"Ninety-six bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-six bottles of beer…" I sing, quite awfully if we're being honest.
"Deb, I'd kind of like to focus on the road here, if you don't mind." Dexter insists, trying his best to fight the urge to smile.
I see right through him, though. I always do. He fucking loves it.
"Yeah, and I'd kind of like a fucking beer," I say, smiling mockingly at him. "But there's nothing around here but pastures, so I guess I'm shit out of luck. And that means you are, too. Take one down and pass it around, ninety-five bottles of beer on the wall…"
"Pastures? Deb, we've barely even left the city. Why do you always have to be so over-the-top?" Dexter laughs. "Could you just please, for the love of God, stop singing?"
"You should learn to fight your own battles, Dexter. There's no need to bring God into this. Besides, I thought you didn't believe in anything but rules…and principles." I tease.
He takes one hand off of the steering wheel and tries to cover my mouth with it, but I swiftly slap it out of my face. Dexter grabs back onto the wheel, choosing to keep his hands firmly on ten and two rather than engaging me in a slap fight…which is probably for the best since neither one of us was planning on arriving to Argentina in a body bag.
"Oh please, you know you love it," I smile, propping my feet up on the dashboard.
Dexter shoots me a death glare and I cross my arms over my chest, poking my tongue out at him like a child. Being the anal retentive that he is, he doesn't challenge me for long, gluing his eyes back on the road.
"Okay, maybe I was exaggerating before. Just a little bit. That doesn't change the fact that I still want a beer, though. And I'm not going to stop singing until I get one, so I suggest you make a fucking detour soon, brother." I assert.
"Actually, we will be making a detour momentarily," he replies. "So you better not even think about singing again. I don't want to have to give you another dose of M99. You didn't seem to enjoy it too much the last time."
"Oh, you think so?" I snicker. "If you even so much as try to lay your grubby little hands on me again, I'll – wait! What the fuck, Dex!? You just passed a freaking mini-mart!"
"We're not going to the mini-mart," He sternly replies. "A beer run is the last thing on my mind right now, Deb. There's something more important that needs to be taken care of first."
"Like what?" I snort. "I haven't had a drink in days. I'm pretty sure I'm going through withdrawals. Look at me, Dexter. I'm literally shaking."
"Calm down, Deb. You're starting to sound like an alcoholic," Dexter chuckles. "We passed a car rental place on the drive up here, and we have to get rid of my car as soon as possible. I don't want to risk anyone recognizing it. I just hope this place isn't closed."
Dexter drives for a few more minutes before pulling into the parking lot of the car rental place. All of the lights are still on, so we step out of the car and walk towards the entrance. When we reach it, Dexter holds the door open for me like a proper fucking gentleman, and I kind of hate the fact that that makes me blush.
The place is empty except for one greasy looking dude sitting at the counter and flipping through a trashy magazine. If he's the owner of this fine establishment, I think I'm prepared to go out on a limb here and say that this place isn't so fine after all.
It's isn't like we need to go somewhere particularly reputable, though; especially since we're probably going to just end up stealing the car anyway. I also hate the fact that I'm kind of okay with that.
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't see you there!" The greasy man exclaims, hurriedly closing his magazine and tossing it to the floor. "I was actually just about to close up shop, so you two are in luck."
"Yeah, lately we've just been swimming in luck." I sarcastically reply, throwing in an added eye roll.
Dexter wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me tightly against him.
"Stop it." He commands through gritted teeth.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, honey. Where are my manners?" I mockingly reply.
I almost ask Dexter how it's possible for a serial killer to be so concerned with my rudeness to a random stranger. After all, he has a habit of killing random strangers, which is much worse in my book, but instead of leaping headfirst into an argument, I force myself to bite my tongue.
"So, are you two lovebirds engaged?" The man asks. "I guess congratulations are in order, then."
"Um…yeah, actually we are," Dexter cheerfully replies. "How'd you know?"
"Your girl, she's got that glow. There's no mistaking it." He asserts.
"A glow? No, it's probably just bronzer." I snap, annoyed that this guy thinks that he can talk about me like I'm not standing two feet away from him.
But being referenced to as Dexter's girl makes me feel kind of funny…and not necessarily in a bad way.
"Well, that massive rock on your finger was also a pretty good hint." The guy says. "I'm Tony, by the way."
He looks damn proud of himself, as if he thinks he's the second coming of Sherlock Holmes or something. It's more than kind of irritating.
