Between the Devil & the Deep Blue Sea

Dead in the Water

It's been about 28 days since Murdoc hit me. It's kinda strange, but I miss the feeling. Murdoc being an awful person to me was something I got used to. I wasn't really ready for him to be like this. Russel is on high alert. I think he thinks Murdoc is planning something. In a way, he is.

In a few days, I'm going to Hell with him. I haven't told Russel yet. What am I supposed to tell him? I could tell him Murdoc and I are visiting my mom for the week. I doubt he'd believe that though. Maybe Murdoc has a plan. I should ask him about this. Maybe tell him about how weird it is that I miss him hitting me too. That's probably a bad idea, actually.

I begin walking to my room. I'll ask him later. I know how hard Murdoc is trying, but no matter what he does, I just feel worse. Before, at least I felt like I had valid reasons to feel as awful as I do all the time. Now, I don't have any excuse, and yet I still feel that I should just give up on everything and just never leave my bed until I die. I guess one thing hasn't changed: Murdoc is the only reason I haven't succeeded at that yet. Before, if I wasn't there to record, then I'd wish I was dead by the end of his attacks. Now, he's always checking up on me to make sure I'm okay before asking for my help.

Sitting on my bed in the near dark, I think of the pain Murdoc used to cause me. All the times I was beaten to near death by him. It sort of freaked me out, but I began to crave that feeling again. The adrenaline, the pain, the scars he left behind. So intricate and well thought out. I felt so sick for relishing the thought of feeling such pain. And yet, I can't get myself to stop thinking about it. The fear I had while I was attacked made me feel like I was truly alive.

Before I knew what I was doing, one of Murdoc's switchblades I kept had caressed my skin on my arms multiple times. Streaks of crimson dared to quickly build up. My arms felt like they were ablaze, and I soon felt drunk off the feeling. The feeling faded when I realized I couldn't let people see this. I rushed to my bathroom, locking myself inside. I looked at myself in the mirror. What have I become? I am a shadow of what I once was. And, in a way, it's all my fault.

I'm the one who climbed so high into that tree that I fell and got azure hair. I'm the one who picked a bad girlfriend. I'm the one who decided to work at the music store instead of at the fair. I'm the one who just cut my own arms. There's no excuse for this: I'm the problem in my own life.

I stare at my damaged figure. Blackened eyes, thin stature, blue hair, blood stained arms, and missing teeth. Pathetic. I should shower off the blood, and wear long sleeves. People never seem to notice what I'm wearing, so I don't see the difference now. I used to cover up Murdoc's scars with long sleeves and no one questioned me then. I turn on the water. It's cold. I deserve that. I watch as the water that falls off my arms has a pinkish hue. I'm used to that. The difference is it's self inflicted this time. In a way that makes me want to smile, but it also makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Once I finish showering away all the blood, I change into long sleeves and make my way downstairs. I usually would have put a t-shirt on over top of the long sleeves, but I didn't even bother. I just put on the first long sleeves I could find. It's the one that Murdoc had bought but it never fit him right so he gave it to me. I'll admit, the sleeves were a bit long, even for me. But that's exactly what I need right now. It's a bit scary that it's a creamish color though. If any rogue blood decides to show itself through, I'm done for.

Then again, why should I care? They should know by now that I'm not happy, and nothing is working. It was inevitable that I tried this. The half that said I have to hide my arms won. Now downstairs, I immerse myself into the atmosphere of the room. Russel is in the kitchen, probably cooking. Noodle is watching anime: Sailor Moon, I believe. Murdoc is drinking something and staring at me from the corner of the living room. The stare makes me uncomfortable, like he knows something that I don't, or worse, that I do.

I stand there awkwardly. I don't know what to do or say to these people. I decide to just focus my attention on Murdoc. After about a minute of staring at one another, Murdoc stood up and walked past me, bumping into my shoulder. I winced in pain. It was a normal human reaction to an injury being put under stress. And yet, I regretted that I let slip any kind of reaction. Murdoc walked away for a minute, then returned. He grabbed my wrist, which was excruciatingly painful. I loved it. He pulled me to his room. I was clearly in a lot of trouble. I sat down.

"Dents, what the fuck did you do?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Fine. If you're gonna be like that about it, I'll put all the evidence on the table." Shit. I'm done for. "Open switchblade on your bed. Bloodied towel in the garbage. The use of a long sleeved shirt. Clearly recently used shower. Don't think I'm completely oblivious, dullard."

I hang my head low. I can't bear to look him in the eyes. There's something seriously wrong with me. Why did I cut myself? Why did I miss when Murdoc hurt me? So many questions and not enough answers. I hardly notice that Murdoc lifted up my sleeves to look at my arms. They weren't bleeding at least. He gently caressed the inflamed skin on my arms. It was sort of soothing in a way.

"Why did you do it?" My black holes glanced his way as he spoke. This was gonna be a tough thing to say.

"I-I don't know. I sort of missed how you beat me, and how alive I felt. Instead of this numbness that surrounds me, I felt something. It sounds insane, but I think... I wanted to recreate the feeling I had. Murdoc, tell me I'm crazy for thinking these things. I must be, right?"

Murdoc looks at me funny for a second. My hands are shaking. I can't handle the tension.

"Oh, you're serious. You really want me to call you insane for being a masochist, 2D? I mean, I sort of knew. The weird way you have acted the past month was proof enough to me. So you're really only telling yourself here. I mean, if the marks on your arms aren't proof enough, I don't know what is."

"What are you talking about?"

"How do I put this? Alright. You subconsciously wrote 'I miss you' on your arms. Follow the cuts, tell me I'm wrong."

I follow the cut lines carefully with my finger. He wasn't wrong.

"But... I don't understand. What's a masochist? And what does this mean?"

"Chill, it doesn't mean much of anything, really. Being a masochist just means you take pleasure in your own pain. This is fairly common. Though I'm sort of surprised you actually snapped enough to hurt yourself."

"I mean, if I asked you to hurt me until I felt better I think you'd have said no." There was a moment of silence. "...right?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I guess it really is a case by case basis kind of thing." He turns away. Strange response, and even stranger behavior. "I'll be right back. Don't leave, we have to talk about the vacation when I get back here."

"Oh, okay. Be back soon!"

It's so strange how often he leaves conversations with me midway. Am I that awkward to talk to? Or is there something else that's stopping him? I wonder if it's a means of restraint. Then again, I don't see any particular signs that he gets angry though. Quite the opposite, actually. He seems to always loosen up right before he decides to disappear. 

Well, I suppose I should just ask about it when he returns. In the meantime I'll sit here in the darkness, pondering on my approach to Murdoc in his return.

Author's Note:

I actually have nothing to say this time. Oh yeah... my build up for the reveal is going great so far... You'll be shocked when it's finally revealed.