Aw'right, it's safe to say that I was absolutely and completely wrong. If Murdoc Niccals is the tiny kitten, I'm the flea-sized mouse.
I have officially been catatonic for one week. It's been pretty fuckin' bad. The next day after meeting Murdoc, Paula was all fussy about letting me go with 'im again—convinced 'erself that some leftover chocolate on my cheek was a bruise and what not. It was very irritating, for the Satanist and I both. Murdoc, I suppose just because it was a pain having to wait for her to get over her fit, and me because it only made me feel more childish.
As I predicted, Murdoc took me back to his house, but let me sit in the living room with him and his friends this time. I watched silently from the arm of Murdoc's chair, making good on my nodded promise not to be a pest. Rachel fretted over me, and argued with the Satanist while Lewis and Aaron laughed their arses off. At what, I didn't really know. Whether it was at me or just at Murdoc's general predicament. But I wasn't offended, because it seemed like this was something I could get used to if I had to.
Something that wouldn't be bad to get used to. Sitting on the arm of my caretaker's chair while a beautiful girl scolds that he should be nicer to me, drinking a flat Pepsi all the while. Not too bad at all. Murdoc doesn't try to talk to me a lot, but when he does, it almost sounds like he's forcing himself to sound an interval less irritable—of course, just because I'm catatonic. He doesn't refrain when I do something stupid though, which apparently is a constant event.
Once Lewis attacked Murdoc—just in a playful way, you know—and as I stumbled back to get out of the way, I dumped half my soda (I'm not allowed to have beer—Rachel thinks it may be extra dangerous to be drunk if you've got catatonia) on the carpet. How I got out of that one without a right hook to the jaw I don't know, but for the next two days the Satanist looked as though he was refraining from strangling me whenever I was around. It actually looked quite exhausting.
That's not to say that he never touches me just because of my comatose state. His constant greeting and farewell to me is a whack in the back of the head, and a lot of times he just does it for fun or because I'm staring catatonically into space—never mind the fact that I am catatonic.
As for Lewis and Aaron, they seem to find the whole thing absolutely comical. Murdoc's unusual sentence—caretaker for the person he put in the hospital?—, my absent expressions, Murdoc's obviously crippling self-control around me, my black void of an eye, Murdoc's amusement when I seem to misunderstand what people say to me (that happens sometimes), and my lack of irritation at these trivial things. All horribly hysterical to the two men.
Normally I might tell Murdoc to shove off, but that brings us back to why he's my caretaker in the first place, don't it? 'Cause it's hard to stand yur ground when you're feelin' nauseous every other minute. A bit annoying, really.
And right now is one of those moments when I wish that I'd just snap out of it, because right now I'm in the passenger seat of the Vauxhall Astra, and Murdoc is pissed. His eyes, alight with terrifying fury, stay on the road, and his nose scrunches repeatedly in irritation. His jaw rotates, bringing a muttered curse every once in a while.
I'm sitting to his left, shoulders hunched defensively, eyes shifting nervously from the dangerously swerving road to the furious man beside me, practically spitting his outraged protests.
A young woman in the bar that Rachel, Lewis, Aaron, Murdoc and I were sitting in had been drunk and, after hanging herself all over Murdoc (Who was already irritated due to the fact that I'd just, without thinking, taken a sip of his forbidden Tequila in curiosity), dumped her beer on him when she got the hint that he wasn't interested. Lewis had had to restrain the Satanist.
It might've been funny, really. Might've been funny, except I'm sort of afraid for my own life at this moment, so I keep quiet. The profanities spewing from his mouth only get worse, and with every declination of control, my shoulders rise a little more—my body caves in a little more.
"What kind of…of drunk woman does somethin' so…so drunk-like?" I inwardly roll my eyes at this, though my external expression is pale and nervous. The car is starting to, ever so slightly, veer to the left. I put my feet up on the seat and hug my knees.
I had silently asked why the woman's performance disturbed him so much after leaving the bar by furrowing my eyebrows. After all, Murdoc Niccals seems fond of women, though I don't really think he respects them all that much. Then again, it seems that Murdoc Niccals respects absolutely nobody, male or female.
He had replied with an incoherent growl, and muttered, "The women I screw are a little more classy than drunken floozies." That surprises me to be honest. You'd think that he'd just take what he can get, as that seems to be the kind of person he is. You'd never think that a man as shady as Murdoc Niccals would actually have standards. But I guess he does.
I roll down my window, about ready to try and jump if he doesn't get it together before we crash, when a faint buzz in my back pocket makes me falter. Slowly, I reach back and pull out my cell phone before putting it to my ear and pressing the talk button.
