Author's Note: The title of this story comes from the band Brand New, and there's a reference to King Lear somewhere in the text. Of course I do not own Dexter, but you guys probably already know that.

I got him for you, Rita. You don't know it, but I did.

I didn't do it for you, it was for me, but that doesn't really matter now, does it? Because Arthur's at the bottom of the ocean, and you, you're in a wooden casket, wearing the dress you were wearing when we first met.

I remembered, Rita. I bet you didn't think that I would. I've always had a pretty good memory.

I guess I'm supposed to be acting the way a real husband should. After all, it's not every day that a man comes home to find his wife dead in a bathtub full of blood. But sometimes that does happen. Sometimes things just happen. Babies sitting in their mother's gore. What a tragedy.

I should be making the performance of my life, falling to me knees and weeping like I've seen so many people do, when they come into the station, husbands and wives and children, their eyes red with their tears, real tears, (You think I'll weep? No, I'll not weep: My heart will break before I weep! O, fool, I shall go mad!), but I can't do that, so I don't.

A few days after the funeral Deb snaps and shouts while we're all sitting at dinner, the five of us, in the small apartment that used to be mine. She uses several choice words that I know are directed at me but I'm not really listening.

Later that night she apologizes, cries a little. I don't like it when she cries. I just stare.

Astor knows.

Well, suspects, maybe. I don't know, maybe she's always suspected. I think she sees something in me that other people don't. She's a smart girl. No wonder she hates me. Even in the past few weeks, she's grown up so much.

I guess experiencing your mother's murder will do that to you.

The FBI think I killed you. I think that's pretty ironic, considering that I did.

I didn't mean to.

And this is saying a lot, coming from me, because I've hurt a lot of people. I mean, really hurt them. I hurt them and I cut them and I killed them and I watched them bleed all over and I didn't feel sorry. I don't feel sorry.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm just like Arthur, that I'm no different from him at all. That I'd do the same things as him. And I can't promise you that I never thought about it, but I only thought about it to prove to myself that I wouldn't do it.

I never wanted to hurt you.

I...I don't know if it's that I miss you, because I'm not sure if what I'm missing is the same thing as missing someone. I think it's more accurate to say that I need you. Harrison needs you. He needs a parent, and I don't know how to be that. I never did, I only pretended.

I'm sorry that it was all fake. I'm sorry that my fakeness got you killed. It wasn't supposed to happen like that.

I have a confession to make.

But you won't know.