@guitdare said: " it's important that you know i cared. you think i didn't care because i put up walls. "
not for the first time , murdoc is at a loss for words. not because they don't come to him , oh they come to him readily , but because he has to stop himself from saying them— and he'd be damned if anything new cropped up. her confession had blown through his brain like a hurricane , leaving behind only an empty slate. his immediate reaction is to recoil— all of him , in fact. with a clenching stomach comes a number of emotions he still has trouble parsing. sadness , he thinks. fear. and with fear always comes along something much more familiar— anger. it had taken him years to figure out they come hand in hand , and a long time on top to accept that and not brush it off in embarrassment. that is to say , he is still embarrassed about it all. which is enough to make him angry again.
truthfully , he would like to snap at her. what's it matter now? the past is fucking done , doesn't change a thing to know she cared then , that she still does now. but he cannot really expect these things to be simple and transactional at all times ... it's a lie he told himself. why'd she even bloody care in the first place is another , much unkinder , voice that is cropping up regularly. he knows he doesn't deserve this. though , clearly she wants him to know , or she wouldn't be here. at the very least , murdoc can be sure that noodle is honest— she'd never say this for his comfort. he doesn't think he could handle it if she did.
murdoc's sigh is equally defeated as it is hostile , though it is the sort of violence that is aimed at himself first and foremost. leaning his forehead against his curled fist , he snuffs his cigarette forcefully in the ashtray , pushing around crumpled butts and tufts of ash. ❝ well here's the kicker then , poppet. i don't think anyone ever cared. ❞ as soon as the words are out , he regrets them. they feel a little untrue , misshapen on his tongue. a part of him believes them still , but he cannot help but feel silly for them. moronic , actually. stabbing others with his own hurts has kind of lost its shine. maybe that's what aging is all about.
sighing , his shoulders deflate and he raises his gaze to look at her. the kickass person she's become , and the misplaced sense of lukewarm pride he feels at that. the not-daughter he never wanted and never asked for. ❝ ... i know , i know. don't think you would've come back if you didn't , right? or stuck around. not like you couldn't have gone out there on your own and made it. we both know you could've. ❞ leaning back into his chair , the constant frown bleeds from murdoc's face , something almost soft around the edges of deep-set eyes. ❝ i care too , you know? i just … can't stand that i do. ❞ and he laughs at himself for it , hands coming up to rub at his face.
