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Dark Heart	By : Bells Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Gorillaz Views: 6566 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Gorillaz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Screw #5

Warnings: I changed most of the character’s backgrounds and ‘real’ names, so bear with me; I was on one of my more annoying creative streaks. YAOI (or SLASH in English), violence, rape, shonen ai (or boy/boy love in English), Murdoc’s POV, violence, S/M relationship.

Pairings: An odd slashy Muds/2D type thing goin’ on, and, once again, I added Sable to the picture.

Thanks: To my mum fer being the bitch she is and grounding me to my room for a week…thus giving me the “down time” needed to find all me old Gorillaz junk and become inspired to write this Arc.

Reviews: Would be appreciated greatly! Practical analysis will be accepted and taken into consideration; however flames that were MEANT to insult me will be laughed at, stripped, and left to run naked among my review board. Muahahahahaha. Eat me you critics!

~*~

I turned around myself, pacing back and forth, trying to crush the adrenaline rush I had been recently surviving off of. It had become too strong. The need to run, eat, fuck and generally move around had become too dangerous a thing, and it needed to be destroyed. I would not leave the sanctuary of my home.

I scratched again at my shoulder, shaky fingers running along evidence of bone and discolored, poorly treated skin. I had been cooped up in here for days, maybe weeks, but I hadn’t been keeping track. It didn’t matter, not until I was cured. I was still so self-conscious; I was still so nervous and frightened. I hated it with a passion that had yet to be extinguished, but only with blood and suffering.

My nightmares, they killed me little by little each and every night. The memories, the pain, all of it rushing back to me as soon as I closed heavy eyes. I hated them as well. I hated the person who had caused them, I hated my parents, I hated the gang that had found me, I hated my own damn band, I hated my bass, I hated 2D, I hated myself. I hated life. But there was nothing I could do to throw away all this anger, no release.

I had tried beating into my pillows, trying not to break or destroy anything I would want again later. That hadn’t worked, and now I sleep with my head on the mattress, random feathers and stuffing remains scattered around my bed. I had tried the wall, but that had been a bad idea from the start. A few dozen holes of all shapes and sizes littered my walls, my doors, and, even though the act had worked well, the damage was bound to become expensive, so I stopped. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to drink or smoke. Yes I had long since admitted I needed 2D, but I loathed the thought of his presence, his stare, his smile. I never wanted to set eyes on him again. I was left with nothing, and for a few days, I had been content merely just avoiding my mirror, my windows, my TV and liquor. But that hadn’t lasted long at all.

Now I couldn’t stop berating myself as I stared hard at my reflection, watched other people’s lives on the News, drowned my sorrows merely for a headache the next morning, hid myself from the world outside my Bago. I couldn’t do it anymore, and I was so sure I would die soon, either from lack of energy and health, from fatigue, or merely because I put my razor to newer uses, but I never got that far, or that close to suicide. Sure it was an option, but not a highly recommended one as of yet. I still thought I had a chance.

A once in a million lifetime chance, but a long shot nonetheless.

Something kept nagging at me though, pulling at me from the back of my mind. No one, not even Noodle, had come out to see why I hadn’t shown up for the last few week’s practices, meetings, or anything for that matter. It bothered me in a greater way then it would have had it not been for 2D’s impetuous advance, but now it made me feel even more worthless as a member of this band, and that feeling was something I could do without right now.

I groaned weakly and threw myself down into my bed and my covers, the gray sheets puffing up lightly with the landing of my slowly decreasing weight. Then proceeded to smother myself half-heartedly. It almost worked too, if it hadn’t been for the sudden sound of my rather loud phone ringing off its hook. Tumbling to the floor with an unpleasant thud, I just sat and watched the black cordless take the call. Just a few more minutes and the answering machine would pick it up, plenty of time to get off my lazy bum ass and get the receiver, but I was frozen.

The distinctive click and then the beep was heard, all before the world came crashing down with the low voice on the other line.

“Murdoc, I know your in there, you haven’t come out in days.”

It was 2D, god damn him, god damn him to fucking hell.

“I can see you through your window sometimes, you must be starving eh? Well, all you have to do is ask.”

I began a growl low in my throat, before cutting it off and realizing that he wouldn’t hear it.

“I know I’m winning Murdoc. You wouldn’t have gone into hiding. But, I know why you’re scared, I know why you’ve burrowed away from civilization and your band. You’re afraid. Afraid I’ll find something you can’t do, something you can’t handle.”

I sat still in silent waiting, listening as he laughed evilly.

“Don’t deny it, just accept it. I won’t give up, and you know it, don’t you?”

The click and the dial tone was the only other method I could have found to tell me he had cut it off, but what brought me back to reality was my own heartbeat. My breathing rate had gone up, and I hadn’t noticed, too intent on hearing what the dullard had to say to me this time. My forehead was sweating horribly and I was suddenly glad I had put a shirt on this morning, because the next thing I saw was my reflection in my mirror.

Gasping now, I thought I had fainted, seeing my manifestation as a ten year old in torn, ragged street clothes, a red substance on the cheeks and dried to form clumps in the h The The mismatched eyes were wide and scared, yet seemed wise and knowing. His shirt was a long sleeve turtle neck made for adults but the only thing he could find looting through people’s garbage, his pants nothing more than sweats cut with a trusted pocket knife to fit his short legs. His arms were scratched and the loss of blood painfully obvious in the paleness of his skin, the shreds hanging behind the kid telling all. This boy had been raped. They had saved him his clothes, if only a little. His flank hung out to be bit by the cool breeze if his shirt strayed too far upward, the pants in ruins. His thighs were coated with his own copper life bearing fluid and his back torn to bits even through the shirt.

