dexter – CONCURSO

narrador: Dexter

~

Não me lembro de ter chorado no funeral. Não me lembro do ar me faltar nos pulmões, quando vi o seu corpo a ser posto debaixo da terra, por entre a multidão de olhares amargurados. Os seus filhos, agora mais meus que dela, enfeitavam o seu rosto com rosas e lágrimas doces. O preto dos fatos banhava-nos a todos de um perfume a morte, que nunca senti quando cortava as minhas vítimas aos pedaços.

Não me lembro de sentir um frio no peito quando taparam o caixão com a terra amarga, que iria aquecer a Rita no seu sono eterno. Não me lembro se mantive o rosto entristecido ou se já estava tão esgotado de manter a farsa do meu lado humano, que nem me dei ao trabalho de esconder o que realmente percorria o meu corpo naquele momento.

A Rita estava morta. Uma parte da vida que tão meticulosamente arranjei à minha volta, para poder aparentar um ser normal, fora-me tirado, arrancado. Ela estava morta e isso veio quebrar a normalidade, aquela normalidade pela qual eu ansiava. A normalidade que ajudava o meu passageiro sombrio a seguir a linha recta do vulgar, antes de tomar o atalho para o alívio que era matar alguém. E pensando bem, foi esse mesmo alívio que me trouxe aqui, ao futuro errado; ao invulgar da vida de fachada.

A morte da minha companheira cruzou ambas as vidas.

Naquele momento, enquanto as pessoas à minha volta dispersavam, não conseguia entender quem tomava controlo do meu corpo. Se o Dexter Morgan, analista de sangue, pai, irmão, viúvo ou se o Dexter Morgan, serial killer. A forma como a sua morte afectou ambas as minhas “personagens” era-me um total mistério. Nunca me tinha ocorrido o facto de que ter a Rita tanto tempo na minha vida, iria inevitavelmente alterar algo em mim. Em quais dos “mim’s” é que eu ainda não tinha percebido…

Estava destabilizado. Estou destabilizado. Não sei que posição tomar, não sei que rumo poderei agarrar de modo a que possa de novo distinguir tudo o que sou e não sou. Eu tinha um lugar. Eu pertencia a um lugar. E parte disso desapareceu. Deixei de ser marido. De um momento para o outro deixei de ser marido e se realmente me pudesse deixar levar pelos sentimentos que nunca se apoderaram do meu corpo, não me sentiria triste, revoltado, mas sim, culpado.

Matei a Rita.

E essa parte de mim, já não consegue esconder que foi ela. Sim, foi ela, ele, o passageiro. Matei a Rita ao tentar mantê-lo comigo. Matei a Rita ao tentar esconder tudo aquilo que sou realmente. Matei a Rita ao encarnar alguém que acreditava que pudesse ser eu. E por momentos, deixei-me levar pela fantasia que sim, que o Dexter Morgan, analista de sangue, pai, irmão e marido era eu. Fundi-me nessa personagem e o que aconteceu foi apenas um mero aviso, de que não me era permitido esquecê-lo. Não me posso esquecer do passageiro sombrio.

Quem dita as regras deste jogo, que é a minha vida?

Não sei.

Mas dei um passo em frente, aproximando-me da futura campa que seria adornada com o nome da minha falecida mulher e devagar, deixei que o ar entrasse nos pulmões do meu novo papel. E sim, aí já me lembro, pois foi aí, que me despedi realmente do velho eu. Foi aí, à beira do que já tinha acabado, que entrou o novo Dexter.

E como sei eu isto?

Algo molhado me tocou a bochecha e ao sentir de leve os meus dedos na minha face descobri que mais uma vez, inevitavelmente, me perdera na linha recta do normal e tinha tomado por um novo atalho desconhecido. Sim, porque o velho Dexter nunca tinha sentido o peso de uma lágrima.

~

(27/01/10 – para o concurso da FOX que termina amanhã. não exactamente o que teria escrito, mas tive de seguir as regras, inclusive de pontuação. e sim, faria mais sentido se pudesse ser a inglês e por isso custou-me um pouco a escrita na primeira pessoa em português, pois não consigo pensar como o Dexter, com palavras portuguesas. mas acho que não está assim tão mau… a ver, vamos)

“your souls are as black as mine”

~

Blood is the key.