"Stu?" It's Paula. I recognize her voice. "Stu, it's me. Paula." Yeah, I already knew that. Another inward roll of my eyes. Does catatonia make you more irritable too? "Listen, Stu. I need you to pass the phone to Murdoc, alright?" I don't do anything, and after a few moments, she earns a new edge in her tone. "He is there, isn't he? That bastard didn't leave you on your own, did he? I swear if he—" I didn't hear the rest of what she said though, because I was holding the phone out to Murdoc.
He looked to me with the faint burn of a fire still in his eyes, and then at the phone. Curiosity tinted his pupils, and he let me pass it to him.
"Yeah?" For a moment he just listened, frown growing all the while. "Ugh, calm the fuck down, woman. What is it you want?" Another pause. "Can't you just tell me over the phone?" Pause. "Why does face ache have to be there?" Pauuuuuuse. "Alright, alright, I get it. We'll be there." He hangs up and starts dialing a new number, muttering under his breath again.
"Hey, Chel," He murmurs into the receiver. "Yeah, I need you to round up Lewis and Aaron and head over to East Park…You're already there? How…?" With every moment that Rachel's voice is heard, muffled through the receiver, his eyebrows knit together more and more. Suddenly he growls. "That obnoxious broad got your number? How?" He listens, and then rolls his eyes. "Whatever, face ache and I are on our way now. See ya." With a violent twist of his fingers, the cell phone snaps shut, and he shoves it in his pocket rather than handing it back to me.
For a long time, I stare at him expectantly. And for a long time, he ignores me. At last, the Satanist sighs. "Yur girlfriend wants to meet me mates. I imagine she wants to give me another little guilt-trip speech as well." I feel taken aback, and crumble guiltily. To be honest, I really do like the girl that hangs around my house and family so much. She's real nice to me, and seems to care for me, but it still kinda sucks that her worrying is making Muds dislike me more.
I would apologize, but that feeling of snapped vocal chords is still constant, and it feels as though I can't get the vibration in my throat to form words with. So I stare at the car floor instead, twiddling my thumbs together in shame. At least, it seems as though the black-haired man beside me has forgotten about the woman in the bar, and isn't as fired up anymore. That's something to be thankful for, I suppose.
We arrive at the park, and when I get out, it appears as though everybody is there. Lewis, Aaron, and Rachel are all standing under the shade of a tall maple tree, Lewis and Aaron looking uncomfortable, but the brunette looking thoroughly pissed off, a cigarette pinched between her middle and index finger. Me mum and dad are standing a few feet away from them and Mum looks a little nervous, as though she isn't sure being so close to the criminals is safe.
And Paula is already walking towards me, a smile on her lips. She ignores Murdoc and pulls me into a warm embrace. It's sweet really how often she hugs me, but it gets kind of embarrassing when all the people you know are staring at you and the embrace just seems to last, and last, and last…
Finally, I pull away myself, as gently and innocently as possible, looking around myself as though I don't even notice the distance I'm putting between us. A catatonic teenager can get away with that, can't he? Rachel snorts faintly, and I look over Paula's shoulder to see her roll her eyes and cross her arms. This is unusual only because Rachel is usually very affectionate towards me, and encourages other people to be nice to me, so it's strange that she seems irritated with this very friendly gesture of Paula's.
Paula sends her a brief glare before taking my hand and pulling me over to the group of uncomfortable people. Murdoc takes his place between Lewis and Aaron, putting his hands in his pockets and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. I watch him enviously. It's been forever since Rachel has let me have a cigarette. I secretly think that she just lets me smoke while I have catatonia to spite Paula, who doesn't allow it.
"So why are we here?" The Satanist says drawly, irritably. Paula glowers, but it's my dad who speaks.
"Well, Rachel and I just wanted to meet all of you…" He looks as though he's rethinking that decision. "And to see who it is that our son's hanging out with now." You can hardly call it 'hanging out with', I think. Murdoc is my caretaker, so I'm around his friends a lot. Though, the more I think about it, it sounds kind of nice thinking of this group of criminals as my friends, as bogus as that seems.
"It's no trouble, Mr. Pot." Rachel says with a polite smile.
She elbows Murdoc in the ribs as he mutters, "Yes, it is," and instead says to my parents, "We get more fond of Stu every day." Ironically, Rachel is the only one besides Paula who calls me "Stu." My parents call me "Stuart", Lewis and Aaron call me "Tosspot", and Murdoc calls me "Face Ache" usually. So I guess it always gave Paula a lot of satisfaction to know that this was like her own little pet name for me. That's probably why she gets all stiff when Chel calls me that.
