I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Never Get It Right
Arguing, they had been arguing.
About Caleb going into town.
Right out in the open where Norma could potentially see him.
Freak out.
And turn on him.
Dylan.
Who had worked so hard to develop a decent relationship with her.
And it was exhausting.
Having to work so hard just to make sure your parent kept loving you enough to be a sort of parent.
Because at any second you could screw up, upset them.
And it would all be undone.
Calculating every word, every action, every outward response.
As much as possible until you snapped, anyway.
Just to be sure nothing sent them over the edge.
It was exhausting.
But he was making it work.
Keeping two Bates nuts in the dark about the presence of Caleb in their general vicinity was even more mentally exhausting.
He had tried send him away.
Several times.
But the dude kept popping up.
Like a bad rash.
And Dylan, starved for parental interest and acceptance all his life, had been weak enough to give up and try and make that work too.
'Cause he did have a heart.
And a conscience.
And he could use the help with barn too.
So . . .
". . . here, okay?"
. . . parameters had been set and everything theoretically should have been okay.
But Caleb Calhoun, true to blood, . . .
"What if Norma had seen you?!"
. . . had gone ahead and done what he had damn well pleased . . .
"What if she had? I'm a human being . . ."
. . . and Dylan Massett was getting sick and tired of juggling all these damn people like a freaking one armed clown on a defunct unicycle.
". . . the one being irrational!"
Oh my god, you really are a selfish screwed up prick.
And it was just so much bullshit it made Dylan sick.
". . . the guy who raped her!"
I know what I am and I know what you are and I hate it!
I hate this entire thing and I can't never figure out a way to get away from any of it!
Yelling at each other, staring up at him.
Wishing he had never come here, either of them.
Why is everything always shit?!
And then Caleb had overbalanced like a dumbass.
And fallen.
Oh shit, I've killed my dad!
Dammit, is this what I get for standing up for myself?!
Oh god, what the hell?!
But he wasn't dead.
Cut up, bloody.
But . . .
Jesus, look at that hand.
. . . alive.
Most of Dylan was relieved.
Part of him whispered it would have been easier if Caleb had died.
Dylan would have buried him in the woods.
Mourned a little.
Probably gotten drunk.
And then gone about the business of moving on with this screwed up, piece of shit life he could never seem to get right or make any better.
So Dylan had sewn up the hand.
"You ready?"
'Cause I'm not.
It was not the first time he had sewn up a gaping laceration.
"Just do it."
It was just the first time he had sewn up the gaping laceration of his mother-raping . . .
"Was it really like she said it was?"
. . . self-pitying . . .
"Yeah. It was."
. . . screw-up of a bastard . . .
"We were all we had."
. . . uncle-father before.
"Two kids raising ourselves."
And he wanted to know. And he didn't.
"It just . . . happened."
Because part of Caleb's version of the story was still bullshit.
"She was my whole world, my whole life . . ."
And part of the story was real.
". . . and I loved her."
Part of Dylan was glad the needle hurt Caleb like hell.
"You can't help who you love."
Part of him wasn't.
". . . more than anything and I just . . . I just couldn't let her go . . ."
And all of him . . .
". . . myself for it . . ."
. . . felt sick inside because of it.
". . . wish I could say I'm sorry."
So very, very sick.
". . . all I want . . ."
Because none of it was ever going to be any better.
". . . never have another chance."
Ever.
Yeah, honestly for me, Caleb can never talk his way around that one. It's just wrong.
And you may not be able to choose who you love, but you ALWAYS have a choice about what you CHOOSE to do.
So there, rant over.
Anyway, thanks to WordWeaver81, DinahRay, and Lana Brown for continuing to review.
I'll try to tell something less cringe worthy next time, okay, lovelies?