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Dark Heart	By : Bells Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Gorillaz Views: 6565 -:- 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
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Stimulus #1

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any rights of Gorillaz, including their names or their person. I only play with them using words. I do not make money off of this and I never will. Don't sue me.

Warnings: I changed most of the character’s backgrounds and 2D’s ‘real’ name, so bear with me; I was on one of my more annoying creative streaks and currently high (THANK you Neb). YAOI (or SLASH in English), violence, reference to rape, shonen ai (or boy/boy love in English), Murdoc’s POV, mention of Gundam Wing characters (only they have different names, people who KNOW G.Wing will know who they are and the quote at the end is REALLY obvious), 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!

~*~

My brain twirled and my eyes were sore, but I pressed on; I had to get everyone back before I mentally and physically collapsed.

This had turned out to be the worst of all our accomplishments, of all our tours. I knew it, 2D knew it, hell even Russ and Noodle knew it. But I was the only one to keep quiet about it. I hated failure. It never had been, wasn’t, and never will be an option for me. If there was one thing in my life that I wasn’t going to make the grade for, it wasn’t going to be my band.

2D sighed besides me, his head lent bacto tto the top of the seat, his eyes closed. He must have been just as tired as I was, but I would give him no pity, he didn’t deserve it, and yet he didn’t want or need it. Russel was directly behind me, murmuring something between him and Noodle and yawning every now and then. Noodle I think was asleep.

Rningning my eyes to the road I focused on the little yellow lines and the shoulder, trying not to transgress either one, and drove silently the rest of the way home.

Our tour had been a disaster. Nothing was as organized as described and I believe I actually had lost my bass in there somewhere during one point. My temper had not been ready to deal with such frustration, and I can remember sucker-punching 2D, who had been standing harmlessly to my side. I didn’t mean to hurt HIM, necessarily, but he’s the only one to ever let me get away with it.

I knew he wasn’t afraid of me, I knew he didn’t cower from me, because he knew what would come out of that. I respected him in a way, to put up with my abuse, but I also sort of feared the dullard. Hinse nse of calm towards nearly everything was sometimes just what terrified me, most the other times was how you couldn’t gauge a reaction out of him by looking at his eyes. He didn’t have eyes. When he was younger he had to have both removed due to a cancer that he had inherited from his father’s side. The pores within his sockets still functioned though, and a darkened, UV protective lens was placed over where his eyeballs would have sat and created a hollowed out look for the young man, his entire “eyes” being black and startling.

If it wasn’t the demoralizing way his eyes were, it was whenever he smiled. His eyebrows didn’t move unless he was truly happy, so any other time he looked just plain sinister. I know everyone thought of me as the ‘evil-one’, but they never really got to see 2D. They were all caught up in his innocent beauty. And yes, the kid was beautiful. The bright blue dye he used to keep his hair the same color for ages had ted ted to quickly come on to the appearance of being his normal hair color, which went perfectly with his eerie eye condition. His lanky appearance, with his lengthened, strapping legs and svelte arms gave off the radiance of power whenever he wasn’t singing. He equaled myself, and we liked to keep the peace that way. I took my anger out on him, and he controlled his by letting me beat it out of his consciousness. We did each other a favor, and you can obviously tell who was more submissive.

2D was the masochist of our group, he loved the pain, and he loved the beatings. I was the sadist, I loved distributing the pain, and I loved distributing the beatings. He never once told me to stop or ‘that was enough’, because the longer I punched, kicked, bit, or generally slapped him around the easier it became for him to become aroused. Of course, I never stayed long after he had come to the state of an erection, because I owed him his privacy in the least for letting me borrow his body.

He was stronger than he appeared.

Russ was a whole ‘nother story in itself. The man was a living survivor of male rape, and was living his life serenely well. He never suffered from PTSD like most did before killing themselves; he merely went to a doctor every so often to get everything off his chest. He knew I couldn’t do anything to comfort him, he knew the same about 2D. Del was the only one who he could really talk to but the smart-ass ghost would soon loose concentration and Russ would find his bad humor. Noodle, of course, was too young.

