I own him. He is mine to take, and why wouldn't I? Nobody cares about him, it doesn't matter. So, I kidnap him, take him away to my own little sanctuary, and lock him in his room. Well, I don't need to lock him in—he's too afraid to leave. He knows the whale is circling around his window. Even though the whale couldn't possibly do anything to him, its mere presence causes him to freeze in fear.
The only time I allow him out of his room is to make him sing for me. I don't care about anything but his voice and how it's mine. I drag him into the recording studio and watch him as he sings, my own greasy fingers strumming mindlessly at El Diablo. I make myself blatantly visible so he never forgets who he sings for, who he belongs to.
When rehearsal is over and I start to walk him back to his room, I shove him against the wall. I curl my long fingers into the aqua hair and grind his forehead against the dry wall.
"'O do you belong to?" I ask him, my hot voice against his ear. He must be used to my breath by now, because he doesn't flinch.
"Y-You…" He whispers, resembling a doll.
I ask him the same question again after I finish playing with him and he's lying on my bed, displaying his entire self for me to see. He long gave up trying to hide. I grab his beautiful azure hair and yank it up, his head simply following my lead as if he was a simply rag doll.
"'O do you belong to, you tosspot?" I hiss, my face close to his. His dark, bruised eyes don't move, they stare straight ahead. He doesn't flinch, though I know I would if someone yanked recklessly at my hair.
"You," He replies, knowing it's not in his best judgment to defy him. He still has nasty bruises from the last time he tried to stick up for himself.
"'As right, face ache. No one'll love you, I'm the best thing you'll ever have. Y'so fuckin' ugly, I can hardly look at you," I growl and shove him into the floor where he stays on his knees, face in the fowl-smelling carpet. I stand and cross my arms, glowering down at him. I know what all this means: his reactions, his answers, his voice. I've broken him, never to be repaired.
This doesn't matter, though. I couldn't give a damn if he was dead inside, so long as I own his body and his voice. I know he loves me, but I just don't care. I don't love. I own.
I care nothing for 2D. I simply own him.
I know it's a little crappy, but I just wanted to write something of 2D and Murdoc, seeing as I love them to bits. I don't actually see Murdoc as 'loving' anything really, but using them, and I love the idea of him 'owning' 2D to sing for him on Plastic Beach. A bit like a Phantom of the Opera kind of thing.
I do not own Gorillaz, but, god, I wish I did.
