You never know what's real, especially not when you're plagued by mental health issues, traumatic head injuries, and strong drugs.
2-D stood in the kitchen and leaned against the island counter, looking at his watch. It had apparently been an hour since he took his pills. He got a new prescription and wanted to know how long it would take for the new drugs to kick in. He had developed enough of a tolerance to his old meds that his doctor put him on a trial for experimental painkillers. 2-D sighed and rubbed his temples as his headache worsened. Some things never change.
The man poured out another pill into his palm and stared at it. It was so small, but could do so much to him. Soothe him or knock him out entirely. Maybe worse. Oh, well. He swallowed the extra pill and hoped for the best.
He looked around the room to the clock on the microwave, then back at his watch; the times were almost 20 minutes apart. Which clock had he looked at when he took his pills, how long had it really been? He had no idea.
Then 2-D caught his own gaze in the reflective door on the microwave. He almost didn't recognize the man looking back at him. Fewer creases between his eyes and more by the corners of his lips. Smile lines. He was heavier, too. Russ said that gaining weight meant he was doing better. Being healthier.
2-D thought he probably was doing better, and thought his friend probably wasn't lying, but he wasn't sure. 2-D was never sure about anything, except that people, good and bad alike, lie.
He'd like to think he was getting better since Murdoc went to jail. He didn't like to think about Murdoc being in jail, though, as he felt some guilt for his part in that. He just liked to think that Murdoc wasn't there.
2-D shifted and saw that his reflection in the warped metal microwave door was distorted, with a comically large head. He laughed at the impromptu fun-house mirror, and moved around, watching how the dips and swells in the metal made him look like he had a huge belly or nose or biceps, so he raised his arms and flexed. "Look at me!" he declared, and laughed hard. He looked so good these days!
He knew if someone had heard that, they might call him cocky, but honestly, the good feeling he got was worth putting some people off over. Who cares that he feels good about himself for once? That doesn't make him a prick, he thought. The last nine months had been such an illuminating journey for him, to take control of his own life, to live and love with minimal fear and pain, spreading his wings. It was like he was walking along a high ridge, with a clear, wide sky above, and gaping canyons below. Birds called but there was no one and nothing to stop him, no phones or clocks or hands or locked doors, just a man and the sun.
It was as if gravity was working in reverse, pulling him naturally upwards through the open trail on the yellow rocks, the whooshing of the wind in his ears. He was free to let the environment fill his senses, and he didn't question how, or if, he had left the studio kitchen.
The man came to a zenith and looked over the edge of the trail to a cliff. At the bottom was a canyon filled with uncountable people, holding up cell phones and cheering. For him. He looked down and grinned, feeling love radiating up towards him, these people loved him, but weren't close enough to touch him. Fans had to keep a safe distance.
2-D sat back and thought about how far he had come, about the little things and the big things that he loved about his new life. The fact that he rarely stopped to peer around a corner before entering a room, and the thrill before a show, the long bus rides, the contract negotiations, his bruise-free hips, knowing his beloved pets are safe, countless hands reaching up towards him from the venue floors.
It was good, for however long it lasted.
The singer scanned the crowd, though, and saw something strange. One fan was holding a white poster with #FreeMurdoc written in red, and Stu scoffed. Then, another lifted a similar sign. Then another, and soon the crowd was full of Murdoc support. 2-D clenched his fists and scanned the hundreds of signs to see if any of them said anything good. If there were any good signs among the bad. One poster said something different:
"What is Souk Eye About?"
That's when he felt something tighten around his neck.