I'm going to kill.
It thrills me to think of. To actually consider.
It's been a fact of my life since forever pretty much. Since the day Harry told me what I was.
Still to actually consider it. It felt unreal. Surreal. So exciting. Whenever I'm stressed. Whenever my head is pounding and I feel so fake and wrong and small. Whenever I feel like a freak. Like a puppet. Like nothing at all. Whenever I shut down and my brain feels numb.
If I'm distressed I try and consider it. And it thrills me. Puts blood back into my veins instead of Ice. Makes me feel less then human but more then nothing.
I'm going to kill.
Sometimes it's the waiting that gets me. The knowledge that it will be years before I get to watch blood flow. To make it flow. To feel a person's heart speed up and then stop forever. To complete a sentence I've felt forming since before I could remember. To fill in the pattern. Perform the ritual.
It felt infuriating sometimes. Numbing others and frustrating nearly all the time. Certain things could make me forget. I could lose myself in the performance of my mask, horror movies, training with Harry, and strange moonlit conversations with Deb. But it could never push it away and as it grew stronger eventually only a hunting session could fulfill it.
I knew it couldn't last. That scared me near as much as it excited me.
Sometimes it's the contradiction.
When I felt normal, as normal as I could be, without the Need pressing, blood disgusted me. It would make me feel slightly nauseous, set my teeth on edge. It was messy, sticky, awful. Sometimes I woke up from strange dreams where I was covered in blood, terrified and sad. I didn't know why. But I felt a desperate need to feel clean. To feel safe. In control.
Once the Need started ramping up blood underwent a strange, magical transformation. It became...fascinating. Alluring. For some strange reason I wanted it to flow. To cover myself in it.
When I was killing animals, I felt in control in a way that I never really felt otherwise.
I knew it made me sick. A freak. A monster. A psychopath. But it was true. I couldn't deny it or change it. I could only be grateful that Harry understood, that he nutured and protected me. Gave me a code.
What if he hadn't known? If Harry's well-trained senses hadn't seen the sickness in me. What if I had been filled with Need, confused and desperate and had hurt Deb?
The idea filled me with anxiety. It was deeply uncomfortable. So I tried to push it away. But I would get strange nightmares, strange because usually they wouldn't be nightmares for me. I'd be standing over a dead body, covered in blood, a blade in my hand. Need fulfilled, pure satisfaction.
Only the body wasn't faceless or the face of some bully or criminal or whatever. It was Deb, and I felt sick. As sick as the nightmares of me trapped in that ocean of blood.
One night I woke up from one of these dead Debra dreams. Dorris Morgan was sick. So Debra Morgan had decided to visit my room in the night. Anxiety over her mother's almost surely impending death drove her here. I felt... very little. I didn't want her to die, but it all felt remote. Somehow far too huge to process. When I thought about it too much I felt numb and small. So I tried not to think of it much at all.
I didn't feel anything.
"Dex?" Debra said, her voice small but still cut through the silence of my darkened room.
"Yes." I said. I tried to adopt a mask. Neutral. Blank. Like Harry had taught me. One of many to wear. My go to.
"You look...did you have a nightmare?" Deb asked.
"No." I said, automatically without even thinking about it. I'd been trained well to avoid talking about most of my emotions. It wasn't difficult, I didn't have many to begin with.
Deb gave me a look. Sometimes she could see right through me.
"Dex. It's ok, I get them too." Deb said.
I could keep trying to deny it. I didn't. Our nighttime conversations felt too sacred and Deb looked too vulnerable for me to lie like that. It didn't feel like that dangerous of a truth anyway.
"...What was it about?" Deb asked.
That was the problem with telling the truth. It led down a path that left me exposed. No armor to protect me.
"...It was nothing just a dream." I said.
"Dex." Deb said. She gave me a look. It was difficult for me to read emotions, but I think I got the gist. She'd confided a lot to me and these were sacred, special nights. I could talk to her.
"...You. It was about you." I said. I felt entirely naked. Sometimes, especially at night, Deb could find a way to make me feel entirely defenseless.
"Me?" Deb said.
"...Yes." I said. She looked vulnerable now, a bit confused and curious too.
"...What was I doing in it?" Deb said. She seemed to be probing gently. Like she was afraid of what I'd say.
"...It was a nightmare Deb. You...you were hurt." I said. The horror of the dream creeped back into me. Tingles all accross my skin.
"Really?" Deb said.
"Yes."
"...How?" Deb asked.
"Deb. I really don't want to talk about it." I said.
"Well...I'm ok. I'm here for you or whatever." Deb said. Her voice and eyes were both wet. I felt lost.
"...Thanks."I said and waited a beat. It didn't seem like enough.
"I actually mean that." I said and, surprisingly, I did.
"It's no problem. You are my brother and you've had to deal with all my bullshit whining." Deb said.
"It's not bullshit whinig." I said. I don't know why but I flet defensive. It was weird because I myself had often thought a good portion of what Deb said was bullshit whining.
"Yes it is." Deb said.
"No. I mean it's what you care about and what you feel. You never should feel sorry for having emotions." I said. I felt sorry every day for not. It wasn't fair to her. Wasn't fair to Dorris (Mom) and even (Maybe espcially) not to Harry.
"...Thanks I really mean it." Deb said and somehow I knew she did.
It was several moments. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Before I finally said:
"Deb...have I ever hurt you?" I asked.
"...Um no. Like you ever could geek."
"Deb, I'm serious."
She huffed and rolled her eyes.
"No of course not. When we were kids you'd push me around a bit, but usually it's cause I deserved it. Teased you too or hit you first. I could be a total little brat. It was kids stuff." Deb said.
"I did?" I said and I felt the gears of my mind turn. I began to remember. My throat felt dry and tight.
"Yep. Dad was always super harsh when he saw you do it. The last time I think he completely flipped and read you the riot act and honestly you barely even touched me. I hit you first and probably nearly bruised you."Deb said.
"...Oh yeah. I remember. Sorry." I said. The public yelling had been way easier then the verbal instruction afterwards. If I harmed Deb, I was going to a home or an institution. No questions.
"No. I'm sorry. Like I said. Total brat."
"The more things change." I smirk.
"Oh don't be an asshole. I'm better now. I think." Deb said, her smile slowly faded while she talked.
"You...don't think I could...hurt you again?" I said.
"No way! You couldn't if you tried!" She smiled. I frowned.
"But your also my brother. You don't hurt me. You protect me." Deb said. It was sincere, emotional and affectionate. Everything I was not and never could be.
"I"m glad Deb. I'm glad." I said. Deb loved me. I thought that was nice.
(More than nice. It was the warmest thought I had. Sometimes I'd dream of having a family. Rare in between the blood and death. In those dreams my wife was always else someone who looked and acted just like her.)
I was able to fall asleep shortly afterwards. A thought kept crossing my mind before I did.
I was going to kill.
But,
Not Deb.