Disclaimer: I do not own Dexter.
I'm scared that I've been hiding behind this mask for so long that it's melted into my face so I can't tell where the lie stops and I begin. Friends? Joy? Solace? What are they? My only joy is the gentle drip-drip-drop of blood as it slowly pours out of a body. My only solace for being the way I am is the screams of people as their body is dismembered. My only friend is the plastic I cover everything in. Some people say I have ocd, some say I'm a fucking psycho, but then again there are people who think I'm simply delightful. I admit, I am not normal. I am Dexter. I am a lab geek who is more physically fit than half the cops I work with. My sister's a cop, the man that raised me, also a cop, my coworkers, cops. I am a blood expert during the day. At night though, that's where I really come alive. Not with my girlfriend, not with my sister, but with my night friends. The ones who drip-drip-drop on my plastic as they scream. That's what makes me happy. The night is where I really live. I am a predator in the night. I've never thought of myself as bad. I mean really, what is bad? Who says what bad is and what good is? Societies twisted the words so much, made them so warped, that they are meaningless. I remove the "bad" from the world. I do it for the people I know I should care about. My sister, my girlfriend, her kids, I do it for them. I know I should feel things about them. Love? Kinship? Devotion? The only love I feel is with the gentle drip-drip-drop of the blood. Someone one asked me if blood was my life. It was in court. He was a stupid lawyer, although I did find the question amusing. Blood is life. Without blood humans would not be living creatures. We'd just be sacks of flesh and bone. Like putting playdo on a rock. So I said yes blood is my life. Kinship? Devotion? I've never felt kinship or devotion; well I suppose I am devoted to the code. The code of Harry. I find it amusing how much I've allowed his code, his rules, his ideals to shape me. Even after he died I've allowed him to run my life. Not my girlfriend, not my sister, not even myself, but the man who raised me. Why? Did I feel like I needed his approval? His praise? Or was it something else entirely? Was it my inner craving to be "good"? I've never thought about it. Do I want to be good? How can a monster like me ever be good? I kill people. I crave their blood. Their screams. The plastic. I thrive on it. I thrive in the night. I put on a mask and pretend to be a normal, good, happy, friendly, loving, devoted person. I pretend because that's what Harry told me to do. Conform. Fit in. Don't draw attention. Slip into the background and stay there. Safe. Hidden. Out of sight. Out of mind. Because that way I can go on doing what I do. Thriving in the night with my fix of blood and screams and plastic. So now you tell me. Where does the mask stop and where do I begin...?