the funny thing is that there are only two ways to handle the complete and utter disintegration of one's ego. you die , fast or slow it don't matter ... or you pretend to come back bigger than ever. luckily murdoc's had lots of practice with the latter. also vehemently refuses to die. like a cockroach , his brother used to say. like a bloody fucking cockroach , that's right. only , he isn't so sure if all the things his brother has done to him , and done to him by proxy , have been worse than three years in a mexican prison. it depends , he guesses. guessing with a sort of blank bleakness to it , really.
he can still faintly smell the gasoline he's used to set kong on fire— the first link in a chain of cataclysmic and ... probably insane decisions that have , once again , destroyed his entire life. only he cannot remember much else. episodes , he supposes. he's been having them before. like when he feels such rage ( such fear ) his brain literally fries. or when he crashed his car and almost killed stuart. or ... or ...
eyes burn , shriveling up like oranges left in the sun on the hood of a car and he blinks , directing his gaze down to his limp prick. he missed the porcelain , but it's not like it matters. his shoes feel dry , so there's that. zipping up , he fishes his cigarette case from his back pocket and flicks it open , considering the small pocket of coke he's got left , squeezed underneath the last two of his cigs. and thinking about it is a bit like getting jerked off. a bit like a hug , a bit like sunshine on april. it soothed the gaping hole that rends his stomach and his heart , overflowing with all the things that genuinely make him want to drown himself in the toilet bowl immediately if he considered them. tapping the remnants of his relief on the back of his case , murdoc carefully lines up his first line with the back of his nail.
which is precisely when his stall door bangs open , almost hitting him in the back and causing him to fumble his case for a precarious heartbeat. ❝ cocksucker! fuck off before i rip off your soddin' prick and shove it up your arse— fuck! ❞ murdoc might be small , but his voice isn't. he's all the rage of his father , his brother , all the rage of growing up unloved and scared to death. underneath his fury he's panicking. that line is his lifeline. he won't make it without , he won't he won't he won't—
turning around , he stares up the stranger , and for a moment he's at a loss for words. which is unusual. but everything is unusual , all the time , lately. ❝ … i'm in the middle of something here , so stop lookin' like a thumb and piss off. ❞
@disinheritee
