A/N: I feel the need to warn you all that this chapter is perhaps a bit darker than some of the others even. I guess that should be expected given the prompt. But I do hope you find it interesting!

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing. And a special thanks to those who leave reviews without accounts since I don't get to thank you directly :)

17. Physical Abuse

She hates him so much sometimes she can't breathe.

Her insides burn with it. The flames leap against her stomach lining, escape into her bloodstream until she can feel herself burning from within. She feels raw with her hate. And it's all she can do to keep herself in check, to stop herself from lashing out.

She's not always successful.

She may not be able to hurt him the way he has hurt her, but she gives it her best shot. She wants every mark he has created on her soul to be visible on his body.

Sometimes that means a bruise to his abdomen, delivered with a swift punch. Sometimes that's scratches across his arms so his skin ripples up. Sometimes she needs a tool, something that will draw his blood out, pushing forth like some sort of payment for his sins.

She is pleasantly surprised by her violence, her ability to hurt him.

And he willingly takes it.

But that's because he knows he deserves it. He knows he has earned every bit of pain she inflicts. Sometimes he looks stoic as she delivers his punishment. Often he looks sad. There is a pity in his eyes that makes her anger flare until she is half screaming, tears spilling unbidden from her eyes.

She hates him most then.

She tests the weight of the blade in her hand as she senses him looming nearby. He knows what she wants, he always does. And here he waits so she can hurt him, instead of herself.

She doesn't give him any warning, turns towards him and runs the sharp end down the inside of his bicep, just high enough so it won't be seen at work tomorrow. He hisses as she watches the blood pool at the edges of his broken skin.

She wouldn't say she is blood thirsty, but this penance from him is satisfying. And she wants more.

She draws another line down his sternum, watches as the blood begins to drip down his skin. She wants to cut deeper, ensure there will be a permanent scar to match the invisible ones she has. But she won't be the monster that he is.

Her hand hovers near his ribcage, gripping the blade so her knuckles shake. She feels him wrap his fingers around her wrist and she looks up at him uncertainly. He has never objected, never so much as questioned this activity, so this response in unexpected.

Her fingers loosen over the blade and he slips it away from her, tossing it to the side. He pulls her closer so he can lean his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry Deb."

It's the first time he has said it out loud. Though the guilt has been written all over him, this is the first he has admitted to it. For the longest time it was all that she wanted; for him to acknowledge his role in it, his blame. But now that it's said she realizes how useless it is, how much she still hates him.

Her lungs seize up, as if someone has wrapped a vice around her chest. She can feel her hate for him taking over her entire being. It's crawling on her skin, screaming in her ears. Her heart pounds with hatred, thumping harshly under her breast.

With a wild scream she pushes him away. He falls to the ground and she stumbles along with him so she lands on his chest. Her fists fly around her, pounding into his flesh. She's lost all her senses as she wails on him, crying and screaming, the wordless sounds filling the room around them.

He doesn't fight back then either, lying still as her beating rains down. He doesn't move until she's exhausted herself, her voice hoarse and quieting. She falls onto him, her tears wetting his bare chest, her body hiccupping against his. He finally moves, wraps his arms around her and presses his nose into her hair.

"I know bad things have happened. I know there are things you regret. But there are things I regret too." He tells her softly. "If I could go back and change it I would. If I could do anything that would take your pain away, you just have to tell me."

He feels her sigh against him. "You'll never get it will you? You will never be able to fucking fix this. You will always be the cause of my pain." She pushes away from him and he watches from the floor as she takes a beer out of her fridge, grabs her pack of cigarettes and the lighter.

She stands over him as she drinks from the bottle then settles back on top of him, straddling his waist. He watches her put the bottle down, pull out a cigarette and light it up. His eyes follow the flicker of flame until she snaps the lighter closed and draws a deep breath of smoke into her lungs. She exhales slowly, calming her nerves as the smoke swirls away from her.

She doesn't even think about it when she brings the lit end down to his abdomen, allows it to skim along his flesh. He hisses, looks up at her pathetically. She rolls her eyes at him. "You're not even going to fight me? When I'm burning your fucking flesh?" She taunts him. When he doesn't respond she snickers "Well, this is what you deserve, isn't it?"

"And what do you deserve Deb?" He questions her softly.

"You know exactly what I deserve." She looks at him fiercely, dares him to contradict her.

"Deb…" He replies warily, afraid of where this conversation heads.

"I told you, didn't I?" The hard look in her eye tells him she means it. "I've taken a life. Someone who was innocent. I killed her for all the wrong reasons. So you know where I belong, don't you?"

"You don't!" He replies adamantly, sitting up and grabbing onto her shoulders. "What you did-"

"What I did was murder someone!" Deb shouts at him, pushes him back down to the floor again. She pants, looking down on him, anger and regret glistening in her eyes. "So what's it going to be Dexter? Are you going to give me what I really want, or shall we continue?"

Dexter doesn't even pause. He grabs her hand, bringing the burning cigarette back to his flesh and groans lowly. Deb smirks at him. "I think I need that blade."