"I'm still pretty shocked that she accepted my proposal," Dexter says, reaching out for my hand. "Last night, I decorated the entire house with rose petals and put some really expensive champagne on ice, but despite all of the theatrics, I was still really worried that she'd say no. I don't deserve her, you know? But she said yes, and now here we are. We're driving up to South Beach to celebrate, so we're really in need of a rental."
I roll my eyes at his bullshit story, because I seem to remember things going much differently the day that he proposed to me. I silently wonder if he's thought about this before, and a part of me even wishes that his little story could be true. I'll never tell him that, though. I don't want him thinking that I'm not happy with just us, because I am. Us is all I need. Still, is it wrong to want, too? I know that Dexter and I will never be normal, but I can't quite seem to push that fantasy out of my mind. Does he want the cheesy, romantic stuff, too? Are we even capable of that?
As Dexter and the greasy guy continue talking about nonsense, I feel myself starting to get anxious. Why the fuck is Dexter even talking to him? In case he forgot, we're both wanted fugitives. Our story would be pretty stupid if it ended with the police deciding to burst in and ambush us as Dexter and this guy are standing here talking about a wedding that will obviously never happen. I don't think I've risked it all just to go out like that.
I really need a fucking beer. No, I really need a fucking beer and three fucking Xanax.
I slide my hand out of Dexter's and elbow him in the ribcage, hoping that he'll finally get the message and shut the fuck up.
"So yeah," he begins. "We really should be getting on the road as soon as possible. What cars do you have available?"
"That depends, what type of ride are you two in the market for?" Tony asks.
"Well, preferably something with tinted windows." Dexter answers.
"Aaah, I see." Tony says, winking at Dexter.
"Look, this has been great and all, but we really should be on our way." I interject.
"My bad," Tony says. "I understand that you two are in a hurry. I've got an '08 Toyota Corolla with freshly tinted windows, if that's of any interest to you."
"That's perfect," I answer. "Do you take cash?"
"Darling, I take cash, credit, debit, cashier's checks… If it's legal American tender, it's fine by me." Tony chuckles.
"Great. So, what are your rates?" I ask.
"It'll be $75 dollars per day for the Corolla. How many days do you plan on renting for?" He asks.
"Uh…I think three days should about cover it." Dexter lies.
"Okay, fine by me. Just fill out this form and she's all yours." Tony says.
Dexter takes out a pen and gets to work on the form as Tony hands me the car keys. I head back outside to the parking lot and begin to unload our bags and storing them in the rental's trunk. After a minute or two of heavy lifting, I get down to the last bag. I know what's inside without even opening it.
Dexter's tools. There's a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I pick up the bag anyway. I would love to leave these behind. I would love to have the fantasy, the champagne and the rose petals; but what I truly want more than anything else is for Dexter to finally find his peace. I want him to be free from his demons, from his so-called Dark Passenger, but I don't know why I keep kidding myself. We're never going to just move on.
My brother's life has always been a complicated one, and I'm glad that he's finally come to his fucking senses and realized what we have always been for each other. But I can't keep doing this to myself. I can't expect him to magically put all the pieces of the puzzle together when there are some that never even came in his box. Dexter's darkness will forever be a part of him, just like my darkness will forever be a part of me. We're bound together by something much deeper than blood now.
I abruptly heave the heavy bag into the trunk of the rental car and slam it closed, trying to push thoughts of those tools and everything that's been done with them to the furthest corners of my mind. I spot Dexter walking over to me and I hurry over to meet him.
"You ready to go?" He asks.
"Hell yeah." I answer.
Dexter gets into his car and instructs me to drive the rental, lecturing me on obeying the rules of the road like he did back when I was a teenage girl whose biggest fear was embarrassing herself when she went out driving with her big brother. I'm a little shocked that he even trusts me to drive at all, since lately it seems like he thinks it's only a matter of time before I self-destruct, but I welcome the brief moment of independence. I love my brother, but it's nice when he finally climbs out of my ass for a little while.
We drive on for a while, until the city becomes little more than an afterthought. There are no lights on in sight, the headlights from our cars being the only exception. I welcome the darkness, though. It takes me out of my own head, if only for a second. There's nothing here but me, Dexter, and the darkness. I love it. It's almost like the world has stopped spinning, just for us.
Dexter's planning on dumping the car, and this is as good a place as any. There's nothing around but grassland and ditches, but Dexter continues to drive for a few more miles, as if he's searching for the most elusive spot possible to stash the car. To me, a ditch is a fucking ditch, and it doesn't even matter if someone finds the car because I'm hoping we'll be gone by then…but Dexter has always been meticulous that way, so I drive on without complaint.
