𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋 ; 𝟸𝚍𝚘𝚌

chapter thirteen

this is the next day, but in the hospital since that's the setting for the most of the remainder of the book!

chapters remaining: 2

[this was written of the course of a few weeks btw]

enjoy!

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Murdoc paced around the small room, taking small glances at the hospital bed sat in the middle of the room. Noodle sat in one of the chairs, glaring at him as she drifted in and out of sleep.

"This is your fault, you know," she said quietly, but her tone was anything but nice. In fact, it radiated pure rage. "What the hell are you talking about? How is this my fault? He's the one who swallowed an entire bottle of Vicodin," Murdoc accused, and Noodle stood abruptly. "Of course, you never do anything wrong. He's not in a coma because of how you treated him on New Year's Eve. Oh wait– that's incorrect. I saw what you did. I saw you hit him. No wonder he tried to kill himself," she said before walking over to the hospital bed where 2D lied.

The man was hooked to at least ten different machines and sat perfectly still. If it weren't for the heart monitor's steady beeping, one would think that he was dead. "I'm so sorry for his actions and the words he said to you. Please, please wake up," Noodle whispered, grasping the hand that lacked the pulse oximeter in both of hers.

"I hope you're happy, Murdoc. You almost get one of us killed, then a few years later, someone else. If he dies, I'm done. You'll be dead to me."

At that, she left the room, roughly closing the door behind her. Murdoc just stood there dumbfounded, unable to speak. Then suddenly, he began to sob, crying his eyes out as he sank to the floor. The realization that Noodle was most likely right crushed him.

He knew he felt the same way—he always had—but it was shock. Nothing more, nothing less than the pure surprise that his feelings were reciprocated. And now... now there was nothing he could do. No apologies. Now, there was only time and patience. Time that no one had, and patience nobody wanted to endure.

xx

Days had passed. Too many for Murdoc to count, but he knew it had been more than a week. 2D's condition neither got better nor did it get worse. The bluenette was just... there, as unconscious as he'd been the night he'd overdosed. His position had not changed, nor had the numbers on each of the monitors.

It brought Murdoc back to the long period of time when 2D was barely an adult. It was his fault then, as it was now, but with only a slight difference. This time, the bluenette had the idea that he wouldn't wake up—that he'd just die right on the spot, because it was what he wanted.

The bluenette looked peaceful—as if he were only asleep; not under comatose because of a suicide attempt.

Murdoc stood from the uncomfortable plastic chair he'd been glued to and stretched. His joints ached and when he blinked, it burned because of how much he'd cried. Tears still fell, though, and wouldn't cease.

It was quiet albeit the noises of the various machines, which Murdoc knew the sound of too well. It had been like this for days. The steady beeping was all he heard, and it was burned into his eardrums.

He exited the room and walked straight towards the closest bathroom, knocked, and walked in when he knew nobody was occupying it.

Murdoc looked in the mirror, unfazed by his appearance. It had stayed the same the entire time he'd sat in the hospital room: bags under his eyes because he'd barely slept and they were red-rimmed and bloodshot. His hair was also a mess, sticking up in the back when it was normally combed neatly.