<-- To chapter 6
Chapter 7
Punk rock invaded Dexter's desolate sleep. The cords had almost completely woke up the teenager when they ceased, at which time sleep preceded to tempt Dexter back into the darkness behind his closed eyes. He would have submitted to the heavy lids if not for a peck on his cheek and a warm body climbing onto his.
“Good morning Dex,” Darcie said, her smile it its rightful place. Her dreams had tainted her reality with rainbows.
Dexter lifted up his neck to kiss his girlfriend on the lips, then let his head fall back onto the pillow. “Morning,” he unintentionally groaned. He fought with his fatigue for control. In the back of his head, Dexter made a comment about how accustomed Darice was to nightlife and the lack of sleep thereof, especially when compared to Dexter's usual eight hours.
After another, more passionate, kiss, Darcie rolled off the bed with a “hup” and preceded to remove her cloths. Soon she was going through the drawers of her lonely-looking dresser in her underwear.
Dexter fought for a glimpse, then surrendered; it wasn't worth it. Dexter grunted in frustration at his weakness and flopped over onto his stomach. It wasn't as if he didn't sleep at all, but the sleep he did have was hollow and empty, as if it meant nothing to his body.
Darcie, in the middle of pulling out her first item of clothing, craned her neck around to see what the ruckus was. Upon seeing her boyfriend strewn about on her bed in perfect harmony with the covers she continued organizing the day's outfit with a chuckle.
It wasn't long before Darcie had finished getting dressed. Before leaving the bed room she kissed Dexter on the back of the head, urging her boyfriend to hurry up.
Dexter slowly climbed out of bed, feeling not only a sudden surge of energy, but also safe to proceed to remove his cloths and replace them with the outfit he had brought with him in his bag. His backpack, was as he left it next to the bed. He was able to just lean over and lift it up to him, but realized that his effort in laziness was in vain, as he had to stand in order to take off his pants.
Once changed, Dexter found himself folding his arms to keep warm; the cloths he brought were light, as to not take up much space in his bag. He picked up the hoodie he had thrown on the floor the night before. Once he had it on, he pulled the hood up over his head, hiding his face in the darkness of the black weaves and shadows. Prepared for his day, he stepped out of the bedroom.
Darcie was already halfway done eating her toast when Dexter sat down and poured milk into his. Expecting a questioning glance from Darcie, Dexter kept an eye on his girlfriend's face. At first Dexter got what he had expected, but Darcie's furrowed eyebrows quickly softened as her lips displayed a soft smile, barely noticeable if one wasn't looking for it. Dexter's muscles untensed that last little bit as he pushed down on the lever of the toaster. He was understood.
-----
The sun nestled its rays into Dexter's black hoodie, making itself at home on his back. The same could not be said for his fingers, however; no matter how deep he attempted to hide his fingertips in his sleeves they would occasionally be nipped by the early morning cold.
The wind cut through Dexter's body heat like a razor. Razor. Dexter stopped walking mid step, pausing conversation just long for Darcie to notice, but by the time she began turning her head Dexter was next to her, matching her pace yet again.
As hard as Darcie tried to get a glimpse of her boyfriend's face, she couldn't quite manage to bend her neck enough to see around his hood. But that was the way Dexter wanted it. Despite his breathing becoming erratic, Dexter was able to keep his motions unhindered. The same could not be said for his facial muscles, which tensed and tightened, then softened, repeatingly. He felt his cheek muscles come to beg for more oxygen.
He had remembered his task.
Throughout the walk, Darcie asked questions in attempt to assure herself as much as her partner. What's wrong? Was he going to be okay? Was there anything she could do? Each was replied only with minimal replies- shaky, unsure. Mm. I think. No.
The split in the hall, the split between them, the split of their touch. The last week they had been able to let go each time. But that day, instead of being able to walk away, Darcie felt a tug on her hand. She turned, and the reprimand on the tip of her tongue was sucked back into her lungs. Before her stood her boyfriend; skinny, white, tall, analytical, cool headed, and level. His face was now deformed; his cheekbones, which usually showed, were layered in skin and muscle. The rifts they created were filled with water. His eyes were squinted, but remained luminescent with tears.
Darcie's body acted on it's own, embracing Dexter. She let herself absorb warmth, but just for a second. She looked up at him. “Do you think it's for the best?”
Dexter only nodded, then used his sleeve to wipe his nose.
Fluently sliding onto her tip toes, she pecked his cheek. On her way back down to earth she whispered, “Regret nothing.”