He finally comes to a stop by a vacant plot of land that looks no different than all the rest of them, and I park the rental car behind his.
"There were plenty of pastures back there, Dex. What makes this one so special?" I ask. "We've got a long ass drive to Georgia ahead of us, and you just wasted a good half an hour driving to the middle of fucking nowhere."
"It's not that long of a drive. No more than six or seven more hours," Dexter says. "There's nothing particularly special about this area. I don't know, I guess I just wanted to put the city behind us for a while. Maybe sit and look at the stars."
"Look at the stars?" I repeat, dumbfounded. "Who are you and what have you done with Dexter Morgan?"
"What? It's nice out here. Tranquil." He says, grabbing onto my hand and guiding me over to his car. "It's almost like the world is standing still. Just for us."
"You know, I was thinking the exact same thing." I murmur, content.
Dexter drops my hand so he can wrap both of his around my waist and lift me gently up onto the hood of his car. Normally I would protest and insist that I'm able to sit my own ass down, but I don't want to ruin the moment. It's sweet. Almost fantasy levels of sweet.
He reaches into the pocket of my jeans and retrieves the keys to the rental car, walking over to the trunk and popping it open to rifle through one of the duffle bags. He comes back to me, holding two beers in his hand.
"You sneaky son of a bitch!" I exclaim as he plops down on the trunk beside me. "How long have you been hiding those from me?"
"I wasn't hiding them," he says with a mischievous smile on his face. He leisurely cracks open one of the bottles and hands it over to me. "They've been in the trunk for a while."
"Well, you could've at least told me, asshole." I say, giving him a playful shove.
"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been half as fun that way." Dexter chuckles. "It's kind of entertaining to watch you squirm."
"You're a sadistic jerk, Dexter. You know that?" I joke.
I lay down, stretching my legs out completely on the hood of the car, and I take a swig of my beer. It's lukewarm and flat and definitely not half as satisfying as I hoped it would be, but sitting here under the stars with the love of my life somehow makes that all alright.
"This is kind of disgusting…" Dexter says, turning to me and pretending to gag.
"That's the understatement of the year. How long have these been sitting in your fucking trunk, anyway?" I ask, throwing the bottle down to the ground and leaning my head down to watch it shatter.
"Too long." Dexter replies.
He decides to follow suit, tossing his bottle onto the road and beginning to laugh heartily.
"What the fuck are you laughing at, you weirdo?" I ask, giggling a little myself as I climb into his lap to straddle him.
"I don't know," he admits, sliding his hands under my shirt and resting them on the small of my back. "I'm just…happy, I guess. I know that I probably shouldn't be after all that's happened, but I am. Just being here with you…I want it to be like this forever."
"Are you getting cheesy on me again, Dexter?" I tease. "See, I always knew that deep down, you were nothing but a big softy."
I reach out and give Dexter a lighthearted pinch on the cheeks. He laughs, and then responds by lowering his hands to grip my ass over top of my jeans and pull me even closer to him. I start to grind my hips against him, and although there's no mistaking the tell-tale sign that he's enjoying what I'm doing, he moves his hands up to my shoulders, restraining me.
I whimper in protest and he brings his hands up further, cupping my face in them. He stares deeply into my eyes, as if he's searching for something. The corners of his mouth curl up into a warm smile, and I mimic him, hoping that he's found what he was looking for.
"He was right, you know." Dexter says, his smile widening.
"Who was right?" I ask. "Dex, I'm not gonna lie. Things have kind of taken a turn for the bizarre right about now."
"That guy from the car rental place. He said you were glowing, and he was right." Dexter says. "You're perfect, Deb. I love you. I'm in love with you. I can't believe it took me so long to realize it. Was I always such an idiot?"
He strums his thumb tenderly across my cheek and I lean in closer, letting my hair fall like a curtain to surround the both of us, trapping us alone together in our own little world.
"I don't know what the fuck you or that greasy creep are on about," I snort. "But if I am glowing, it's not because I'm some sort of ethereal goddess, Dex. It's because of you. Because of this."
I reach out and lay my palm flat on his chest, right over his steady beating heart.
"And stop being so hard on yourself. I would've loved for you to realize how you felt sooner and saved me the fucking embarrassment, but we all make mistakes, right?" I smirk. "I mean, none of my mistakes were ever as devastatingly awful as Hannah McKay, but I guess I love you so much that I've got no choice but to forgive you anyway."
