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

Chapter 8

My head still throbbed as Mudz helped- er, carried me to the kitchen. I was sat at the table, head cradled in my arms while my forehead rested against the cheap laminated wood.

Have you ever bitten your tongue so hard you can feel your heartbeat in it? That was my entire skull at this point.

Whatever Murdoc was making, it smelt good. The radio was loud as shit, but the room smelt good. Like burnt onions and seared meat on the stove, making my stomach growl at the sent. The plate was sat gently down on the table, making very little noise. I could barely look at the plate, but I could tell it was chopped stake for that much. What kind? Fuck if I know, but god did it smell great.

“Here,” was muttered in front of me when something else was set on the table.

It was a small bottle with no cover and no label on it. “Wha’s this?”

“Xanax and pot. It should help the headache. Watch how much you take though, or else ya start seein’ shit... It’s fun, sometimes...” I could hear the smirk on his voice as he said it.

He set a lighter and a glass of water on the table next to the odd bottle before walking back to the other side of the kitchen by the radio. I lifted my arm enough to spill out the bottles contents and feel for the pills. I took two of the small pills and waited.

The lights in the room were dimmed, which helped a bit, but the music was still loud. It took me a second to realise what station it was, but when Murdoc started tinkering with wires I figured out what he was doing. That fucking pirate radio show. He blocked out the music that was being broadcasted through the station and replaced it with his own voice. I didn’t pay attention to what he was saying, I couldn’t really. His words were too fast for my mind to process, but I did understand when he had announced the new song he had recently recorded. He turned off his mic before playing the record. Broken. It sounded so much better after he had edited it.

“Ya really do have a beautiful voice ya know…” I turned my head enough to look in his direction, but he wasn’t looking back at me.

“Why a’ ya being nice ta me right now?”

There was a pause as the song ended, and he cut off his own broadcasting to cut back to the other station trying to get back on air.

“I…” He took a moment to find the right words. “I wanted us to go back to how it was with the others…”

“You know we can’t-”

“Please don’t talk-”

“Noodle is dead… Russell is gone… We’re stuck on this fucking island. Things will never be the same-!”

“Stop. I don’t want to… do anything… rash, like I had before. Just, stop talking… Please.”

Silence.

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The basement was still as cold as it will every be. sitting at the bottom of the sea.

That there be poetry.

And it sucks. Fuck.

At the moment I have good news and bad news. Bad news: I’m out of xanax. Good news: I have rolled weed and a lighter. Bad news: that was almost gone too. Good news: … there’s no more bad news?

This room was completely hot-boxed and I don't think I've ever felt this great on this island. Numb to the world and everything around me. Higher than space with no headaches for miles. Though, how long would this last? This nirvana of nothing could only stay for so long…

The door cracked open, and I didn't even bother to look. I always knew who it would be, there was never anyone else.

“Better?” Was all he asked. I just nodded stupidly as I sat on my bed, head laying against the wall behind me. “You better be, I'm running low, gonna have to get more… somehow…” I think he had tried growing it here before, but I don't think it ever worked. He's not patient enough for plants. We mostly just had supplies dropped by plane, but it didn't come as often as I would like.

I can hear it sometimes. And every time I think, maybe they're here to get me… I'm always wrong.

Murdoc climbed on the bed next to me. “You good enough for a round?” He asked, smirking and pulling up my shirt. He rubbed at my stomach and up my chest. It was still cold down here, but he was warm... So warm...

“Mudz, come on… stop…” I started, trying to scoot away from him, as much as I did enjoy the heat.

“You come on, aren't you horny? It's been over a week since I've gotten off…” his mouth found the side of my neck, “I know how you like it,” hand sliding into my trousers. “You know I know how you like i-”

“No you don't,” I replied, monotone and bored. He ignored me, like he normally did, continuing. Crooked sharp teeth bit at my collar, and his hand groped me through my boxers. I squirmed at his touches. Both good and bad.

He knew what he was doing, and it felt… actually pretty damn. I just don't like it rough like he did. I don't like waking up the next morning, having not know what happened and having bruises run up the length of my entire body...

My mind was working so slow with all the drugs in my system, I couldn't tell what was happening until I was on my stomach, my shirt gone and a pillow in my face. Dull nails raked down my back, leaving bright red lines right down to my waistband.

I was fucked. Or at least, soon to be...