Between the Devil & the Deep Blue Sea

Penny For Your Thoughts

Murdoc stumbled through the portal he usually lazily covers with a poster, falling onto the pillow on the floor. He was clearly drunk and/or on drugs. Based on the fact that he came from hell, who knows what he's on. He lays there holding his head as if he's in the process of realizing the series of mistakes that lead him to this point. I don't think he's noticed my presence quite yet. After he mumbles into the pillow for about a minute, he seems to finally sense that I'm there. His face looks up at mine, and despite his clear attempt to intimidate me with his facial expression, he looks more in pain than anything. I give him a slightly worried smile, pushing back the thoughts of the incoming pain in store for me, once he snaps back to normal and realizes that I had helped him.

"Hey Murdoc. I made you some tea."

He tries to sit up quickly, but lays back down in pain. I am gonna get killed for this. I hold him under his arms at about his upper chest, with my hands holding each other. It almost was like I hugged him from behind. But I used the position to help lift Murdoc, so he was leaning on me. I planned to use that to eventually lead to him leaning against the pillow and the wall, but as I started to reposition myself to do so, Murdoc stopped me. He curled himself onto my lap, so his head rested on my shoulder. I could feel his breath reach the nape of my neck. I would have said something in that moment, had he not rendered me speechless. I expected him to say something or move, but instead, I heard his breathing slow and his body relax. He fell asleep on me.

My body was so sick of being panicked at this point that I just went with it. Murdoc is truly an enigma. He can hardly sleep when he's drunk, I usually listen to him talk for hours about anything on his mind to the point where I think I almost died of exhaustion a few times. But when he just went to me this time, there were no words spoken. I wonder what he's on. Though it hardly matters, since it came from hell, but I'd sort of enjoy it if he was more like this. Less yelling at me about how I'm only in the band because I can sing, and more of, well, whatever this is. I'll probably be beaten to within an inch of my life tomorrow.

I notice him curling further into me, either implying he's having a nightmare, or that he's cold. With the free arm I have, I pull the blanket off of his bed, since it's close enough, I can do that, and I place it atop Murdoc's body. He grabs onto it, and wraps it around himself almost instantly, still shivering. I rub his back comfortingly, and he slowly uncurls and relaxes himself. At this point, I accept death with open arms, because there is no way I am living past tomorrow. If this night alone isn't what pisses Murdoc off, Russel's sudden questioning definitely will.

He's a surprisingly quiet sleeper. I watched his breath rise and fall slowly as the clock ticks lightly in the background. My brain keeps thinking back to the music. We are a band after all. I have this sort of emotional attachment to music. It helps me look back on old memories and see how my mindset on them changed over time. Like how I used to be pissed about Paula cheating on me with my best friend. I'm not as angry about it as I maybe should be, because without that happening, we'd never have Noodle in our lives. A lot of Murdoc's actions lead to mental damage for me, but also somehow work out in a weird way. He ran me over, and I got to be in a band. He fucked my girlfriend, and suddenly we have a badass child as a guitarist. He goes to Hell for a few days, and I have a wonderful week to myself.

Other than both of our clearly crippling mental states due to unchecked emotions starting from childhood trauma and evolving into a series of mental breakdowns that we can't figure out how to cope with, I'd say we are doing okay. My coping mechanism is to hide away in darkness, listen to music, and hope that they can't hear me cry. Murdoc's is to drink. Anything that gets his childhood off of his mind helps him. His strategy works a bit better, because he's gotten to talk about his problems while drunk, whereas I have made no progress opening up. In fact, I feel like since I came here, more and more bottling up of my emotions has happened. I snap sometimes, like how I snapped at Russel today about him asking if I've asked Murdoc where he went. I need to start talking about how I feel more. Oh well.

Murdoc begins to stir from his sleep. How long has it been? I check my watch. It's 5 am. That sounds about right. Murdoc usually wakes up with a hangover around now. I hear him clamor around that time of the morning. When he does, it is comforting in a way. I couldn't tell you how many times I've fallen asleep to Murdoc's walking around when he's hungover. That is until he decides he's annoyed at me for some reason. Anyhow, this time will be interesting. He'll immediately know I'm awake, and even if he didn't, he'd wake me up to question me. There's no backing out now. I had about 5 hours to do that.

Murdoc's eyes slowly open, as he appears to become accustomed to his surroundings.He scans the room, then looks at me. He seems mildly confused, looking at me with a questioning glance as if he doesn't know where he is or who I am. He finally chooses to speak.

"Stu... sweet satan, my head... Dents, what the hell happened last night?" He used my real name for a second there.

"You tell me." I say in a sassy tone that I'm not sure where I mustered.Murdoc looks at me as if I just killed his pet dog. "You came home through there, extremely under the influence of drugs, and fell asleep on top of me while I was helping you sit up to drink hot tea."

"...Shit. 2D, I will deal with you in a second. Don't move, I'll be right back."

He ran off somewhere, I'm unsure why, but then again, I don't really mind. The longer I don't die, the better I guess. He's probably grabbing his switchblade to cut me with, or a bat to hit me with blunt force. I'm all for either of those options. So long as I'm not drowned to death, then I don't have any objections.

He comes back about 30 minutes later with nothing in his hands. That's strange. He usually comes back with something if he was gone that long. What was he up to then? Did he make himself tea? No, he would have come up here with it. I could ask him, but I shouldn't talk unless I know his mood first. He walked over toward me slowly.

"Why'd you do it, Dents?"

"Do what?"

"Why did you help me last night? What do you plan to gain from it?"

"I didn't plan to gain anything from it. In fact, I honestly am expecting that I'm going to lose more by helping you. I did it because I felt like it was the right thing to do."

"...Lose more? Care to elaborate on that part, dullard?"

"Lose my life, mainly. Maybe my position in the band. I wasn't sure which would be worse of a punishment."

"So you helped me while in the mindset that by doing so, you'd die today."

"That's correct."

"Dents, you braindead anime character, why the hell would you do that?! That is one of the stupidest things I've ever heard you say."

I begin to twiddle my thumbs so as to not look in his direction. Maybe I am an idiot for helping Murdoc, but I kind of had hoped that he'd be more mad that I helped him, and not that I thought it would cost me. I guess being lectured won't be the worst thing in the world. Murdoc snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"Get out of your own head, faceache, I'm in the middle of talking to you."

"Sorry."

"As I was saying, we are taking you to a therapist."

Excuse me, WHAT?

My notes:

I need help mentally. Seriously. 2D's inner dialogue may have hit a little too close to home at parts, and I am starting to realize that I may have mental problems. So that's great. I never know what to say here, since I'm positive no one cares about these notes.... Desole is playing in my head right now.