A Violent Truth
"You fucked everything up." Dexter's back was pressed against the wall, his head knocking back against the surface at random intervals. His eyes were shut, his mouth ajar, his blood-spattered paws hanging between upturned knees.
Violence sat beside him, giving the half-breed a sidelong glance. He was quiet a long moment before finally saying, "It was bound to fail."
Dexter's body tightened at the words, his fur bristling, eyes clamping shut even harder. "Shut up."
"Just look at how horribly you lost yourself," the fox reasoned.
"Shut. Up." Clenched teeth.
"You were a monster back there."
"I said shut up!" Dexter's head came away from the wall upon shouting, only to reconnect with it with a loud thud. He breathed deep, relaxing his muscles only to find that he was trembling.
They sat in silence for a long time; the only sounds were the steady drip from the kitchen faucet and the low wail from a police siren cutting through the night. The apartment stank of blood, or maybe Dexter only thought it did. His paws and muzzle were covered, after all.
"You need to face the truth," Violence said after a time, his tone gentler than Dexter had ever heard it. It couldn't be real, of course. Violence always had an agenda.
"I held it in just fine, all this time." The half-jackal's lip curled, but his eyes stayed closed. "I had urges sometimes, yeah, but I held it in." He nodded as if that settled everything.
"Holding it in is why you exploded the way you did."
Dexter's eyes finally opened, giant two-toned orbs of green locking onto the fox before turning quickly away. "Whatever."
"And now he's de--"
"Okay, shut the fuck up right fucking now!" It was a bark, full of fury and pain. He glared at Violence now, his breaths coming in heavily. "I mean it!"
The fox's bright yellow eyes widened at Dexter's anger, but he said nothing further.
Another long silence passed, only slightly hindered by the faraway sound of a car alarm. Why didn't sitting beside Violence without speaking feel awkward? Dexter always felt awkward with anyone in a quiet room.
He let out a sigh that took nearly everything out of him. "Why'd you have to tell him that?" His voice was scratchy now. He reached up and put pressure between his eyes. "I would rather you'd have told him we fucked than told him what I am."
"I just don't understand how he _didn't_know. What'd he think your spines were? Or your forked tongue? Nevermind the long reptilian end to an otherwise perfectly mammalian tail."
"He knew I was a hybrid, okay?" Dexter tangled a tired hand in his black-and-aqua hair, leaving streaks of red behind. "I just... I told him my great-grandfather was a gila monster."
Violence snorted, and Dexter shot him a scathing look.
"That's the problem," Violence pressed. "Your entire relationship was built on lies. Why would you want that? What's the point?"
Dexter blinked at him, then turned away without responding.
"Did you love him?"
The half-breed's fur stood on end, his brow furrowing. He grumbled something unintelligible.
"What?"
"I said I don't know," Dexter snapped. "I don't know... I liked him. He was right. Worth it."
"But love?"
"I don't know. I thought..." He grasped his head in both paws, ears lowering. "I thought he could help me control it. If I could just... If I could fuck the object of my appetites and not lose control..." He swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat. "I wanted him to tame me."
"Well..." It was gentle. Too gentle. It was jarring. "Now you know you can't tame this sort of thing. It'll just make you a ticking time bomb."
Dexter nodded, folding his arms on his knees and burying his face in them. He wanted Violence to touch him, but he didn't want it at the same time.
The night's events assaulted him with sudden ferocity, flashing in his head unbidden. There was a grin on Violence's face as he stood before the apartment door and let out those words--just words, but they did all the damage in the world.
Didn't you know? Your boyfriend's half chupacabra.
Roger was the kindest, most accommodating individual Dexter had ever known, always smiling, always giving the benefit of the doubt, always providing and caring and helping. But at the end of the day he was still a goat, and chupacabra is a bad word to goats, no matter how accommodating.
That look of fear in Roger's eyes cut Dexter deep. It told that, even after all their time together, Roger immediately believed Violence's word against Dexter, as if he'd always known. The half-breed didn't stand a chance. Roger was already backing away.
A chupa... cabra...?
Now Dexter was all chupacabra to him. It was as if he completely ignored the word "half". Dexter tried to reason with him, tried to say it was okay, that they'd been together this whole time without incident, why did a word have to change things? But Roger wasn't listening. It wasn't his fault, really. Terror wouldn't let him listen. Dexter pleaded with him, told him he hadn't meant to lie, that he liked Roger and had been afraid that the truth wouldn't have let him get a chance.
The look on Roger's face told him he was right.
Roger tried to run. He shouldn't have done that. He should have calmly walked to the door. Dexter would have let him go if he hadn't run. But the jackal's feral impulses took the fleeing too seriously. He'd pounced. Roger hit the floor. Dexter had him pinned.
You won't even listen to me. If you want me to be a monster, I'll show you one.
Dexter's teeth were like the sharpest scissors running through tissue paper as they cleaved into Roger's chest, heedless even of his ribcage. Roger bleated, loud and piercing. That didn't last long. One swipe of Dexter's claws made short work of the goat's throat, slicing it clean until all Roger could do was gurgle until his life ran out of him.
It was a meal fit for a monster, the blood-and-guts-splattering-against-the-walls type of meal. Violence watched the entire thing without once trying to interfere.
Dexter recalled, smelled the blood, saw his boyfriend's mangled corpse lying in the middle of the living room floor without actually looking over at it. And then sorrow hit him like a wave of icy razorblades.
"What did I do?" he whimpered, trying to ignore the feeling of Violence's shiver in response. "What the fuck did I do?"
"Hey."
"Why'd you have to tell him?" His voice was muffled in his arms. "I've kept my asshole brother away from him all this time. I made him believe I was just some fucked up jackal-lizard. Then you come along and fuck it all up. You have sex with me, fucking blackmail me for two months, then you fuck it up anyway." He kept the tears out of his voice as best he could, but he knew he shouldn't look up. He did anyway, and Violence's face fell into shock upon seeing the lines darkening the yellow fur beneath the half-breed's eyes.
"Hey," Violence said again. "Don't cry."
"Why'd you do it? Why do you have to fuck with me? What'd I do to you?"
The fox's maw worked silently a moment. "I... I like you."
Dexter's eyes narrowed until they were thin openings between the indigo Anubis-lines around his eyelids. "Fuck off."
"No, I--" He tried to put his arms around Dexter, but the jackal pushed him away. It was not a hard push, just a tired little shove.
"Dexter, I mean it. I wanted you to myself."
It sounded like him, selfish and conniving, eager to hurt. But Dexter couldn't believe the fox actually had feelings for him. "Just shut up."
He tried to push Violence away again, but the fox grasped his face. Dexter placed a paw on the other male's wrist, but his movements were sluggish. Violence managed to kneel between his legs, leaning in to kiss him. Dexter turned away, but didn't put up much more fight than that. Their mouths met, Violence's tongue heedless of the blood coating the other's maw, and he stopped resisting.
He should hate this stupid fox. Why couldn't he?