Murdoc woke up hung over and disorientated the following morning, well afternoon. A wave of nausea sent him running into the small bathroom that connected to the bathroom. He dropped hard onto his knees kneeling before the toilet bowl as he began vomiting all of the pills and alcohol that had been poisoning his system the night before. He jolted a bit at the feeling of a warm hand between his shoulder blades rubbing in a circular motion.
"I'm never fucking drinking again." He muttered, resting his head on the seat of the toilet.
"You and everyone else says that, you'll be drunk again by five."
He smirked, turned around to face the younger man who sat in front of him on the rather clean blue tiled floor.
"So much faith in me and my ability to stay sober."
"I don't mind you getting drunk, just the whole drug abuse thing bothers me."
"It isn't that bad, besides I fucking need those pills, and I've been real stressed out lately."
He had been stressed; dealing with the band, wondering why nothing good was happening to him, his father calling him, and his brother telling him by next Thursday he would be a free man.
"Muds I'm really worried about you."
"Don't, it's really just a waste of time; I always manage."
"What if you don't this time, even when we were kids we just did stupid shit cause we were bored. Now it's different, you do stupid shit like you wanna off yourself."
Murdoc averted his eyes, he traced his index finger along the edges of the tile.
"Maybe I do want to off myself."
Stu took his face between his hands forcing the older man to look at him, he looked concerned.
"Don't fucking say that, I want you here with me. I'm really tired of losing you."
"I'm just really tired and this isn't going the way it's supposed to. I'm...I'm not supposed to be the same fucking worthless nothing I was a year ago."
When he was drunk, when he was stoned out of his mind that's when none of this even mattered. Right now he was itching to get drunk or to at least do some sort of drug; being sober was scaring him. He was thinking again; he was thinking about Hannibal, thinking about the demon that possibly fucked him over royally, he was thinking about how crazy he had to be driving his boyfriend with all of this, and how shit he felt on the inside lately.
Stu pressed his forehead against Murdoc's, "Calm down, please...I really wish I knew how to help you."
"Just don't leave me, well if I get too fucking crazy then you can leave me."
"I don't wanna leave, I just want you better."
"I don't know how to get better, I don't think it's a possibility."
"Just keep yourself sort of alright, I don't like being left out of everything."
"Yeah, I can do that...Do you think I can stay an extra day or two?"
"Sure" Stu kissed him quickly.
"Gross, you know I gotta taste like puke right now." He said smiling a bit at the other man.
Stu shrugged then kissed him again.
"I don't care, come on let's get out of here; I'll cook you breakfast, when is the last time you even had food anyway?" He asked as he stood, he offered a hand to Murdoc helping the bassist to his feet.
"Not a fucking clue"
"That's a great sign"
"Food isn't all that important" He commented as they entered the living room, he went and sat down on the sofa while the other man went into the kitchen.
"Right, because last time I checked cocaine and whiskey are higher than food on the list of important things."
Murdoc chose to ignore the comment, he flipped on the small television set and began going through all of the channels determined to find something mind numbing and distracting. He tried not to think about his brother or his father; sometimes he wasn't sure which one scared him the most between the two of them it almost seemed to be a match. He had hoped that moving away from home would solve everything, yeah he would have a million mental scars from the abuse dealt by his family, but at least he'd be away from it. They couldn't let him just get away though, they had to hunt him down and try to break him all over again. He knew he should have never turned Hannibal over to the police, it wasn't like they cared or really believed that his brother had raped him repeatedly. When they did believe him due to evidence proving the case, they said that he must have provoked it or consented; males could not be raped was what they had said, but he had been angry and scared, he had broken down and cried in therapy twice and because of that they had to take into consideration that he hadn't wanted his brother to do those things to him. Every day he thought over all of it, the doctor visits, the tests, examinations, therapists who blamed him for everything that had ever happened. That's what being sober did to him; it forced him to think over this shit, shit that he just couldn't deal with.
He managed to get through breakfast without mentioning anything, managed to actually eat for the first time in a long time without throwing up, and managed to act at least stable enough that he wouldn't worry his boyfriend anymore than he already was. He was grateful for the blue haired punk boy he'd known since high school. He was grateful that he was so willing to look after him, listen to him, and even take his drunken ass home no matter how annoying or vulgar he behaved. He knew there was no way in Hell he'd ever be able to repay him or thank him for all of the things he had done. He at the least wanted to stay sober for the next couple of days, to at least do that much for the both of them.
He did a good job of it too, until around six when a story came on the news about a teenage boy who had been raped and murdered by his brother. After that he got up, went into the kitchen, found the vodka under the sink and spent the rest of the evening into the night getting so drunk that all memories of his brother were washed from his mind. Stu gave him disapproving looks, but he didn't say anything; not about the news story, not about Hannibal, or the drinking. He knew and he knew it was better to not say anything about it.