Dexter finally has a psychotic breakdown. This was a fun chapter to write.
WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?
Okay. Calm down. I don’t think I have feelings for Lindsey. At least, not those feelings.
God. I’m gonna need to bleach my eyes. Aah, oh my God.
Head to the bathroom, my hair’s a mess and my eye makeup’s migrated down my face. I look haggard, hungover.
I clean up my face, trying to get ready for the boss meeting that happens in...half an hour. I woke up at nine thirty. Accomplishment ahoy!
But a baby? Really? And Bandit. That’s an awesome name. But to have a baby is a really big deal, and you’re stuck with the woman who you knocked up for a very long time. A very. Very. Very. Long time. Could I do that, just stay with somebody?
Okay, maybe. But Lindsey, yeah, hell no. I like her, but not enough to marry her, or even have kids. Kids are annoying.
I sit across from Korse in his office. There’s only a desk and a couple of filing cabinets. The silence is stifling, so awkward it’s impossible to describe. Korse flips through my file. Everything’s in there, from my creation day to all the people I’ve turned in.
“You Haven’t Turned In A Lot Of People Lately,” Korse states. He speaks like all words are important, like every word begins with a capital.
I don’t know if Korse is an A.I. program or not. He could be either. Korse looks a bit like a Zombie. Or a shark. Or a Zombie Shark.
“Erm. Nope. I am working on that, though,” I say, staring down at my shoes.
Silence pounces, filling the air.
“Have You Been Having Any Strange Thoughts?” Korse asks me, staring me down.
“No sir. Why?”
Korse keeps staring. He should be a professional starer. He’s creepy enough.
“Don’t Lie To Me, Dexter. I Am Not Your Enemy.”
Yes you are. You are scum, you are a monster and you are making me a monster, because there’s something wrong here and you’re the sum of everything I despise. Wow. Where’d that last part come from? A bit overdramatic, that. Oh, right, answer away.
“No. I’m perfectly normal.”
Korse grunts. He doesn’t believe me. Hell, I barely believe myself.
“All right, Dexter. If you feel abnormal, remember to see a doctor.”
“Righty-o. Keep smiling.”
I skip away happily (I’m kidding. Skip? WTF?) then all of a sudden, like a lightning strike of awkward misery...
Let it be Jim. Please please let it be Jim.
Lindsey: D3xt3r! Wh4t’s up?
Lindsey: D3x? 4w.....1s s0m30n3 gr0uchy?
Dexter: GO AWAY.
Dexter: I don’t want to talk to you.
Dexter: Or at least for a week.
Lindsey: D3x...wh4t h4pp3n3d?
Lindsey: D1d 1 d0 s0m3th1n6?
Dexter: Please just leave me alone for a while.
Lindsey: F0r 60d’s s4k3 D3xt3r! Wh4t’s wr0n6 w1th y0u?
- - > Dexter_2246890_initiated code “Block_Lindsey_87990”_from Ping-chat.
Lindsey: 4RR6 D3XT3R WH4T TH3 H3LL?!?
That had to be done. I don’t want to have to talk to her, I can’t tell her about this. Yet.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I was only slightly grouchy before.
Soul searching? Who cares? NOBODY. I probably have stuff to do. Very important things, too, but it seems I don’t remember the important things I have to do. Hooray for irresponsibility!
Right then. I’m going to buy milk. When people are stuck in an impossible situation-like imagining sleeping with your friends and getting slowly obsessed with finding DNA matches-you go out and buy milk. It is just what you do. Napoleon probably went out to buy milk when he was battling.
No, that’s stupid. “Excuse me, please quit slashing at me with your sword, I have to go pick up some two percent.” “Oh, Sorry, Mr. Napoleon, go fetch the two percent. Huzzah!”
I’m almost halfway to a supermarket when I get a ping from Jim.
Jim: lIndsEy Is rEAlly pIssEd Off At U. Uh, shE’s AlsO rEAlly sAd.
Dexter: This is my problem now? Tell her to take a Midol and chill out.
Jim: Uhh,, thAt’s nOt nIcE. dUdE, shE’s sEverEly pIssEd Off.
Jim: shE kEEps sAyIng shE’ll brEAk yOUr knEEcaps.
Dexter: Why is she upset about this? I mean, it’s not her problem.
Jim: Umm....dUdE, wE’rE wOrrIEd AbOUt U.
Jim: U sure U r OkAy?
Dexter: You know what? I don’t want to talk to you either.
I don’t stick around long enough to hear Jim exit chat. I switch off my Spyder feed. I am difficult. Blarg. Hear me be difficult. Blarg.
I buy milk, head home swinging the milk carton. I do some twirls too. The weird looks I get are...funny to me. Like, it’s severely hilarious, those people giving me the weirdest looks ever.
So I just go all the way and prance. And let it be said that prancing is kick-ass.
Get home, debate changing clothes because I’ve been wearing the same thing for...three days. Gross. Yes. Changing would be nice. And a shower.
Shower, change, stow milk in refrigerator. Now what?
