Reality

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

oOo

Murdoc is angry. That's his description in short. It's simple, it's straightforward and it's believable.

His heart feels like a block of cinder in his chest and its choking him, cutting off his air supply and his rational thinking. Pacing is the only thing that alleviates the pain.

Entering the carpark, his only real escape route, isn't an option because he can hear moaning off in the distance. It's throaty and carnal, emanating from 2D's room and the feminine soprano of his partner's voice accompanies the singer's effortlessly.

Kind of like a duet.

All the while Murdoc is desperately trying not to rip his hair out in frustration. He twitches, bites his lips and grinds his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose in order to ward off the fit just waiting to explode from within.

An echo. Another moan.

When the sounds and yells start to escalate in volume he finally reaches his breaking point and he storms out of his mobile home. Geep keys clutched tightly in his hand, he drops himself into the drivers seat and starts the car.

Less than a second later, he's off.

Cold winter air whips through his greasy hair mercilessly but he pays it no mind- rather, he revels in it with the knowledge that its bitterness will serve only as relief to the rotten, sickly feeling settled his gut. He drives down the winding hill and crashes through Kong's rusty gate, speeding off through busy traffic in an ill-conceived attempt to leave his nasty thoughts behind.

(Fuck him.)

Horns sound at him from every direction and he cackles despite himself, turning on the car's radio to drown out the noise and to drown out his thoughts.

He needs a cigarette.

He's driving at what can only be described as an illegal speed down jet black, icy roads, and when he grows tired of driving he finds a more quiet and vacant back road to settle on. He pulls over, turning the car off abruptly and leans his head back against the headrest.

(Fuck him.)

The bitter air nips at his skin and it causes his nose drip, but he ignores it. He places a cigarette between his chapped lips and lights it, inhaling deeply. A dark plume of smoke escapes when he exhales, and it mingles with the light snowfall prettily before dispersing.

Murdoc doesn't bother restarting the car, even after a considerable amount of time comes and passes him. He remains stock-still and he can feel the burning anger in his chest begin to throb. He bites his inner cheek in an attempt to stop himself from yelling, and he hisses in pain when the metallic tang of blood meets his tongue.

"Fuck him."

Pinching the cigarette out of his mouth, he stubs the burning ash against his jean clad thigh and makes the decision to reflect on his life choices.

In a sense.

Really, he's just thinking back an hour or so in time.

He had been sitting in the driver's seat of his Winnebago, fiddling with the radio's knobs, when it happened. It was an average day, from the moment he woke up to the moment something impossibly blue caught his eye in the distance.

He remembers watching 2D arrive in the carpark, alone. Something in his posture told Murdoc that he shouldn't be watching, that something private was going on in front of him and that it would be in his best interest to just look away.