That’s what I’ve been taught; that’s what I’ve been hearing ever since I could put my own two feet on the ground.

You see, my ancestors had this vision – this calling. ‘How to relive the earth from its doom?’ they questioned. You see my friends, the earth was not as it once was. The trees did not grow. The birds did not sing. The sun was the ultimate destroyer, but you could not see it. Dark, my friends. The earth was rotting. Human race was condemned.

I admit – they were scared (it is human nature after all). Who was at fault? Nature? Some upper force? Or us – the humans?

They were scared yes, but they were prideful. They would not take the blame. Instead they chose to blame those around them – the weak; the slobs. The impure. And what began as a simple “disposing” of the weaker class became a journey. A goal. To relive the earth from all of those who did not deserve to inhabit it. Think of it as an holocaust – only not that flawed.

And so began our empire. We claimed ourselves as the superior race – higher beings. And we destroyed all of those who tried to block our path to a better world.

Yes, my friends. We kill those inferior to us. I kill those inferior to us. Blood is the key. And from the blood of the impure, a new race shall rise! One that will save the earth from its chaos and destruction!

Tell me now, is that so wrong?

~


(from 2008 – this is the introduction to the very first long-version-idea that I had/have for a story. i can’t let go of this. it’s an amazing idea and i want it to live on and on. i’ll re-write it and continue it. i promise)

an ‘honest’ conversation (part iii)

part i
part ii

~

(…)

Draco didn’t even have time to react, as Hermione’s hand came in contact with his soft cheek. Only when he felt a sting on the left side of his face, did he acknowledge the obvious truth: Hermione Granger had slapped him. Again. He was too stunned to react, as his mouth hanged open, his head turned to the side.

“Don’t, ever, call me that again, Malfoy.”

Hermione was shaking uncontrollably now, rage building inside her body that was still trapped in the iron grip that was Malfoy’s fingers. Her eyes suppressed the angry tears the threat to fall down. She slapped him without thinking. Malfoy was the only person to get her worked up like that. She never hated anyone as much as she hated him. No one ever deserved her hatred. No one.

He took his time, as the sting slowly faded from his left cheek. In his mind, the twisted side of his mind, the thought that he very well deserved that slap, nagged him. The twisted side that felt something kept bothering when he was around him, making him lose all reason. He shouldn’t have called her that. He shouldn’t have turned up things so much. Now, hell would break lose. And he wasn’t sure if he could handle it.

Draco turned his head to face Hermione. He noticed she was shaking. With rage, obviously. Her eyes were beginning to get a reddish tone and her bottom lip quivered. She was angry. She was furious.

She was hurting.

“I thought we’d left the violence thing, Granger. I’ll leave that to your boyfriend.”

“Don’t! Don’t bring him in to this!” Hermione’s form trembled. For a second, Draco thought she might collapse or something, her legs threatening to give up. Truth was, Weasley was well known for his childish, violent behavior. Especially, toward his girlfriend.

He kept his composure, as she shook. The urge to touch her came back again. Draco didn’t like to see her like this, so vulnerable. But, what could he do? He made her. He made her like this. She was like this, when she was around him. He broke her.

“Granger… I’m tired.”

Draco’s voice was low and worn-out, as he had nothing left to articulate. And yet, he still had plenty say.
Hermione couldn’t stop the tears now.

His other hand found its way to her other arm as he kept her steady on her feet. Please, Granger. Don’t lose courage on me now. Give it to me, Granger. End this already.

“And don’t you think I am, Malfoy? Don’t you think I’m absolutely, fucking tired?” she replied, angry words escaping her quivering lips “You think you’re the only one who’s hurting in all this? Who’s getting completely fucked up? You actually think, that I’m ok with this. That I’m singing in the shower every morning, knowing perfectly well I’ll have to face him again and lie to his face? Lie to my friends? Lie to myself!?”

That’s it, Granger. End this. Pour it all out.

“I’m lying to myself, Malfoy! And I’m so, so tired! So tired, pretending I hate you. Because I can’t hate you, Malfoy! As much as I would like to, I can’t! As much as I want to turn my back on you, I can’t. You’re right. You got under my skin and you made me crave you, like I crave oxygen. And I was so scared. So confused. And I kept denying it. How could I want a person that brings me nothing but pain?”