I choked at the sight, my chest lurching painfully. My hand flew to cover my heart and I grasped at it, as if to make everything go away by pulling it from its coffin. Tears caught on my eyelids and I sobbed dryly, shouting at myself, fighting back the urge to just ball my tension out. I feared what less I could become though, and so, kept everything inside with great difficulty.

I eventually curled forward, tucking myself in with my forehead balancing my body up on the ground. I just sat there for a good, ten minutes, whimpering and moaning at the migraine before dropping back to my side and breathing heavily. I knew the picture in the mirror was gone, but, just in case, I didn’t look back at it.

Croaking, I sat up slowly, filled to the brim with an impulse so strong I followed it step by step to my window, and let my head bang against the glass as I stared out at the parking garage. Somehow, the world seemed different, more open, more tactile and real. It swirled and turned, the wind keeping the life circulating and centered around one point. The focal point. Placed not far from the very middle of my vision, was 2D.

He stood casually at his door, leaning against its open frame with his navy blue cord attached phone twirling around his hand. He was watching the device make slow movements around his fingers, his stare meditative and serious. He didn’t know I was watching him. Within the depths of his expression, I took care to notice, was a great sadness and guilt, an overlying emotion of anger and then the stronger feeling of shame. It was a mask I had never before seen on such a robust person, that I almost gave a second thought to speaking to him.

All my hopes of emerging from my hideaway were shattered when he suddenly smiled one of his wicked little smiles, and returned to his room quietly.

With the weight of my body and the misery within my darkened soul falling to follow the law of gravity, I sank to the floor and closed my eyes. This world, in all its glorious beauty and turmoil, had no place for me, and I longed to leave it. I did not want to be here, I did not want the past that I had, I did not want this band and 2D. I didn’t want to be who I was, whom I turned out to be.

All little kids, as they grow up, have dreams, wonderful visions of their life as adults. Some want to be vets, others scientists, astronauts, cowboys. I just wanted to survive to live another day. Living on the streets tended to make you think that way. I never had the chance to look so far into the future. If I ever did, I would probably be killed. I had learned that lesson first, at the age of ten.

Shuddering, I screamed now, destroying the rapidly returning memories of the giant and his deep voice before they could venture any deeper. Banging my head into the window sill of my Bago I cringed before falling back to the floor in a mass of emotions, the same mass that had been locked away since that very same day 26 years ago.

It was a living nightmare to rouse up everyday, expecting the worse and getting it. I hated it, and I think I’ve already explained that. 2D just made it thicker and deeper, the depression sinking with every waking hour. His phone call just now had opened my eyes to a vision of myself that lonely night those long years ago, and now I understood little more as to the way it was affecting me now.

God damn him…god damn him to fucking hell thrice more.

~*~

Kneeling, I grasped my inverted cross and ripped it from my neck. There was no use wearing it or worshipping it if my deity wasn’t going to help me in my greatest time of need. I know, fat chance Satan was going to soften just to lend me a hand, but hey, I had gotten desperate and disadvantaged. It was October now, just a little over two months of hiding out in my Bago, half starved and dreary. My body was screaming at me, ‘eat, drink, sleep, do it now or else’, but I couldn’t hear it. I was busy piecing together my pity and pride.

I could find nothing of my Mask left to fix, and, in all my psychopathic glory, had actually crawled around my carpet, loo for for the indiscernible bits that had shattered those many weeks ago.

I had grown oh so pathetic, and I was tired of living this way, fearing anything that could trigger more memories, locking myself away from all this trepidation. 2D had not tried to get a hold of me anymore; either that or he was just waiting for his chance. I doubted the previous, and suspected the later more with every passing second of every passing hour of every passing day.

Yes, I was actually waiting for him, although I denied it to everything around me.

Shuddering with my sheets spread around me at my knees as the cold autumn breezes seeped through my old windows and through the holes in my walls that I had made, I clenched my eyes shut tight. I chucked the necklace still in my hand at whatever was in front of me, and fell backwards as a powerful force of guilt and close regret threw itself into my being. I knew I would never have the faith I once did in my Dark Prince when the cross hit the floor, my trust in him had been proved against and now he was eternally angry with me. I was destined to join him in Hell, but now my stay would be a tortured one.

Sighing a pained sigh, I fell limp in the midst of my bed, and opened my glazed eyes. Everything seemed darker, less appreciated, and I had the sudden urge to taste my own blood. It was a creepy feeling, and somewhere in the depths of my subconscious, I knew it was because I turned my back on my religion. I didn’t trust Satan anymore, and so I didn’t trust myself, or anyone else for that matter. My iron clad will was slowly, ever so slowly, breaking down. It was a most painful process, and it hurt internally.

Without so much as a second thought, I leapt from my mattress with renewed strength that had come from nowhere, and snatched my razor from the sink in my bathroom. With my breathing unsteady and my hands shaky I brought the sharp end down on the top of my arm, not my wrist. I did not want to kill myself, but I wanted to get this pain out of my system. I heard myself, and the noises escaping my throat, and if anyone other than 2D would have been listening, they would have thought I were jacking off or in the midst of fucking someone.

It wouldn’t have been a lie if I were to say I was pleasuring myself, because I was. The sight of blood and the loosening of tension felt like the best blowjob in the world in a manner of speaking. I smiled through the midst of my arm moving across my skin, cuts ranging from mere scratches to some that might need stitching later. I laughed through moans and sounds of bliss, and then stopped. My strength had deserted my system, and now I was left leaning over my washbasin, blood flooding down my left arm.

I was convinced now, that I had gone completely nuts.

~*~

TBC
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Dark Heart