Around the couple were people, but it was as if both parties were at agreement to not acknowledge each others' existence.
With one last squeeze on Dexter's hand, Darcie lowered her voice, even kinder and softer, as if she was speaking to a young child. “You have to go to home room now, though. We'll see each other again soon. For now, just sit and think. 'kay?”
Dexter nodded yet again, not feeling confident enough in his voicebox to say a word. His eyes met with Darcie's. They then about faced, slowly and reluctantly, and tore their hands apart.
“Regret nothing,” Darcie said to herself. Then she repeated it. Then again.
Without realizing it, it that moment, the couple had been pulled apart more than just physically. If communication really is key, then Darcie swallowed it, and Dexter couldn't unlock his doors.
-----
Dexter didn't notice when he walked past Luke in the hallway. Between Dexter's case of tunnel vision and Luke's refusal to even acknowledge Dexter's existence, no communication occurred the two. Not even a nod.
At his locker, Dexter wiped his face with his sleeve yet again. He had ran out of tears to cry, and though his desert of a throat begged for water, he refused to take a drink, knowing it would only continue a cycle of dehydration.
Homeroom. Dexter sat down, his feet stretching far under the table and beyond its cover. However, unlike a normal day, not a single person had bothered Dexter while he was alone in the hall or sitting by himself; it was as if his hood shielded him from his enemies.
The teacher, whom walked in several minutes after the tardy bell, promptly called out the name of each student in the classroom. It wasn't long before Dexter's name was called, which was replied by a scratchy “here”. She looked up, about to offer a pass to the water fountain to the odd child of her homeroom whom she was not on bad terms with; or any terms for that matter, to notice Dexter's covered head.
As any head coverings were forbidden during classes, she mustered her best intimidating voice and let out two snappy words. “Dexter. Hood.”
The boy stared back, unable to comprehend any words beyond those in his head. The outside world was nonexistent; his body was moving by habit, as if his outer consciousness went the other way at the split in the hall.
Once the teacher noticed the emptiness in his eyes, she went through her options, deciding that just letting it go – for now – was for the best. She continued with role call, which pushed past the bell that signaled the end of homeroom. Dexter was one of the first to leave, before the teacher even had a chance to ask him to stay after.
The first half of Dexter's school day blended into only a minute in his mind; as his body went through autopilot, his mind contemplated. Regret. Would he regret not taking this chance to get revenge, to fix his broken life, to make everything right again? Yes. He would. There was no question.
Would he regret taking it? That was a harder question. What if something went wrong? Did it matter? His life was ruined, anyway. His mother was gone. His father was gone. His only friend was gone. What did he have to live for? Who did he have to live for? The last sixteen years of his life were spent with these people, and exclusively these people. It would be as if his first years on earth didn't exist. He lost everything he had to the point in life he was.
Dexter's doubt was put to rest during lunch. A last-ditch effort. Dexter spied the lone figure of Luke sitting down at their usual table. Habit still controlling his each and every move, Dexter sat across from his old friend. He greeted Luke with the same greeting he used every day at exactly that time. “Yo.”
Luke looked up from his lunch to see the hooded Dexter; a scowl instantly formed upon his face. His voice was hostile. “I thought I made it clear: I don't want anything to do with you, you spoiled brat. If you think you can fucking lie to me to make me talk to you again, you can go to hell; it's not happening. Think you look cool with your hood up? You freak. Fuck off.”
Dexter's shell was broken by the bullet-like words of his former best friend. Taken by complete surprise, Dexter didn't know how to react, so he didn't at all. He stood there for several long seconds, trying to grasp the situation. The words were a blur – all he knew was that Luke's aura was like a thousand knives stabbing the very few childhood friend memories he had.
Instincts took over habit; they screamed to get away. But Dexter's feet would only shuffle across the linoleum floor to another empty table – he didn't feel safe from Luke's gaze until he was sitting, his lunch neatly placed in front of him.
Dexter didn't attempt to eat; his stomach was cramping to a point that would normally have him on the floor. He didn't feel pain. He didn't feel emotion. He just looked blankly at his lunch, his mind attempting to connect puzzle pieces.
By the time Dexter let's body whisked him away to his next class, he had permanently given up on his puzzle. It was missing too many edge pieces for his mind to handle.
He wanted – no – needed those pieces back.
