Plastic Prison (Gorillaz fanfic) (2D x Murdoc)

Chapter 7

(2D’s POV)

I think I’ve been in here for a good… ten minutes, maybe? I have no concept of time, but I’ve just been pacing around this room for who knows how long, and I haven’t gotten any further instructions on what to do. I’ve started organizing paper at this point. I don’t know what I’m doing, I never clean! My basement room isn’t even clean and I barely have anything down there to make a mess of!

There was nothing but pens, and rum, and unfinished songs. Most of the songs weren’t readable in the slightest, but the ones that were, were actually nice. His penmanship was shit, but the lyrics…

I kept finding different versions of ‘Broken’ in its earlier stages. A lot of them were almost poetic… and, the more poetic they seemed, the more they were crumpled and torn they were. Like he hated the beautiful words that he wrote on these pages.

The door behind me creaked open, and I didn’t even turn around. I Put the papers on the desk, placing my hands on either side of the stack.

“Wha’ is this?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “W-Why… was this different than the last times? Than all the otha’ songs!” He still hadn’t answered.

“Where going back to the basement,” he said flatly.

“Please… Don’ make me…”

I heard him inhale when he walked towards me, setting his hands on my shoulders in a light grip.

“And why not?” he asked, speaking slowly.

“C-cause… I’’s cold…” I stuttered, choosing my words carefully when I was around him. He smelt like rum, but not enough to be drunk like he usually would be.

“That can be fixed,” He spoke confidently, wrapping his arms around my waist. He pressed his face into the back of my neck. I was shaking at this point.

“S-stop.”

“Why should I?” His hands settled on my hips, feeling at the waistband of my boxers. I really should have put on more clothes before we left that fucking basement. “Ooh, ya know you like it,” hands groped through the only thin material I still had on.

“Seriously, I think we should stop-”

“And I think we should continue-”

“Enough of this!” I tried to move away, to get some distance between us, but there was little space between Murdoc and the studio table. “Get off of me. Now!”

His grip on my hips got tighter, worsening the dark bruises from before. “And what gives you the authority to order me to do anything.” His voice became deep and threatening. I winced at the pain.

“Wha’... wha’ gives ya any authority over me?”

He took in a deep inhale, releasing my hips before trailing his hands up my torso.

“Oh Stu-Pot… why can’t we go back to when you were more fun. When you were actually down for a good fuck! And you weren’t such a big bitch about it…” Before I knew what he was doing his arms were under my armpits, and he had my arms trapped in his. “Because at this point… I basically own you.”

I thrashed in his grip, trying to move in any way possible. And I couldn’t move.

“This!” I yelled.

“This what?”

“This is why we can’t go back to how it was!” His grip slacked a bit, but I’m sure it would get worse if I struggled again. “The- The fighting and- and-”

“We’re going back to the basement.” All at once his grip tightened, and I was being dragged backwards into the hallway, and then the elevator.

And all at once, I was struggling again. I kicked my legs and swung my arms. It didn't do much, bit it did enough to get an arm loose. And that's when I struck him in his fucking nose. He dropped me to hold his face in pain, looking up at me in an almost amazed stare. The distance I had created between us had soon closed as he returned the hit.

My nose felt both numb and in pain at the same time, and I knew it was bleeding. A kick to my ankles and another to my shins knocked me to the floor, where he straddled me. I’d kicked my legs, but he sat on my thighs, and when I went to hit him again, he took my wrists in one hand.

I was so tired. It only took him two swings before I blacked out.

-------------------------

Another unknown amount of time passes before I wake up. My head was throbbing, and I whimpered in pain at the new sentation of blood on my face. I tasted copper and I felt like utter shit. One thing oddly stood out though…

I was warm.

Like, really warm.

I hurt too much to really open my eyes, and went I did, the room was dark anyways. I couldn't see jack-shit, and I was more confused than I had ever been in the last few days. I tried to pick up my head, but the instant I had, sharp pain went through the back of my head. I let out a little cry of pain before dropping it back onto one of the pillows.

I let out another whimper when I felt a rough hand stroke my arm.

“I’m sorry luv… I didn' mean ta hit ya…” he spoke softly. I wanted to say something back to him, but it hurt to even think of the right words to say. I think, in a way, he really was sorry. Like, if he just though before he did things on instinct, we wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't be in this mess.

I wouldn't be on this island. With a breaking Murdoc. With a broken Murdoc.

“How ya doin’?” He asked, expecting some kind of answer. I opened my mouth to speak, but I could only let out whimpers and gasps. I felt the weight of the mattress dip when he went to sit down. “Can you at least talk?” His voice was a little more harsh now. I slowly brought my hands to my head, trying to silently tell him that everything hurt. “Are you not takin’ ya pills?”

'I don't have anymore,’ I wish I could say, but all I could manage was a small, “No.”

“Well why the hell not?” His voice got softer again.

“I… ain't got none more…”

He let out a gruff sigh of anger. “... Shit,” he said to himself, taking his arm off mine. I missed the warmth. I missed the only human contact I've had in days…

I missed bacon…

As if on cue, my stomach turned, making a low groan of its own.

“How many days has it been since you last ate?” He asked, more annoyed than concerned.

“Don't know.”