She was shouting now. Completely.

“How could I, Malfoy? But I did, didn’t I? And look to where it brought us? Nowhere. Fucking nowhere. I stand, here, before you, completely and utterly devastated and damaged by your harsh words, because you believe you’re hurting more than me. You’re a self centered bastard, that the only thing that matters to him, is himself. How can I get involved with a person like that? How can I get involved with a person that believes he’s superior to the one he cares about? With a person who would do nothing for me, besides hurting my feelings and telling me how absolutely useless I am? How can I, Malfoy?”

“SO FUCKING END IT!”

(…)

~

(november/09 – don’t know the exact day. part 3, still more too come – if i finish it)

an ‘honest’ conversation (part ii)

part i

~

(…)

He slowly approached her, not making his presence known. There she was again, with her nose buried in some thick, old book. So typically, Hermione Granger. He took quiet steps towards her, not wanting to alarm her. He didn’t need another round of arguing, not tonight. He was going to end this.

Hermione didn’t even felt him come up to her. The library was empty as always, since it was way past curfew, so she never saw it coming. Her concentration quickly vanished as she felt someone near her desk. As she looked up carefully, alarmed, her chest couldn’t help but feel constricted when her eyes fell on this uptight form. Yes, he was tense, although he was trying to shake it off, hide it, she knew him far too well to be fooled like that. Malfoy was up to something.

She didn’t make any move whatsoever to initiate a conversation. Hermione simply waited patiently for him to make a move. She never knew what to expect, since he was a very hard person to read.
Draco stared at her as trying to decipher what was going through her mind. He couldn’t help but gaze at her face, her lips – the lips he so desperately wanted to kiss, to feel.

Bloody hell, he was getting worked up again. Ok, Draco focus, focus.

“We need to talk, Granger.”

His voice was ice cold. She suppressed the urge to shiver as his words cut through her ears, like a razor cuts through skin. Hermione had no desire to talk to him. She felt too much when around him, talking. He took too much out of her. She was, so so, tired.

When she didn’t reply, Draco merely stiffened his composure. Grabbing the bothersome book from her hands, he tossed it aside, waiting for her to give him some worthy attention.

“Hey! I was reading that!” she complained, now getting angry.

Her childish reaction made him roll his eyes, before he continued:

“Look, Granger. I’ll be simple and direct, so you better listen to me.”

Hermione looked back at him, her eyes defying his words. Who the hell did he think he was? Her back straighten as she waited for him to continue.

“This. This thing we have. This bloody charade we’ve gotten ourselves into is not working – is not going to work.” he told her, calmly and aggressively, the way he always dealt with his problems. Well, most of the time.

Hermione said nothing as she kept looking at Draco. He had a very serious expression on his face, like he was trying very hard to control the words and actions that left his body. When he said nothing else, she quickly made her move to get up. Just get up and walk away. She didn’t need this now. Not now.

“Granger, what the hell are you doing?” Draco asked when she made it clear she intend to leave.

“I don’t need to hear this crap from you, Malfoy. I don’t need you to act all mature. Not now, not never. So, if you excuse me, I have to go to bed.”

Hermione tried to get pass him, but was hastily captured by the iron grip of his hand, on her arm. She was quickly spun around, forced to face him again.

“I’m sorry to disagree with you, Granger. You will hear what I have to say, like it or not.” Draco hissed at her, his grip around her arm tightening.

“Get your fucking hand off me, Malfoy!” she snarled. Hermione was really getting tired of all these foolish games they would always end up playing.

“No.”

She sighed in annoyance as he kept a firm grip on her arm, slightly hurting her. She was almost about to snap.

“Now you listen and you listen well, Granger. I’m tired. I’m bloody tired of this, this crap as you called it. I’m sick of it, actually. Fucking, sick of it. And you, Granger? You go on, acting, pretending that nothing is happening. Lying to all your precious little friends, masking what you are truly feeling. Lying to your ridiculous excuse for a boyfriend about where you’ve been at night. And you want to know why, Granger? Why you try so hard to keep your worthless charade?”

“How dare you!?”

Hermione was simply outraged. How dared he judge her like that? He was actually calling her a liar. Him, Draco Malfoy, was calling her a liar? How dared he?