Guess what’s on? Hero Man and Dynamite girl. I watch for a bit, and I realize how fake the acting is, how the bad guys are all foreign and from the middle east, and what a shit-tastic show this is. Change the channel. Patriot Daughters. Change the channel. Pixel Kickit.
Change change change change CHANGE!
Dammit! So there’s nothing on, but this, everything in this culture thing we’ve got going is so messed up. The news only tells good things, about prisoners being taken in. But it’s specified that two women are being taken in because they were lesbians.
Well, I’m a male lesbian. Suck it, bitches.
I still don’t know entirely why I did this, but I opened my window. Nice night air. Smells a bit like chemical fumes. Unplug television. Take television off table. Try to pick up television and fail utterly. Damn. It. I pushed the tv across my carpet, and teetered it on the edge of my window. Then I let go.
My TV slid out the window, sort of beautifully falling forward, then SMASH.
Hard contact with pavement. Ooh. I am a bad example. Thrilling.
Time to go to Lindsey’s!
Good life, good times, They’re never gonna get me. Say a prayer, battery city, your ass is mine.
I really wish I could fly. How awesome would that be?
I get to Lindsey’s, door’s unlocked but nobody’s home. Now, to try something different.
“Lindsey! I’m gonna try on your clothes! Say something if you’re not cool with it!” I shout to her empty apartment. I giggle at the silence.
“And your makeup!”
Stride to Lindsey’s closet, fling open the door, get another memory.
Lindsey’s dying in a hospital bed, eyelashes gone, already looks dead and gone because it’s in her kidneys her brain and her lungs. She’s dying, and people, fans keep wishing me well, but they don’t mean it, not most of them. They just want me alone, unmarried.
I shimmy out of my jeans. I should probably start shaving my legs. Gross. You know what I mean, right? Hmm, what to wear.
Gerard had trouble with alcohol and drugs.
This skirt is nice. I’ll try it on, hopefully it fits. I’ll keep my own underwear on, thanks. No offense, Lindsey.
Gerard didn’t agree with the policies of Battery City. They put him in a hospital to fix him mindset, but he got out and ran away with his friends. His friends were Frank Iero, Ray Toro, and Mikey Way.
My ass looks great in this. I get some black-and-white striped tights to go with it, and damn them, because tights are impossible to put on. You have to do a putting-on-tights dance, which consists of wiggling and hopping to get them on. Nyahh.
These stupid things better look nice.
Gerard had a daughter, Bandit Lee Way. He wants to find her but she’s hidden. She was six years old when he last saw her.
Get on a tank top, pull on an off the shoulder shirt to go with it. Damn, these tights do look nice. The shirt looks okay too. Time to put on makeup.
Eyeliner so thick I look egyptian. I regret it immediately. Take it off? No way. I don’t want it to run down my face, as appealing as that sounds.
Grey sparkly eyeshadow. Gah. Sparkles. Sparkles are sort of like herpes in the regard that no matter how hard you try, you can’t get rid of them.
La la lalala la la.
Damn I’m hot.
“Dexter? Are you here?” I hear Lindsey call. Oh, great. I wonder how she’ll take this? Time to come out to her. Lindsey, I’m a male lesbian.
“Dexter? Are you back...” Lindsey trails off as she finally sees what I’m wearing.
“Dexter...? WHY ARE YOU WEARING MY CLOTHES?!” Lindsey shrieks, eyes wide, slightly terrified. “Cuz I wanna. And I look hot. I’d do me. We should talk,” I say, turning away from the mirror. Lindsey’s wearing a sparkly dress and black lipstick.
“Talk about what?”
“There’s been some sexual tension between us.”
“There’s no sexual tension between us.”
“Well, there is tension, and it makes me feel funny, so...” I trail off, smiling.
“Don’t. Dexter, what’s wrong with you?” Lindsey takes two small steps forward. “Lindsey, listen, this shouldn’t affect your views of me, because I’m still the same Dexter. Just with better taste. Lindsey, I’m a male lesbian.”
It feels good to say it. The clothes feel nice, too. It feels...right. Lindsey’s eyebrows knit together, trying to figure out how this works. “I mean...I like girls. I just dress up as one. It’s fun,” I walk towards her, and reach for her hand.
“Dexter...what happened to you?” Lindsey asks softly.
I don’t know if genes can determine feelings. I blame Gerard for this entire psychotic episode.
I lean closer to Lindsey and press my lips to hers. Her lipstick’s smearing on my face. Lindsey’s trying to push me away, but I hold onto her. I decide to not slip her the tongue. This isn’t the best kiss ever in history, but somehow, this makes a lot of things better. Makes me feel lighter.
Then finally I let go of her.
“What the hell was that Dexter? You feeling alright?” Lindsey asks. I don’t answer. I’ve got lipstick smeared on my face and I try to wipe it off with the back of my hand.
Lindsey backs out of the room, and I can hear her on the phone, calling the police or a hospital or something. I’m past caring. This is the best night of my life, and I don’t care how long I’m gonna spend institutionalized to make up for it.