In the day time, Dexter Morgan was a contributing member of society. He worked as a Blood Spatter Analyst in Miami Metro’s Police department. At night however, he was the Bay Harbor Butcher, tracking down criminals that escaped the confines of the broken Law System and slaughtering them.

You and Dexter had met through Debra, a Detective at the station, and Dexter’s adoptive sister. You and Debra were like best friends. You and Dexter managed to hit it off once you met, and after many months, a romance bloomed.

You were kind like no other. If Dexter could feel love in his stone cold heart, he would feel it all for you. He liked being with you, something overwhelmingly peaceful about your presence, and gaze.

About 3 weeks ago, you discovered Dexter’s secret. What he did when no one watched, in the pale dark moonlight of the moon. You knew about his… dark passenger, the need for violence residing in the pits of his very soul. Yet you didn’t do anything. You didn’t go to the police, you didn’t tell Debra, or Angel, or Masuka, you didn’t tell anyone. You just seemed… okay with it.

But that couldn’t be. In Dexter’s mind, he was an unfeeling monster, a predator, foaming at the mouth at just the thought of pouncing on his next prey. The code couldn’t solve this, nor could the Dark Passenger.

Dexter had just gotten home from a kill, a child murderer that slipped through the cracks. He was covered in blood, duffelbag full of sharp silver tools slung over his shoulder. He was sweaty, that glint of satisfaction from the kill steady in his eyes.

He slipped into the familiar comfort of his apartment, the smell of steak filling his senses. “Dexter.” You greeted, smiling, eyes taking in his appearance. “Why don’t you change? I’ve got dinner ready. I can throw those in the washer.” You said sweetly, taking his bag for him. Dexter felt deeply confused. You saw him bloody, you knew, very clearly, that he had just murdered someone. Yet you didn’t care. You were sweet, and kind, and loving, like always.