“I asked you a fucking question, Granger!” Draco was just as angry as she was.

“No, Malfoy! I have absolutely no idea! Please, enlighten me!” sarcasm dripped from every syllable she pronounced to his face.

Draco’s patience was rapidly fading. The damn girl was pushing him too far.

“Because you’re scared, Granger. You’re not as though as you say you are; as I thought you were. You’re weak. You’re so scared to hurt your perfect boyfriend; your bosom buddies. The same buddies that stand you up each night, when you ask them out. The same buddies that copy around your notes, without even a simple ‘thank-you’. The same buddies that you care so much about, that don’t give a crap about what you feel or what you want!”

“Shut up, Malfoy! How can you possibly know anything about my friends, or Ron for that matter? Who the hell do you think you are, to make those accusations?” Hermione wasn’t letting him do this. He wasn’t going to let him have the upper hand. She wasn’t.

“Are you deaf, blind, dumb? What do you think is been going on for the past few months? I know you, Granger. I got under your skin. I know what makes you tick. I’m a fast learner, Granger, and for the small time I’ve actually got to know you, I observed. I watched. I learned. I know you, Hermione Granger.”

Draco’s calm was returning to him, his self-control kept in check. He didn’t want to lose control around, not yet. He would end this, tonight.

“Merlin, Malfoy. You’ve not changed at all, did you? Always the same old song, trying to analyze my every flaw to justify my every behavior. If I’m that bloody imperfect, why turn to me in the first place?”

“Believe me; I didn’t want to turn to you, Mudblood.”

*slap*

(…)

~

(23/11/09 – part two, because i felt like it.)

an ‘honest’ conversation (part i)

(characters: draco malfoy & hermione granger
warnings: language)

~

He strolled down the dark and empty corridors of Hogwarts, as determination set the pace of his loud footsteps. His immaculate robes hang of him like some kind of super-hero cape, making his posture even more menacing. He had a fearless look, for someone who was about to get his heart torn apart and as he made around the corner, his demeanor never ceased.

Draco was going to end this.

Tonight.

His pace grew faster, so as his heartbeat rate. He knew exactly where she would be and how to find her. Hell, he knew her better than anyone else. He knew her. He fucking knew her. And that’s why he was doing this tonight. He didn’t want to know her; didn’t want his heart to long for her. Or his body, for that matter.

He didn’t ask for this, any of this. This feeling. This fucking confusing feeling that was growing towards her, towards that selfish bitch that only toyed around with him. She had messed with him in the worst way possible, making him forget completely who he was. Making him feel. Draco had one policy when it came to girls: shag and dump. They would come to him, willingly and he would prove them right. Once or twice he would go to them. We would go to them and win them and shag them.

Not with her though.

Maybe he was the one that had been stupid in the first place. He was the one that went to her. It was his fucking fault. His entire fault, when he’d told her, face first “I want you”. After all the fights and insults, all that not knowing what the bloody hell was going on with him. Yeah, after all that, realization hit like a bomb: he wanted her. He felt something. And after that, his world came crashing downward. His perfect, calculated world turned upside down.

He wished her dead. For a while, he had wished her dead. Wished her dead when he had the urge to kiss her, touch her, feel her. Anything. Every time she crossed his mind, he felt this uncontrollable rage, just waiting to leak out and unleash itself on her. Pounce on her like a wild animal and rip her apart, inside out. Shag her senseless and kill her afterwards. That’s what he felt when she was near him, annoying him with her mere presence. And fuck, he just couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He just couldn’t. Draco was drawn to her, like a fish when captured by the fisherman. She was pulling him towards her, even when she yelled weak, idiotic profanities at him.

Yes, she was weak. She was beneath him; dirty, pathetic. She wasn’t even that beautiful, with her bushy hair and plain face. So why was he so intrigued by her? What made her that fucking special? What made her different from all the other girls? What gave her the power to make him feel?

Draco growled as all these untamed thoughts bounced freely around his head, making him almost run through those dark halls. He would find her tonight. He would find her and he would end this. He would fucking end this.

Permanently.

(…)

~


(18/11/09 – a second try at DM/HG. nothing special, but such fun to write. yes, i love getting into draco’s head. the idea came after reading an old thing i wrote, that means a lot to me. i’ll tell you what, after posting the whole episode – still unfinished)