Dents

[+] Circle Of Friendz

((This chapter contains mature or potentially triggering content. Reader discretion is advised.))

I didn't know how long I spent in that slimy sinkhole of a house recording that cheap excuse for an album. Any time was far more than I'd have liked.

A mildew ridden stench leaked from the porous walls. The recording studio was as dark and cramped as a grave. I despised every second trapped in the dungeon, with its stale smoke, peeled wallpaper, and the tatters of old posters marking up the concrete. It was bare, desolate, and it irritated my sinuses unlike anywhere else in the building.

This was not to mention the added difficulty thanks to the company of Murdoc, typically in a drunken stupor, rambling ceaselessly and creating more work for 2D and I who had to edit that useless babbling out of the finished product.

To my surprise, Murdoc arranged for numerous featured artists to perform more than half of the album's content. 2D's own talent had been pushed to the back burner. Under these circumstances, it was a blessing.

We spent most days slacking off, playing impossibly difficult video games and watching scary movies.

When we got really bored, we'd sometimes play cards with Noodle and Russel. Despite the fact it was essentially just a one on one match between Noodle and I, the boys made an honest effort to hold their own.

Murdoc's hours toiled by with him sulking around the place alone more often than not.

Every once in a while, he'd peer out from his bedroom, his expression painted in something I couldn't define. On those evenings, he never moved further than the doorway, watching the four of us from his lair at the back of the house. Something was obviously eating him up from the inside out.

His behavior was so pathetic that I actually pitied him. A little, anyway.

Days turned to months, which eventually progressed to seasons. Before I had even noticed, a year and some change passed us by.

The leaves outside occasionally varied with dull shades of orange and red. Most of them were a dirty, dishwater brown. Layers covered the streets, yards and sidewalks of our small London subdivision, slick with rain and the cold.

In the living room on one of those chilly autumn nights, I sat in 2D's lap. We were reading a compiled assortment of short horror stories together. He had to tell me to slow down with flipping the pages a few times. His eyesight was passable at best and his migraines made concentrating a difficult feat.

I had taken to watching his pale, fascinated expression in the brief periods it took for him to catch up. I loved the way his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at some of the bigger words. I loved the fragrant, strawberry scent of his hair.

I loved him.

"Yew can flip et now," he said. My attention was drawn back to the book. I hesitated, thumbing the edge of the page. 

It was getting close to Halloween, and inevitably, the album's eventual release date.

"2D... What are you going to do? When we finish recording, I mean."

The possibilities had been gnawing at me for a while. I hoped he would have an answer. Some part me knew how unlikely that would probably be.

I had started trying to imagine the future, something I avoided doing for years. Still, the end of the month felt like an eternity away. I had no plan for then.

I was startled at the sound of the paperback sliding across the hardwood floor, which had been sanded smooth since the incident three days after our arrival. 2D brought his newly free arm to my side, resting his icy fingertips just below my hip bone. His hand traced delicate, alien shapes into my skin.