"I appreciate that." Dexter laughs.
"And yes, you were always that much of an idiot," I joke. "But your taste in women has drastically improved, so there's that."
"Very true," He smiles. "Good taste. At least I've finally got that going for me."
"You know…" I start, leaning in closer to whisper in his ear while dropping my hand down into his lap. "They say that there's a first time for everything, and I've never been fucked on the hood of a car before…"
"Oh really?" Dexter moans. "For some reason, I'm having trouble believing that. Remember when I walked in on you that one time? I know the type of stuff you're in to, Deb."
"Ha ha, very funny asshole." I say, shoving him lightly and hopping off of the hood of the car.
"Hey!" Dexter whines. "That didn't mean stop."
I laugh, swinging my hips at him provocatively as I walk over to the driver's side of the car and take a seat.
I play with the radio, settling on an oldie's station that's playing some slow song that I can't be bothered to remember the name of. I turn the volume up as loud as it can go and step back out of the car. I'm greeted by Dexter staring at me in beweilderment, with one eyebrow raised.
"What are you doing?" He asks, biting his bottom lip to fight the urge to laugh once I begin to sway my hips back and forth.
"Dancing," I say, trying way harder than I probably should have to to stay on beat. "You're not going to just stand there like a jackass and make me do it by myself, are you?"
"Fine," he sighs. "You're lucky I'm so fond of you."
He meets me in the middle of the empty road and wraps his arms around me, trying (and failing) to model the stance of a proper ballroom dancer.
It's awkward at first – Dexter's complete lack of dancing skills paired with my general ungainliness should be a complete and utter disaster – but after a while we find our rhythm, moving together in seamless harmony. I only manage to step on Dexter's feet twice; and it's cheesy and perfect and I savor every moment of it.
One song bleeds into the next, but we still keep dancing, because why should we stop? If we stop, then we have to face what comes next, and I'm not so sure that I'm ready for that yet.
Dexter holds me tightly in his arms, twirling me around like giddy a teenager at his junior prom, and I giggle, elated.
I'm instantly reminded of our dance at his wedding, of how happy the both of us had been all those years ago. It's almost funny, how much things have changed since then.
The tempo of the song increases and Dexter dips me gracefully, but when it's time to bring me back up, I fall out of his hands and down onto the street.
"Ouch!" I laugh. "Jesus, were you trying to crack my fucking head open?"
"Oh God, are you okay?" Dexter shouts, crouching down onto the ground beside me. "I'm sorry."
"I'm fine, don't worry about it." I say, laying completely down on the barely paved street.
"I'm never going to drop you again, Deb." Dexter insists. "That's done."
"Honestly, Dexter. I'm fine." I maintain.
"I didn't just mean literally," He says, offering me his hand. "I need you to know that you can count on me. That I'll never let you fall."
I take his hand only to yank him closer to me. He lands on top of me, a confused look on his face. He rolls over and lays down beside me after some consideration, fixing his eyes on the stars that shine brightly above us.
"You see that, Dex? The big one over there?" I ask, taking his hand in one of mine and using the other to point at the star that I'm talking about. "What's that one called?"
"Honestly, astronomy has never really been my thing," Dexter says. "I like certainty. Up there, there's just too much ambiguity. Too much that I don't know."
"Does it scare you?" I ask. "The not knowing?"
"Sometimes," He says. "But other times, I don't think I even want to know. The not knowing makes me feel small. Nonexistent. Like all of my worries might not actually matter."
"Me too," I reply, shifting to face him.
He wraps me into his arms and we lay together, watching the stars travel idly across the night sky.
I don't know how long we stay there; minutes, hours, hell, it might as well even be days. We talk and we listen and we think about everything we want to and nothing at all, and I can't believe that there was ever a time when I thought that I needed anything more than this. Just being here with him – my constant, my safe place, and the one good thing in my life – is enough.
The next few hours pass by in a blur. I suggest to Dexter that we should each take turns driving since the trip to Atlanta will end up being a little more than six hours long, but he insists on making the entire drive himself. He urges me to get some sleep, and disappointingly enough, I do end up nodding off for an hour or two despite my best efforts to keep my eyes open.
When I wake up and we aren't even half way there, I relentlessly harass Dexter until he acquiesces and lets me take the wheel for a while. This time I am the one hounding him about getting some rest, because I can't remember the last time that I've seen him sleep for more than a few hours at a time.