-----
Dexter's mind wasn't functioning his next three classes; it crawled up in a corner under covers, hiding from any thought. Dexter's robotic movements somehow passed the teachers' inspections – it's amazing how teachers can sense when one of their students is under stress. But, like most humans, they usually choose to sit and watch instead of doing anything about it. This worked towards Dexter's advantage.
It wasn't until Darcie coaxed Dexter out of his shell that he became conscious again. He checked the time – one fifty; ten minutes into eighth period. Dexter didn't bother asking what happened the prior two hours, let alone what happened the first ten minutes of class. Instead he tuned into Darcie's quiet voice.
“Dexter... you're scaring me... please say something...” She whispered over her shoulder.
Dexter watched Darcie's hair float angelically as she turned her head – it was his entire focus for several seconds. It was all he was capable of as his mind rebooted itself. But soon her words were processed, and a choked reply came from his vocal cords, as if they had cobwebs from not being used for so long. “Hey.”
A sigh of relief exhaled from Darcie's entire being.
The teacher's voice prevented Darcie from continuing conversation with Dexter. He instructed the class to do the math page in front of them as he prepared for the next lesson.
Dexter looked down, and magically was a copy of the work sheet. Not willing to take any chances in breaking his good luck streak, he attempted to start his work using the pencil that appeared in his hand. As he moved his pencil to label the page with his name, a gleam stood out in front of him. He followed it to Darcie's hair.
Unconsciously he began running his pencil between the strands, watching in amazement as each flowed like the ocean. Suddenly everything around him disappeared; the only things in the world that existed were him and Darcie's hair.
Darcie felt the light, reassuring tugs on her scalp. Feeling wanted, she slouched slightly in her seat, something unusual for her, to allow several more inches of her poker-straight hair to lay upon Dexter's desk.
Dexter reacted to this by putting his pencil down next to the blank sheet of paper, freeing his hand to discreetly play with the strands. He was at ease, comforted, content, until the final bell awoke him from his trance.
Darcie stood, stretching her arms out wide. “Thank goodness it's over; I'm starving,” she said as she began packing up her materials.
Dexter, followed her movements with his eyes.
Darcie pretended not to notice, picking up her now full bag and giving Dexter her full attention. “Want to get something quick today? Chinese, on me?”
Upon the sudden realization that vegetation could make one hungry, Dexter nodded. “Okay,” he said, his voice half its usual volume. He then placed his supplied in his bag and stood, letting his hand be taken by Darcie's.
Along the walk downtown Darcie sneaked several peeks at Dexter, whom had removed his hood to view the river streaming under the bridge. The sun sparkled on the ripples, brightening up everything around it with a gleaming light. This gave Darice hope: her boyfriend was still inside that shell.
It was unusual for Darcie to take out her wallet as they ordered Chinese take out. The action caught Dexter's eye. It subconsciously assured him; Darcie was trying to help him by doing something nice for him. He felt the weight shed from his shoulders and his posture correct itself as Darcie's index finger caressed the top of his hand on the way to the club.
The air in Darcie's apartment was cold, sending a shiver up her spine. She purposely kept it that cool – that shiver was worth it. It let her know she was home, and made her bed seem so much warmer and comforting at night.
Small talk was lacking as the two began eating. Dexter took seconds, and even thirds – he had no idea where his hunger came from, but he wasn't going to complain: the food filled one of the many holes in his torso.
It wasn't too long before the floor began to shake. It was earth shattering, unexpected, and awe inspiring. It interrupted Darcie telling about how she began mixing at the age of nine on her parents' computer, and how she would use her parents' credit card to buy music and software without them noticing. She often stopped herself, deep in thought, then come back to relay the memories to Dexter. At least, the memories she wanted him to hear. Darcie's past was still a mystery to him. And Darcie was hoping to keep it that way until she felt it was the right time.
Darcie found it nice that she didn't have to perform that night. She enjoyed just watching the sights and lights. With every thump Dexter's pulse quickened. Testosterone began surging throughout his body. He had to stand and pace to keep in control. He sweat despite the temperature. Before he even realized it, Dexter's body was prepared for its task.
Darcie noticed her boyfriend's change in characteristics long before him. She continued with her stories in an attempt to calm him, to no avail. Even though he replied and appeared interested, she could tell his thoughts were in another place. Occasionally she would watch him glance out the window. Though she didn't know why, she could tell it added to the tension.
Suddenly, Darcie stopped mid sentence. She could no longer hold her feelings in. “I'm scared, Dexter.”
“I know, I am too,” he consoled, “I don't know what will happen to me if I can't do this... I'm so afraid that I won't be able to kill him...”