We didn’t try to assist Russ because we knew we couldn’t, not to be cruel or cold, but to keep him from being hurt more.

He had started up percussion on trash cans in the alleyways of his birth city to be able to beat his inner ire out on something that wouldn’t break as easily or bleed, but soon became infatuated with the instruments, the music and found classes and people to teach him to truly learn. He wound up as a natural. Other than the rape though, Russel had plenty of other things to be pissed about. Like, the witnessing of his friends, Harvard Corps, Mueller Thighben, Ravasha Collins, Bradly Morgan, Trent “Two-Bit” Freeman, Milliardo Crafter, and of course, Del (enter last name) b mur murdered around him. They had been his family whilst living in the orphanage his parents had dumped him in when he was five. They had all been eighteen when the drive-by shoot out had happened in their hometown, downtown Detroit, Michigan. Russel survived; only receiving a bullet wound to his right thigh and left bicep.

The Bloods, thng tng that had produced the deaths, had had a grudge against Russel J. Hobbs since day one. His sense of pick pocketing and robbery surpassed their finest, and made them look bad, even though they were blamed for the crimes. The rest from there is history. The only glitch? They had never meant to even scratch Russel’s friends and or family. Years later, upon reaching his 23rd birthday, Russ hopped a jet with a friend by the name of Jordan Lewis, (Del in secret tow), and came to check out the auditions I had set up for band members. Jordan left to go back home when he lost against Russ eventually. And that’s how Russel came to be.

Noodle was our own little mystery, arriving to us from an American foster family she had been staying with in Japan. No she did not come shipped in a box, rather stowed away in the luggage compartment of a plane for she had no money for a ticket. She could barely speak any English and the coach we had bought to teach her had quit, saying she couldn’t stand the bouncy ten-year old being in her face the entire time. I don’t think she would have come back after that anyway, my fist being the guilty party of her broken nose the reason for such.

The lights on the highway were old, and barely any cars drove out here at night unless the owners were looking for a good lay from a couple of streetwalkers. But even the prostitutes around here were scarce, and so, to cut it basic, this place sucked. I had another fifty or so miles to go until we got back to the resident studios, and I could already feel my body just hurdling itself into my large, overly comfy mattress and falling directly to sleep. I wasn’t even hungry for anything, be it sex, alcohol or cigs, I was beat.

2D squirmed besides me suddenly, his head falling onto my shoulder lightly. I looked down to see him sleeping peacefully. I didn’t mind him resting on me, hell, I didn’t really mind anything he did, but to watch someone lay so diplomatic and at ease was strange for me. I had never had such luck. I had never had arms to hold me through nightmares or hard times. No, I was unfortunate, but I did not weep about it.

Instead of smiling like my body wanted to, I remained passive as I watched the dullard snore soundlessly, my eyes hard and my lips a thin line. I didn’t make it a habit to look ominous, it came naturally, but right now, I couldn’t seem to pull my ‘Mask’ over my eyes. They slowly turned as soft as if they would have been unveiled, and I couldn’t bring myself to shake the vocalist off me like I would normally do under public eye.

I hid my emotions from the world using an act, a play I called my ‘Mask’. It kept me serious and focused on my work. It locked the past away so I wouldn’t dwell on it, and set my mind straight. I didn’t dream about the future or fantasize about our currently rising fame, because my ‘Mask’ was there to stop it before it began, keeping my feet on the ground and my head where it belonged. All I needed to worry about was the here and now. And my ‘Mask’ knew that.

Behind it, of course, lay the rapids of my emotions. The white crested waves breaking roughly against one another as they pivoted and fought for control at every turn. My eyes were their windows, and I cringed at the thought of allowing anyone to look me straight in the eye. My soul would be lain out for their greedy stares and my life would be dissected and sorted through until whoever had come across such secrets became bored with my hellhole of an existence and left me be. Of course I would be torn and broken by the time they were done, but at least my pride would n dis disappear from me.

