Achromatic

Chapter Eighteen

A/N: Just a fair warning; if any of yall are sensitive to subjects such as substance or physical abuse, I would read the next chapter with caution. I just don't want anyone to he hurt is all and I love all my readers ♡

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The cycle of endless intoxication and dreariness had taken Murdoc into its grasp by the time mid-January rolled around. Time became an illusion, and so were the days that passed him by. Just like the rooms in the flat, Murdoc grew colder and more anxious with every beer he drank and every cigarette he dragged.

His body ached constantly.

All he could think about was numbing himself. Getting rid of the pain that seeped in his tired body and made it impossible to eat or sleep. Murdoc soon realized that alcohol wasn't the solution.

He needed something stronger. Something that would take him out of his misery-at least for a while.

Murdoc paced around the flat, pondering and looking through the kitchen cabinets for anything that could ease him. Dozens of cans of soup and beans fell to the floor and rolled through the kitchen. Open bags of instant oatmeal and saltine crackers were thrown at the wall, exploding and sending its contents everywhere.

All he saw was food, which was nothing but garbage to him.

Ease the pain, ease the pain, make it go away, Murdoc endlessly repeated in his mind. His temples continued to throb and his stomach lurched with every motion he made.

Then the thought hit him like a brick to the head.

2D's migraine perscriptions. Bottles. Painkillers.

Pills.

Within less than 5 minutes, Murdoc had consumed half of a bottle of 2D's paracetamol-that or it was either aspirin, ibuprofen or a combination of all three.

Murdoc couldn't care less. He flushed the pills down with some water, letting them sink into his system. His head continued to pound, and every thought he had made him ache more. He looked at his reflection in the mirror.

His hair was slick with grease, just as it usually was. However, small bits of dandruff appeared just above Murdoc's scalp and fell on his shoulders like snow whenever he scratched his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and one of them was twitching and pulsing involuntarily. Plaque coated his teeth and his tongue was starting to dry up and turn white.

He was an image of pity and self-destruction.

An absolute madman.

"I suppose you don't mind if I help myself," Murdoc said to the mirror. "After all, he won't be needing these. It would be a waste to throw 'em out."

He held another bottle of prescription in a shaky hand. His eye began to twitch faster than before.

"Don't worry, I won't be taking any more after today," Murdoc said, with a louder tone than before. "I'm doing you a favour, aren't I?"

He made a small pile of pills in his hand and closed the medicine cap. With a swift motion, Murdoc swallowed 3 of them and washed them down with a swig of water.

But what good would it do? Murdoc thought madly. You're not sick. Just sick in the head, you bastard.

"Stop it."

Inhale. Exhale. Don't forget to breathe.

The door below him slammed. Just as Murdoc was about to finish the rest of the pills, there was a small yell, followed by the sound of metal clanking.