A/N: Okay you guys, Hi! This is my first fanfiction, and recently I have become obsessed with the GoRiLLaZ, so I thought, "Hey! I should do a 2D/Murdoc fic!" So, I present to you, chapter one of The Bassist!
I struggled a lot with how to start this chapter, what perspective it should be, so on and so forth, so bear with me as I get used to this fic! Also, Oliver is his (abusive) flat/band mate who he took in to help pay the rent.
Sorry for the short chapter, as intros are always. This is some sort of AU I suppose; not sticking to the plot/storyline of the actual GoRiLLaZ, anyway. Please point out any mistakes you find, and happy reading!
Chapter One: Talent and Bruises
Sebastian Niccals was a terrible man, even if he was Murdoc's father. He hated him, and this thought was only reiterated when he was jolted awake by a beer bottle being flung at his door.
"Oi, Murdoc!" screamed his flat mate. "Get the hell outta bed, ya freeloading asshole!"
The man groaned, looking hazily at his clock. Five-thirty in the morning.
"The hell do you want?" Murdoc growled, opening the door to face him.
"Last time I checked, I paid for your last two months of rent," Oliver growled, "so treat me with some fuckin' respect. Got it?''
He reeked of booze and pot, and Murdoc flinched ever-so-slightly at his imposing demeanor. "Fine. What the hell do you want, sir?" Murdoc sarcastically corrected himself.
His head was whipped to the side as Oliver's hand struck his cheek. "Go buy me booze."
It was rather safe to say Murdoc Niccals hated most things. His outlook on life fogged by memories of his childhood. Memories of his father and Hannibal, letting out any and all of their problems on the poor "mistake" of a child.
No matter how hard he tried not to think of it, the black-haired man couldn't get the image of them towering over the boy, kicking him and bruising him, as Murdoc cried out in pain.
"Stop, stop!" he screamed through the tears, trying to shield his face from his father's boot.
"Second place?!" the older man roared, slamming his heel down onto Murdoc's chest, making him see stars. "We're Niccals, we don't get second place! You damn failure!"
Murdoc's sobs raked his body as the 11 year old felt a crack in his side, his father's steel-toed book making contact with his well-bruised skin. "I tried my hardest, I swear to God!" he screamed.
"There's no God, you pig!" spat the man. "And if there was, he wouldn't waste his time on you! You fuckin' waste of air!"
Murdoc jerked out of his short-lived sleep, shaking and sweaty. "Fuck..," he mumbled, sitting up and holding his head between his knees.
He sat there, cold and shaking for a few moments before clumsily flinging himself towards the door, stumbling into the hallway. He dashed into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when he felt tears prick in his eyes.
Opening the fridge with little caution, he snatched some beers and a random off-brand bottle of booze before locking himself in his room.
He slowly swallowed the first bit of beer, along with his fear, and he sank into his routine of loneliness.