When a nightmare wakes Murphy he bolts upright, which causes his head to spin. He'd forgotten about the bourbon. He stumbles to the trashcan and empties the contents of his stomach, the only thing in it besides bourbon is the bread. It doesn't taste sweet a second time. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and goes to the fridge. The smell of rotten food almost makes him puke again, but he finds a bottle of water, shuts the door, and drinks the whole thing in three gulps. When his head stops throbbing his arm starts. He glances at the mess of torn skin that is his arm. I should probably clean that. Murphy thinks as he tosses the empty bottle in the sink and starts his search for a first aid kit.
The bunker is much bigger than he first thought. Through the kitchen a door leads to a hallway, which leads to more doors. Behind the first he finds a large bedroom with the biggest bed he's ever seen. Beside the bed is a dresser. He picks through it, finding himself a T-shirt and jeans that don't have holes all over them. "Well that's a first." He says aloud. Everything anyone on the ark ever had in his generation had been used for about ninety years. Murphy keeps digging through the draws and finds a pack of underwear still in the package. He rips it open and pulls a pair out.
As he wanders around he starts shedding his clothes, carefully avoiding the gash in his arm, but dropping the dirty clothes where they fall. He opens a door in the bedroom and finds a large bathroom, complete with deep tub and separate shower. He shrugs and turns the knob in the shower, he doesn't have much hope, but water spills from the shower head. "Oh hell yes!" He finishes undressing and jumps in.
The feeling of warm water cascading over his skin for the first time in weeks makes Murphy sigh in relief. Water comes from the shower head warm and clear, but by the time it hits the drain it's a combination of dirt and blood. Murphy watches the red/brown mixture swirl at his feet until it's nearly clear again. He lets water wash over his arm wound but wraps it in a rag before using the soap he finds to wash away the rest of the evidence of his time on the ground. He lets the water turn cold and his hands get wrinkly before getting out. Showers on the ark had been kept to a strict time limit to conserve water. It had easily been the best shower he'd ever had. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before heading back to the bedroom to put on the clothes he'd picked out.
Murphy's reflection catches his eye and his feet stop moving him forward. The water had washed away all the grime and dried blood on his body, all that remained was pale skin sprinkled with bruises of varying colors and sizes, fresh wounds, and scars. He'd paid enough attention in his classes to know that when the grounders had tortured him for information they'd avoided all his critical organs, at least with knives. Murphy's fingers skimmed over the burn scars on his chest. The skin was raised slightly, but smooth to the touch. The scars were in the shape of circles, a dozen of them, no bigger than his thumb, they covered the skin over his heart. The knife wounds were still there, healing but not quite gone. They covered nearly every inch of him and he wondered if they all would become scars eventually. Thinking back, he wasn't sure how he'd survived three days of torture. The cutting had been bad, the burning was worse, but having his fingernails peeled back had been excruciating. Though, it wasn't until they'd tied the rope around his neck that Murphy had broken. He could still feel the tightness of it in his throat. He shakes his head of the memories and walks away from his reflection.
Murphy puts on the clothes quickly and scrubs his head with the towel to dry his hair. He leaves the towel on the floor and goes back into the bathroom to look for something to use on his arm. Under the sink he finds a plastic, red box. He sits it on the sink, opens it, and finds every size bandage you could ever need, some ointments, and a brown bottle with a white lid. He examines the contents of the box. "Never thought I'd wish for Clarke's company." He had no idea what any of these things actually did. It wasn't like his mother had been the "kiss it and make it better" type. Murphy doesn't let his mind focus on the memories of his parents. Instead he starts reading packaging.
After reading what words he could understand on the bottles and tubes of cream Murphy takes the brown bottle, untwists the cap, and pours it over the gash on his arm, letting the liquid drip into the sink. For a second he doesn't thinking anything is actually happening, but then it starts to sting and white foam forms over his cut. "Son of a bitch." He mutters. As far as pain goes it's nothing compared to what he's gone through, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. When the foam stops he pats it dry with another towel and does his best to wrap it in a bandage. He examines his work, it's not pretty, but it's not falling off. "Clarke would be so proud." He laughs to himself and leaves everything on the sink before returning to wandering around the bunker.