“What about you, Dexter?” Darcie asked, fearing for her boyfriend's life.
“I don't know what will happen to me if it doesn't work, either... it's the action which counts. That I am going to try my hardest to fix everything.” Dexter nodded to himself.
Darcie just stared at him, wondering how someone could be so dense, so shielded. So used to being under a rock that once brought into the light he waged war on the sun.
Dexter walked towards his girlfriend, embracing her. “I need you, now more than ever.”
In a state of shock, Darcie was still unable to move. This was not her Dexter. Yet it was.
The one-sided embrace lasted for eternity.
One last request came out of Darcie's mouth, so quiet it's a wonder Dexter heard it over the music. “No matter what happens, after this, you'll come back to me and stay forever, right, Dexter?”
Even in such a state, Dexter smiled and placed a kiss on Darcie's forehead. “There's no other place where I'd like to be.”
“Do you mean that?” She whispered.
“I do.”
“Then just stay with me,” Darcie pleaded.
Dexter shook his head. “I would if I could.” Darcie's last ditch effort was not enough to pull the veil away from Dexter's heart.
“Why can't you?” Darcie looked up at her boyfriend.
Dexter ignored the question, checking his phone instead. “I have to go, Dark.” He let go of her body, leaving Darice's entire being chill. He then checked the alley through the window. It was clear as far as Dexter could tell; everyone was already in the club.
He went into Darcie's kitchen drawer, taking out a large steak knife. Then he began walking out the door. But before he could leave, Darcie nearly threw herself at him.
“Please, just tell my why!” She pleaded desperately, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Dexter looked at her, not even considering staying to comforter her. Time was of the essence. Then he answered. “Because everything is worth fixing my world.”
He shut the door behind him, leaving Darcie on her knees, her head in her hands. Though she was unable to speak, she mouthed the words:
“Why can't I be your world?”
She stayed in the position for what felt like years, the tears never ending. Her body convulsed; so many emotions uncontrollably taking control of her body. She waited for the warm arms of her universe to comfort her as patiently as she could, mumbling that he'd be back soon over and over again.
It was five minutes later that the screams began.
Immediately Darcie shot up, grabbing the door handle and throwing it back. She ran in full stride, nearly falling down each flight of stairs, only her perseverance keeping her on her feet. Once on the main floor, she fought through the hundreds of ignorants inside the club, all paying no heed to the trail of salty water which followed Darcie like breadcrumbs.
The whole while she screamed the word “no” over an over, in a never ending stream of panic.
Regret. Anger. Fear. It all melded into one thing: insanity. She was searching for her sanity. Her hope for the future. Her dream. She had to find it. No. She had to find him.
Because he was all she had.
The Stream (bold title, centered at top)
“Local news from our river community”
Main Article: bold, huge print title. Very little text appears below.
“Boy's Murder Scares Downtown”
The mangled body of local boy Dexter Rue was found in a downtown alleyway last night, along with the corpse of a distributor of illegal recreational drugs. It is estimated that the brutal murders, which involved the removal of several organs and intestines - “art murders”, as dubbed by national news sources – took place between three and six in the morning. It is thought by police that the murders are linked to last weeks murder of Officer John Rue, father of the victim Dexter Rue, in not only the style of the murder, but through new evidence of John Rue selling drugs confiscated by the police department downtown. It is theorized that the illegal selling of several “rave” drugs by Officer Rue was motivated by a one-third cut in salary due to the police levy not passing in last month's elections. No suspects have been announced by authorities as of press time...
On the right side there is a bar.
First article, bold title: “Your Guide To Staying Safe”
The recent – and now local – spur of murders by the internet terrorist organization known as the “Arterers” is a very real threat to our society. Expert psychologists, sociologists, detectives, and even an ex FBI agent have collaborated on this exclusive guide to keeping your family safe. (Continued on page A2)
Second Article, bold title: “The Art Murderers: How?”
In today's internet age, they say anything is possible. But what possibly could have caused the creation of the organized murder organization “The Art Murderers”? The answers are an unprecedented combination of the sudden changes in our nation's political, social, economic, ideal, and technological aspects. (Continued on page A2)
Third Article, bold title: “Local Girl Overdoses at Rave”
No text is shown, as this is the end of the page
) Though I love it more because you really gave a new depth to this chapter; the way you described each emotion Dexter and Darcie were going through. It felt so connected, so raw and beautiful. Great job!
Gender:
Points: 1715
Reviews: 63