Dexter drifts off to sleep much sooner than I thought he would, and I find it harder than it should be to keep my eyes off of him and fixed on the road. Over the next few hours I steal the occasional glance in his direction, observing the way his lips pucker as he mumbles in his sleep and the faces he makes as he dreams. He doesn't snore. Come to think of it, he never has, not even when we were kids. There are a couple of times where he murmurs my name, and he has a permanent grin painted across his face that gives me no choice but to smile, too. I wonder what he's dreaming about.
I don't bother turning on the radio for the entire duration of the drive, fearing that if I do then Dexter will wake up and pick up right where he left off, insisting that he's okay to start driving again. A part of me wishes that I could just wake him up anyway, because it sucks having no one to talk to but a fucking GPS, but my brother needs his sleep.
When I finally pass the 'Welcome to Atlanta' sign it's still dark as all hell outside, which is probably for the best. The darker it is, the less of a chance people have to recognize us.
According to my watch, it's almost two a.m. I drive around some more, searching for a twenty four hour convenience store. I find one soon enough, parking the car and walking over to the trunk to take some money from Dexter's stash, as well as one of his old baseball caps.
I decide against waking Dexter, instead choosing to lock the doors and run into the store quickly, hoping that he won't wake up before I manage to get back.
I step inside the store with my head held low, my anxiety growing worse by the second. I pull the baseball cap down as far as it can go, hopefully shielding my face from any security cameras they might have. The place is pretty much empty with the exception of a little old lady perusing the produce aisle and a clearly overworked teenager almost falling asleep while he's supposed to be manning the cash register.
I find the haircare aisle and grab a pair of scissors, and then stop to consider all of the colors of hair dye they have in stock. I really don't want to do anything to my hair – it's taken me a ridiculously long amount of time to finally grow it back out – but in terms of sacrifices, fucking up my hairstyle isn't really high on my list of terribly awful ones.
I settle on an auburn dye that isn't much of a departure from my natural color, but I also grab a box of a honey blonde color, too, deciding that I'll ask Dexter which one he thinks will suit me better. I don't know why I'm even bothering, though. Knowing his, err, past choices, he'll probably go with the fucking blonde.
I decide to grab a box of hair dye for Dex, too…mostly for the laughs. The color is such a dark shade of brown that it's almost black. I'd probably be willing to bet money against black hair being a good look for him, but I doubt that he'll even end up using it anyways. Oh well, at least he'll have it just in case he needs it.
I continue to wander around the rest of the store, trying to think of anything else that we could possibly need. I walk past a stand that is used to display the daily newspaper, half expecting to see my face plastered on the front page beside Dexter's, accompanied by a headline about us being a pair of on the run incestuous serial murderers plastered on the page in big, bold print. Thankfully, that isn't what I see. Either the most recent edition of the newspaper hasn't been delivered yet, or the hunt for the Bay Harbor Butcher isn't big news at the moment here in Atlanta. Whatever the case may be, I sure as hell am thankful for it.
Stepping away from the newsstand and heading over to the freezers, I'm hoping to snatch up a few six packs. Our flight isn't leaving for the better part of a week, so if Dexter and I are going to be holed up in a cheap ass motel room for that long, I'm definitely going to be needing a fucking drink (or twelve).
As I open the freezer, I bend over slightly to reach further into the back, where all of the good shit is hidden. Suddenly, I feel a firm hand come down, roughly slapping me on my ass.
"Motherfucker!" I shout, dropping all of my stuff on the floor and spinning around, fist raised, ready for confrontation.
"Wait! I'm sorry! Please don't hit me!" Dexter exclaims, cackling as he raises his hands protectively in front of his face.
"Christ!" I yell, punching him hard on the shoulder. "You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!"
"Sorry, isn't that something that normal boyfriends tend to do? Plus, I thought it might be kind of funny." Dexter says, still beaming.
I give him another punch to the shoulder, for good measure.
"Yeah, it was absolutely hilarious," I say, rolling my eyes at him. "And don't you ever refer to yourself as my fucking boyfriend again."
"Message received." He answers, raising his palm in surrender.
"And my ass still stings, by the way. You're going to have to start making that up to me somehow. Grabbing a few cases of beer would be a good first gesture." I suggest.
"Anything to get back in your good graces." Dexter chuckles, reaching into the freezer and taking out two six packs.
I bend down to pick up the stuff that I dropped earlier and start to walk over to the checkout counter with Dexter following close behind me. I have half a mind to curse him out for not even attempting to disguise himself, but I don't want to cause any more of a scene then we already have.
