I've had to hide my whole life. My thoughts usually consist of blood and gore, death and mayhem. My daydreams could be sold and produced as horror movies. I am, for all intents and purposes, a monster. That's why I was taught to hide, to cover my true self. I was told that no would ever accept me. That the very second they saw who I really am, they would put an end to me. I'm a wolf forced to live in a sheep's clothing. Sometimes it strikes me as unfair -I never chose to become who I am- but the thought is always fleeting. Justice is a foreign concept to me.
Because I am a monster. A vile demon, the kind that you run and hide from. Pure, unadulterated evil. Well, that's what Harry always said. That no one could ever accept me, let alone love me for who I am. And I believed him. Most people are repulsed by my hobby. The people that aren't tend to be a little bit too involved in it for their tastes. Rita? If she found out that her Mr. Perfect was a perfectly devious monster, I'm sure our relationship would be over. Most girls aren't into the emotionally devoid and extremely violent types. And Rita already had one of those kinds of relationships. Another one would kill her.
Deb? That question still haunts me. Not because it leaves me wondering, but because it's already answered. The night before still lingers in my mind. Deb's scared and confused gaze as the knife sucked out that last of her life. My sweaty and clammy hand shaking slightly and it grips the hand tightly. The other hand resting on top of mine, it's soft feel, calm and still, it's certainty a sharp contrast of my uncertainty. The warmth of a brother and the strength of a predator blending and mixing into a perfect comfort that has yet to leave me, even as the last of Deb's life fled from her, her blank eyes accusing me of my lethal betrayal. It all still gives me mixed feelings. I move onto better thoughts. No sense in regretting my choice now.
Deb wouldn't have accepted me in the best of situations, but as I rake my brains for my worst deeds, I think I found someone who would happily accept me in the worst of situations.
"I killed this woman once that was certain I was going to rape", I say to my brother. I'm stretched out on my couch, tired after a long day of half fake, half real mourning of my late sister, coping with her lover -my brother- being a serial killer, pretending to try to catch my brother, and trying my damn hardest to not let my brother get caught.
"Did you?", my brother asks from his place on the chair, his eyes dully watching Christmas specials.
"No", I confess. I feel bested once again. After being told my whole life that no one could ever accept me, it's a little bit weird when someone does accept me. Of course I have to test this new relationship, to see just how much of my inner self I can show. I could have probably said that I did rape her, Brian wouldn't care. There is no limit in this relationship. The thought gives me a shiver of excitement.
"Did you?", I ask. I consider briefly adding 'did you ever rape anyone' for clarification, but he barks a laugh and I know he understood perfectly. It's still odd to talk to someone who can follow such dark trains of thought with ease.
"The hard part is getting the woman alone. Why would I risk getting caught trying to kidnap some woman when I could just rent one?", I smile and chuckle slightly. That's my brother, just as morally devoid as me. Honestly, if he said he did rape someone, I don't think I would have cared either. I go back to trying to think of the worst possible thing I've done. You'd think it wouldn't be hard for someone like me.
"When I was younger, I use to kill kittens", I admit. Kitten murder is frowned upon. Everyone loves kittens. They are cute, fluffy, and have an over-sized head. Who can't love that?
"And now you kill people", he tediously replies. "And since when is killing kittens worse than killing humans?", he actually turns to look at me this time, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. I don't say anything. I just look up at the ceiling.
I try to think of something else. What other horrible and despicable actions did I do? I tried talking about how many people I killed, but Brian just told me to stop bragging. I talked about how sometimes I just want to kill random people. He called a pussy for not acting on my urges. I spewed out every single dark secret I have, and he accepted them all with little more than mild amusement. All the things about me that Harry always said would repulse any living being were thrown out into the open. My darkest secrets that paint the picture of a violent monster, only pretending to be human. He sees them all as normal, just another aspect that makes me who I am. Who I really am.
Brian doesn't care. A living being that didn't turn from me, or be repulsed by me. I turn to look at him again. I get the same feeling looking at him as I do looking at myself in the mirror. He appears normal, perfectly human. Relaxed, watching mindless television. But I can see right through that, to the darkness inside, festering and squirming, looking desperately for a way out. Just like me.
"I also get lonely", I confess. I've run out of taboos of normal society to admit. So now I'm confessing my sins of the darker society I'm apart of. The society of shadows and hidden lies, quietly laying down it's own laws of what I should and shouldn't feel.
Brian turns and looks at me fully now, unable to brush this one away like so many others before it. It's not a confession of my inner monster, it's a confession of my inner human.
"So did I", he mutters back softly, returning his gaze to the television. I look back up at the ceiling. Did. The implications in that single word are strong, and I like them. They tell me that I won't ever get lonely ever again. That there will be no more lies or isolation.
Acceptance is there too. No matter what I say or what I do, I can't earn Brian's disapproval. Harry said that no one would ever accept me, let alone be able to love me. I glance back at Brian.
Harry was wrong.