Chapter 1: Dexter

Human feelings have overcome me in such a rush. I've given in to primitive demands of wanting things here and now. To defy my sister seems enticing, a small price to pay for the reward that a life with Hannah McKay would surely be. I'm consumed with thoughts of my fingers in her soft, blonde hair. I imagine my body entwined with hers, our flesh connecting and burning into the very depths of me. My thoughts are strange and new. I can't determine if they're a pleasant contrast from my usual thirst for blood. Both leave me feeling powerless and hungry for action. Even now, as I look at my sister, I'm distracted.

"Do you love her?" Deb asks.

I think of Hannah's lips and the way they fit with mine. The way she pulls me tighter and cancels out the rest of the world. A smile plays at my lips.

"I don't know," I answer. It's the wrong response. Deb looks as if I've just slapped her. I'm confuse. My sister, who accepts me as a serial killer, looks wounded at the idea of me falling in love. Shouldn't she want that for me? At the very least, I could become someone else's responsibility.

"I don't wanna hurt you," I tell her.

"Well guess what, you did," she answers, her tone defensive and hostile. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes as she chokes, her chest caving into the rest of her body. "You've picked the one way you could hurt me worse than you could ever fucking understand." She manages to squeeze the words from her lungs, made difficult by the lump in her throat brought on by the tears. But I can't comprehend. It's like I'm killing her, draining the life from her soul, but it doesn't make sense. It doesn't make any sense. I know she doesn't care for Hannah, but this response seems extreme.

"You told me you accepted me being a killer, I feel like if you love me you'll accept this," I say. I don't realize how childish the words sound until they've escaped, and Deb immediately explodes with emotion.

"If I love you? If I love you?!" she shrieks. "I went to the church the night you killed Travis Marshall to tell you I'm in love with you!"

Suddenly I understand, and everything becomes clearer. My sister.

"You're...in love with me?" I ask, my voice quiet and subdued. Everything inside of me has shattered, fallen apart at this realization. My sister is in love with me. The certainty I felt about Hannah just moments ago vanishes, replaced by the uncharted territory my sister has just crossed, pulling me with her. I don't understand much, but I understand that I can't allow her to go it alone.

"I didn't mean to say that," she chokes. "I know it's weird and it's gross and it's fucked up, and I know you don't feel the same..."

"Deb," I breathe. My body reacts mindlessly, and I sit next to her, reaching my arm around her thin shoulders, which heave with sobs at what I've done to her. I pull her closer to me and she buries her face in my chest, spluttering and wailing. "Shh, shh," I say, my arms grasping tighter. "I'm here. I've got you."

I admire the beauty of her, this perfect example of what it means to have real emotions. She's trying to calm herself, to breathe deeper, but hiccups still interrupt her sighs. Though her face is hidden from me, I can feel her tears soaking through the fabric of my shirt, warm and damp on the skin over my heart.

"I'm sorry," I tell her quietly, because I know she deserves better. She deserves someone perfect, an angelic human being, and I am a destructive monster. But my sister fits more perfectly in my arms than Hannah ever could. Nothing compares to the comfort I feel in this moment. I inhale Deb's familiar scent, the aroma of laundry detergent, clean and peaceful, mixed with slight tones of vanilla and coconut emanating from her hair, warm and inviting. Her hair. I bury my nose in it, and I stroke the palm of my hand from her scalp to the place where the strands end on her back. Her hair is as smooth as silk, but better because it belongs to her. I twist it through my fingers, gathering and releasing, allowing it to fall back into place. I wonder if I ever did this to my mother, as little boys sometimes do. I wonder if it felt like this, if I thought about it as I watched her die. The feeling wrenches through my chest, and I focus instead on Deb's breathing, which seems slower, calmer.

"We should get you to bed," I tell her. She turns her face suddenly upward.

"Stay with me," she replies. "Dex, don't leave. I need you. I don't want to know how you feel, it doesn't matter, but I don't want to be alone tonight."

Technically speaking, I know that I have a choice, but really, I'll always choose her. I lead her inside, her arm on mine, and I sit on her bed, waiting as she gets ready for bed in the bathroom. I listen to the water running and attempt to drown out any thoughts crossing my mind. Deb needs me, and the least I can do is be here for her. The bathroom door clicks open and Deb appears in a loose shirt and cotton pajama shorts. I shift over to make room for her in the bed. She crawls under the covers, but I remain above them as she turns out the light and settles her head into the pillow.

I lay down beside her, and her body adjusts to fit next to me. My right arm encircles her body, while my left arm, bent at the elbow, props my head slightly up. Her scent as changed faintly, perhaps with the addition of some kind of face lotion, but it still comforts me more than any drug ever could. Neither of us speaks, but I continue to hold her as her body relaxes and her breathing slows until she's surely asleep.

As I gently let go of her, she stirs in her sleep. I gently gather her hair from the side of her face, fanning it out on the pillow behind her. I lean my nose in my lips in, to touch the space of her neck just below her little ear. "I love you, Deb," I whisper, though she can't possibly hear me. I stroke her hair one last time, before getting up, careful not to jostle the bed in any way. I silently make my escape, stealing away into the night.