"He's really sweet." She continues, and I'm starting to think that she's aware of my dark-haired friend's irritation. Mum and Dad look surprised. Though Paula is the one who deals with my care taker (usually by nasty phone conversations and reminders), my parents have met Murdoc, and appear to have expected that all his friends would be similar. It seems like Rachel is the one in the group who has the general control—the general coolness.
The brunette moves to my left side and drapes her arm over my shoulder, pulling me against her side. Is she really unaware that Paula is still holding my right hand and that she's shooting daggers at her with her eyes?
"Well, Stuart seems to enjoy all of your company." Dad says, and I blush, looking down. Obviously, it's not like I tell my parents about my days with the group, but I suppose it's a little obvious when you're practically running to the door to get to the beeping Vauxhall Astra that's parked at the curb. Murdoc isn't nice to me, but Rachel keeps him from hurting me too bad, and Lewis and Aaron laugh about me a lot, so I guess they don't dislike me. It's nice being a part of something so close to a group of friends.
Murdoc chuckles quietly, and my cheeks flush even more.
"Actually," Paula says, practically growls, "We wanted to make sure that you aren't getting him into trouble."
Rachel glares, and even Lewis and Aaron tense a little bit in irritation. Murdoc is the only one who seems to be staying level-headed. He pushes the smoke of his cigarette out through only slightly parted lips, and looks rather uninterested. I realize that all three of them are looking at him, as though waiting for his signal to reply to her, and that's when I figure out that even though Rachel is the smarter one of the group, it's still Murdoc who leads everyone.
He looks at Paula with a slight smirk on his face. "We're not responsible for the face ache. If he gets himself into a fight or somethin', that's not our fault." Rachel hisses in disapproval—this obviously isn't the reply that she wanted. Paula glowers as well.
"Yes, it is your fault. You're supposed to be the one watching him. I don't care if you get yourselves locked up—you belong in prison anyway—but you'll never hear the end of it from me if you get one little damn scratch on this boy's record." I glare at Paula, and Murdoc snorts sarcastically.
"Just because he's catatonic, it doesn't mean that he's an idiot. If he goes and steals a car, that'll be of his own choice. When we talk to him he seems to understand well enough, though it's not like he ever does what I tell him to do. So, there's also no reason for him to feel "influenced" by us, or whatever the hell you're thinking." He says, mirroring my thoughts.
"Don't flatter yourselves." Paula says with a slight laugh. "I don't mean that he'd be influenced by you. I mean that I wouldn't put it past you criminals to make him do something." At this, Lewis steps forward, Rachel growls, and my dad steps towards Paula protectively.
"Believe me," Murdoc says, eyes narrowed with that dangerous edge that he manages. "If we were gonna commit a crime, the last git we'd recruit for the job would be face ache. Who'd want someone who can't even walk without trippin' over his shoe laces or somethin'?" I blush and glare at him, though he's not looking at me.
I don't really trip over my shoe laces when I walk…
Though Rachel also looks a little irritated by the comment, she remains silent. Until Paula replies.
"You say that like his clumsiness can even compete with your drunken mates." She glances at me and then at Rachel. "What was she locked up for—statutory rape?" And Rachel snaps.
"You little bitch!" She roars, lashing her arms towards the dark-haired girl furiously while Lewis scrambles to pull her wrists behind her in restraint. Even I think that went way too far. None the less, I move to stand in front of Paula as Murdoc advances on her, outraged. He pauses at my movement, and I look up at him, bringing as much apology and regret to my face as I can. He scoffs and tries to shove me away, but this once I'm able to stand my ground. I dig my heels into the dirt, and wince as he tries to push me back.
My body is sore all the time. All the time, I feel like I got into a huge fist fight the night before—bruises covering every inch of me, but when I lift up my shirt, all I see is that translucent pearly skin, in perfect condition. His insistence makes me feel like he's trying to rip off my shoulder because of the pain, and I clench my eyes shut.
Even while just seeing darkness, I still hear Rachel and Paula arguing behind me, Lewis shouting to the brunette to calm down, and Aaron arguing profusely with my mother while Dad tries to get Paula away from them. It's all a mess.
This whole meeting was a mess. It was a bad idea on Paula's part, and it was a bad idea on my parents' part. And again, I get that horrible feeling of exhaustion, the terrible sensation that all my limbs have just stopped working, and I lose all my strength. I just want everybody to shut up. I just want them to shut up so that I can go to sleep. At last, Murdoc pulls back and rams me with his shoulder, and they all do shut up. Because that's when I lose consciousness.
Hey guys! I'd really like some reviews and followers soon, 'cause this story's gonna be really long. Also, don't worry, I'll try and speed up 2D's catatonia. Hope you guys have enjoyed this chapter and I hope you keep reading! Thanks,
-TTDW