Descendants of Kane (probably won't update anymore, stopped watching)

22

Murphy carefully slammed me down onto the edge of my bed, kissing me passionately. My fingers ran through his messy hair, and he took off his black shirt—my shirt was already thrown across the room.

            Then, I unbuttoned my black pants, and slid them off quickly. Murphy sat down at the head of my bed, and I straddled his lap. His hands ran up and down my back as we kissed, and then Murphy squeezed my butt with one hand and placed his other on the back of my neck.

            I moaned softly, and then Murphy placed his lips on my neck. His hands worked at taking off my bra, and once it fell off he threw it on the floor.

This was the third time in two days that we had sex, and I honestly didn’t mind it what so ever. I’ve been so deprived of Murphy, and I like to think of those two days as our rekindling time.

            My head rest on Murphy’s chest, his hand rested on my ribcage, and he held my right hand with his free one. “Still no word on your dad?” Murphy asked quietly—as if anybody would hear us.

            I sighed, “No, he’s still missing.”

            “When I first arrived at camp I met him for the first time,” Murphy stated.

            I wriggled my hand out of Murphy’s, and stroked his ribcage. I asked curiously, “Did he know you?”

            Murphy smirked, “Of course not, but he was a lot nicer than I expected.”

            “Everyone says that,” I replied with a slight smile, “He’s changed a lot since I’ve been on the ground. Everybody used to hate him and call him a monster for the Culling and letting me be abused, but now there has been search party after search party looking for him.”

            Murphy asked inquisitively, “Does he know about us?”

            “No,” I sighed, “I was too busy almost dying to tell him.”

            “When he comes back and meets me,” Murphy smiled, “Do you think he’ll like me?”

            I ran my fingers through his hair, and I laughed, “I hope so, because you’re not going anywhere.”

            Murphy cupped the side of my face, and placed his lips onto mine and kissed me softly. We kissed for about five minutes, and then Murphy pulled away. “I’m going to the tavern, I need a drink,” Murphy quietly explained, “Do you want to come?”

            I smiled, “Sure.”

We got dressed, but as Murphy was about to put his jacket on I stopped him. “Let me fix your hair,” I stated, “It drives me crazy.”

            He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and asked, “Why and how?”

            I smirked, “It’s always in that pretty face of yours, and so I’ll just braid the top of it.” I pointed to the floor in front of the bed, and Murphy sat on the floor cross legged.

            I used my fingers to comb through his hair, and I gently began to braid three small French braids on top of his head. “I might actually drink something tonight,” I casually said.

            “You don’t have to just because I do,” Murphy said caringly, “I don’t want you to feel pressured, because I know how uncomfortable drinking makes you.”

            I grabbed the brush from my bedside table, and I gently teased the end of his braid. “I don’t feel pressured,” I explained, “I just want to try it out, and I want to have a little fun while I can.”

            Murphy sighed, “I think I drink too much sometimes,” I went silent, because I knew Murphy drank too much. “You think that too, don’t you?”

            I sighed, “I have a bad past with drinking, so I’m not one to say much about that topic.” Then, I finished the second braid.

            He took my hand, and rubbed the back of it. “Don’t let me go over three drinks, alright?” Murphy pleaded.

            “I won’t,” I said as I began on the final braid.

We sat at a table at the tavern, and Murphy sipped at his first cup of whiskey—I was on my second cup. Drinking was ok, I guess. I mean, it wasn’t as horrible as I thought it would be, so that’s a big plus; also, I really like whiskey.

            I tipped the glass so that I could chug the contents, and when it was empty I set the glass onto the table. “Slow down,” Murphy said as he slid my cup away from me.

            Then, I couldn’t stop laughing, and I laughed, “I’m fine. Get me another.”

            Murphy smirked, “You are a weird drunk.” Then, he got up, and went to the bar to get me another drink.

            While Murphy was gone I began to think about Kristy, and how I began to act like her when drunk; first happy, then goofy, then angry, and finally violent. If I continued to get drunker and drunker I was afraid I would seriously hurt somebody, then I would become my worst nightmare.

            I rested my head on my folded arms, and let out a drunken sob. All of my memories of the abuse flooded my mind, and they crippled my body. My dad would just stare as Kristy beat me or threw things at me, and when I would ask him why he didn’t help me he said, “I didn’t know.”

            My body and mind went numb with pain, and I couldn’t bear the weight on my shoulders any longer. Kristy’s lifeless eyes stared at me in hate, and then I could see all of the glassed over eyes of my team of gunners.

            I killed these people. They had families who loved them. They were murdered by me.

            A soft hand rested on my shoulder, but I jumped in panic because I thought it was Kristy. Murphy gazed at me lovingly, and he saw how depressed I was. “Let’s go home,” He stated as he picked me up from the chair.

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, and Murphy cuddled me from behind. He softly kissed me on the cheek, and I smiled. I placed my hand into Murphy’s, and he ran his hand up and down my ribcage.

            “Good morning,” He whispered softly.

            I turned over to face Murphy, and apologized, “Sorry for ruining your night.”

            Murphy brushed my hair out of my face, and he smiled, “You didn’t ruin my night. We now know to not let you get drunk again,” He placed his lips onto mine, and sighed, “I love you.”

            “I love you too,” I replied.