″[Mother] reared back to slap me. I saw it coming, so when she swung I grabbed her hand […] She couldn’t hit me because I had her arms, so she tried to kick me. As she did, I let go of her hands and she lost her balance and fell to the floor and she started crying, crying really hard.”
“I felt a lot better. I always did, after. Killing makes me feel good. It works the knots out of darling Dexter’s dark schemata. It’s a sweet release, a necessary letting go of all the little hydraulic valves inside. ”
“‘I’m fine.’ It’s a lie. I am not fine. My head is a symphony of pain, a sadistic master maestro conducting an opus of excruciating, devastating perfection.”