We pay for our stuff and head back out to the car. Dexter takes the wheel this time, and I don't even try to object. He seems to have gotten more than enough rest if his energy in the convenience store is anything to go by.
He drives until he finds a motel that's pretty close to the airport, and we quickly check in (using fake names, of course). Our room isn't as crappy as it could be, and as soon as we set foot inside, I kick off my shoes, throw my bags down to the floor, and plop down on the bed.
Dexter lays down behind me, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist as I shift to lean further into him. We fit perfectly together, and we soon drift off to sleep, safe and sound.
I wake that morning, or rather, that afternoon, to Dexter's erection pressed hard against me. I reach behind me to give him a few quick strokes, successfully waking him from his slumber. He responds with fervor, pulling me closer to him with a soft moan.
I turn around and press my lips to his only to break the kiss a few seconds later when he tries to stick his tongue in my mouth and take things further.
"Cut it out, Dexter. I'm actually not feeling too hot." I say, attempting to hop off of the bed and into the bathroom.
He pulls me back over to him by my waist and I fall on top of him, snickering.
"Let me go!" I giggle.
"Not so fast, Deb. You can't honestly think I'd let you get away from me that easily." He purrs, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
"I'm fucking serious, Dexter! Let go of me!" I yell.
He releases his grip on me and I bolt into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before it's too late. I hurl until my stomach feels painfully empty, and Dexter emerges from the bedroom in a flash, a worried look on his face.
"What's wrong, Deb? Could it be something you ate?" He asks.
"It's nothing," I say, bunching up some toilet paper to wipe the corners of my mouth. "It was probably just that rancid ass beer you tried to poison me with last night."
"Maybe…" Dexter trails off. "But I drank some too, and I feel fine."
"Yeah? Well, maybe you have a higher tolerance than me or something. It's no big deal!" I snap. "Now could you kindly get the fuck out? I'm kind of overdue for a shower, and I need to brush my teeth. My breath probably reeks right about now."
"Say no more." Dexter says, retreating from the bathroom.
I hop in the shower and stay there until my fingertips start to look more like prunes, waiting for the nausea to pass. After Dexter's third concerned knock at the door I finally get out of the shower and brush my teeth. My stomach is feeling much better, but I still can't shake Dexter's concerned look from my mind. If it wasn't the beer, then what is it?
"Hey," Dexter calls from behind the door. "How about we go check out that diner we passed down the road? I know you must be hungry."
"Yeah, that sounds great." I answer.
I mull over whether or not I should crack open those boxes of hair dye now but I ultimately decide against it. I'll wait to fuck up my hair until a day or two before we're supposed to board the plane. A hat and a good pair of sunglasses should do the trick for now.
Dexter decides not to be such a dumbass and actually puts a baseball cap on this time, and once we're both dressed, we decide to walk to the diner instead of driving there. It's only a five minute walk, and I could use the fresh air.
We're seated at a booth that's pretty fancy looking as far as diners go, and I can't help but smile at how ridiculous this all is. This is too much like a fucking date, and Dexter seems to think the same as he attempts to make meaningless small talk while I look over the menu.
Judging by the time, it's too late for a socially acceptable breakfast, but the picture of a French Omelette on the front of the menu looks too good to pass up and I end up ordering that. Dexter goes with an obnoxiously large cheeseburger that he proceeds to scarf down in front of me while I only pick at my food.
"I thought you said you were hungry." He says in between bites. "You've barely touched your food."
"I don't know…I'm feeling kind of weird again." I answer. "Jesus, could you be any more disgusting?"
I reach for a couple of napkins and move to sit beside Dexter, wiping away the glob of blood red ketchup that's smeared messily across his chin. Once I'm satisfied, I stand up and start to walk back over to my seat. I hear a faint, sudden gasp coming from the next booth over.
I crane my head and my eyes are met by the frightened ones of a middle aged woman seated across from us. A man who must be her husband places a calming hand on her knee and then reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. He dismisses himself from the table, leaving the woman alone with her two young kids.
"Motherfucking fuck." I mutter through gritted teeth. "Get the fuck up, Dex. We've gotta go."
He rises without hesitation, reaching into his pocket to pull out a couple of twenties and tossing them down on the table before grabbing my hand.
"That guy just dipped out of here to call the fucking police." I whisper.
"Come on, we have to hurry." Dexter says, clutching onto my hand even tighter as he leads me out the front door.
Yeah…I really wish I'd used that fucking hair dye.