him that though. After all, I continue to search for that rush.
It’s the way we are. We both aim to feel. Why? I’m not sure and I don’t think he is either. We don’t feel but, somehow, we still recognize the lack, the places inside of us that are empty. Everyone else takes them for granted but we…we know.
“Does it make you feel good?” Sam asks. “Your hobby?”
My bloody hobby.
I wonder what he will do if I say yes. Will he try it himself? I find myself thinking of how he’d do the deed, if he’d strike down the guilty persons as quickly and messily as he does the monsters he hunts or if he’d take his time with a human subject and make straight, clean cuts. I’d bet on the latter. He seems the type.
“It’s an urge,” I answer.
“I have those,” he says.
I know. Urges are really all we have, aren’t they? Physical gratification. Momentary satisfaction.
He revels in them in a way I don’t.
He never crosses the line though. He has a code. So do I. It’s the reason we are able to coexist. More than coexist. Connect.
“Did you ever think of hunting?” he asks. He licks his lips and adds, “It seems like it’s more…”
“Brutal,” I finish for him, realizing what this little ride he’s taken me on will lead to: a hunt. He wants me to go on a hunt with him, wants to show me his own brand of blood and justice.
I believe I’m touched.
“I wouldn’t object to trying,” I say.
Something like a smile crosses his face. His lips tilt.
It calls forth a similar reaction in me. “You should try my method as well. The preparation and execution can be very satisfying.”
He nods and the car slows down in tiny increments. Perhaps he’s found something, not the rush he was looking for but…something. Perhaps I have too. “I can do that,” he says.
Traditionalists might argue with me but I believe I have a friend.