My ‘Mask’ was built from my pride and my ego, keeping me headstrong and confident. I loved who I was outwardly, but my inner self would always be screaming that I was ugly, that I was just another bum who had talent pulling and picking strings and making cords. Just ignorant white trash that knew how to harmonize.

Bleh. Yeah, well, I was fed up with listening to myself, although I knew it to be true.

2D stirred again, and was now halfway across the bench seat and straightening his body along mine, damn near pushing my foot off the gas pedal. I growled lowly, and he sighed softly, his arm wrapped around my elbow, his lips curling into a tiny smile. I stared at him in shock when he refused to acknowledge my warning. I was pretty sure he was only doing this on instinct, keeping close to whatever warmth was near, but, it still confused me. He HAD to know that it was me he was gripping to. He wasn’t that deep of a sleeper.

I moved around in his grasp for a bit, trying to get comfortable without waking him up, but failed, and he groggily sat up a little to look around. His half lidded counterfeit eyes finally found me, and that he was almost literally clinging to my body as we drove. His cheeks faded into a small pink, the slight blush growing across the bridge of his nose, and he moved back wordlessly. He then tucked his hands into his lap and kept his head turned, facing the side of his door and watching the star-lit sky and dyeing street lamps pass.

I was in no mood to snap at him, and my earlier anger had fizzled to nothing. I wouldn’t start something I didn’t feel up to finishing. So, inaudibly and once more contentedly, I drove on.

~*~

In the nature of everything good, I gagged and rolled to my side. I hated light. I was almost like, physically of the night, the sun made my skin crawl and my eyes burn, not to mention my migraine blossom.

The car park was an open facility, not underground like many people think, so my Winnebago was currently basking in the warmth of the dawn. I rolled and tossed and grumbled and cursed. I knew today wouldn’t turn out the way I would prefer to like, but I had to get up…I wasn’t dead yet. Although, I’m sure that could be arranged.

My sheets fell to pool around my waist as I sat, and I yawned, squinting in the brightness of a new day. As if on autopilot, I reached for my convenient bottle of Aspirin and tossed back two pills dryly. I was used to taking them that way. Besides, despite the carefree attitude and white-hot temper I portrayed in the studio and on tours, I was actually careful about what I took with my liquor. I was still too young to die such a vile and excruciating death. If I were to die naïve, then it would be unproblematic.

Gingerly, I stretched as I stood, everything I did in my mornings was slow and at my own leisurely pace. The people who waited for me were forced to hang around longer. If they were impatient then they were obviously SOL.

Yawning widely, I scooted through dirty clothes and old magazines, not all of them pornographic, and made my way into my petite bathroom. As I moved I kept my eyes on the floor, trying my damndest to keep the light from filtering through to my already smoke induced consciousness. Dragging my weight on my heels I winced as my bare feet came in contact with the rusty tiling of my small lavatory, and I scratched my self, dexterously picking at the soft skin of my flaccid member to rid of the insistent itch that had become of the area. I knew I appalled most, even some of my own damned fans could concur with the same odium and antipathy of my behavior that their parents shared, but I didn’t care. Neither did anybody who obviously could keep their opinions to themselves.

I stared hard at myself in my full-length mirror, hanging on the small space of wall between my water basin and the toilet. I was gangly, but lean, I could make out faint traces of muscle beneath the olive coloring of my skin and the ridges of bone poking through my sides as my ribs. I was disgusted with myself to some extent, but proud of my looks as well. I had lost the youthful acne and gained the more masculine planes and high cheekbone sculpture. My entire body was the same shade, the same color, my mismatched eyes half hidden and almost permanently narrowed, my hair a perfect, dark shade of raven. My only flaw was my uncleanliness and I had yet to grow gray hairs.

Psch, like I cared.

I was still less than what I wanted to be.

I sighed heavily then bent to retrieve one of the three pairs of boxers that lay at my feet, the older black pair faded gray, and pulled them up half-hazardly. I was hungry, and the rumbling of my stomach was insistent. I began to traipse out of my stopgap home, slinging a dusty scarlet colored work shirt over my shoulder as I left.

~*~

TBC
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Dark Heart