"Oh, sweet, mother Mary of fuck, that's good."
Drinking Cuban coffee off the shores of Miami's beach, and my sister starts her day by spilling appreciation with her potty mouth, "I think you might have broken a Commandment in there." I sarcastically reply, needing to squint my eyes from the sun to look at her. She tells me to 'fuck off' with a smile and begins to rattle off about her next case. As a good brother, it is my duty to be helpful and pay attention to her. My Dark Passenger, however, has other plans for the day. He scratches the base of my skull, thrumming loudly until I feel my internal organs vibrate.
I feel Deb suspects me sometimes. She is, by far, one of the most hardworking policewomen I have ever met. Before I am accused of bias opinion, allow myself to readily concur. I may not be her brother by blood, and not adopted into her family before I reached the age of three, made official when I was seven. And, I may not feel anything for anybody, and if I did it would be in a sum so minuscule that it is even unknown to myself. Yet, Deb loves me and I know this to be sincerely true. I think that's nice. I don't have feelings for anything, but if I could have feelings, I'd have them for Deb.
The concept of love is beyond me. I am not a creature capable of love. Of all emotions spanning across the spectrum, love is the only one I have not been able to convincingly convey. Love has been troublesome for me, nothing but an unnecessary distraction. When left empty for a long time it brings suspicion among peers. Why is he still single? Is he gay? Isn't that a little weird? I cannot have unwanted people prying into my personal world out of the absence of a woman by my side. If somebody were to stumble upon my darkest secrets.. everything would crumble. That can't happen. I have been too careful.
Women are dangerously perceptive. My relationships end once the elephant in the room is addressed and I, like a cornered animal, have no choice but to comply to their..needs. Intimacy repels me. I see a couple cuddled into the corner, his hand sneaking under her short skirt. How could they subject themselves to something so incredibly.. undignified? I dodge the advances when they come, but there is always the day I dread when an excuse will no longer be enough. I, cornered and wounded, conform to their gross innate human desires and I am revealed to be the monster that I am.
My eyes, looking down at her willing and naked body, empty and unloving. No number of kisses or high thrusting pelvis' change the blank-faced expression denying her of the love she seeks inside. I am inside her. She is not inside me. She will realize she will not be the body I imagine as I sit behind my desk, she will not be the one causing my heart to erratically race. The only instance in which either of these phenomenons would occur, is if she committed a crime worthy of me making the move to plunge my knife in her heart.
Deb, my doting sister. If she ever stopped ignoring my behavior out of her love for me, she would see me for who I am. A monster. Void of love, of compassion, and of genuine kindness.