The two walked up to the house, after having returned from the buffet. Mordecai opened the door, and they trudged in.
"I haven't been this full since ever, man" Rigby said, holding his stomach.
"Just wait down here, dude. I'm gonna go talk to Benson, okay?" Mordecai said, ignoring Rigby's complaints. Mordecai quickly climbed the stairs and knocked on Benson's office door.
"Come in" The call came from behind the door. Mordecai entered the room.
"Oh, how did your trip to the hospital go?" Benson asked when he saw Mordecai.
"Uh, yeah… actually, not so great. I mean, Rigby's pretty sick" Mordecai admitted. Benson put down the papers he was holding and gave full attention to Mordecai.
"Well what is it?" Benson asked, curious.
"They don't know. It was just the Phrenological examination today. When he gets his results we'll know what to do next. But the doctor told me to keep an eye on him. He also said Rigby shouldn't work for a few days." Mordecai lied. It was a white lie though, and Mordecai was convinced it was absolutely necessary. Benson mulled over Mordecai's words.
"Well...what day is it… Thursday" Benson said, checking his watch "Just tell Rigby to take a long weekend, I guess" Benson said. A few months ago, Benson would have never let Rigby take a long weekend with his work ethic, but now, he was more than convinced that Rigby needed it.
"And listen" Benson said, flipping through the sheets on his clipboard, "you might as well take today off as well. The stuff I had planned for you guys can wait until tomorrow, and I don't have anything else for you.
"Oh, thanks, Benson" Mordecai said, surprised. It wasn't like Benson to be so generous when it came to work issues, and Mordecai wasn't about to give him any reason to change his mind, so Mordecai wished him a good day, and slipped out of the office.
He headed into his and Rigby's room to find Rigby sprawled out on his trampoline, having cleared the clothes off it.
"How do you feel, man?" Mordecai asked. Rigby squirmed a little bit.
"Uh, not too good, dude" He said.
"What's up?" Mordecai asked.
Rigby just shook his head and rolled over. He felt terrible inside. He felt as though his entire being had been sucked out of his body, and all the badness of the world had made its way in. Mordecai sat on the edge of his bed for a couple of seconds, unsure of how to help Rigby.
Finally, he got up, walked over to the trampoline, and knelt down beside it. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then rested a hand on the back of Rigby's shoulder, unsure of what else to do.
"I'm tired of this, dude" Rigby said, as if he was holding back tears.
"Tired of what, man?" Mordecai said with some apprehension.
"All of this. I don't know why I have to stay here like this when none of this is real. None of this is happening, and I hate it." He said, with his face pressed into the trampoline, muffling his words. It was clear enough for Mordecai to understand though. Mordecai shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond properly.
"I think… you have to maybe think about the possibility that this is… you know… the real world" He said.
"I don't care. I don't wanna be here anymore. Wherever here fucking is" Rigby said. Mordecai took a deep breath.
"Uh… do you maybe think you'd be better staying in the hospital for a while? You know, they have a bunch of doctors there who could help you…." Mordecai said, desperately trying to think of something more meaningful he could say to his friend.
"No" Rigby said simply. There was a hint of defeat in his voice.
"Okay… I'm just gonna let you sleep a while. You have off till Monday… that's cool, right?" Mordecai said. No response from Rigby.
"Kay… night, dude…" Mordecai said, heading towards the door. Suddenly. he stopped, and turned his head, "remember, people really care about you. A lot." He said, before continuing out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Rigby collapsed onto his filthy trampoline. It was dirty, the clothes on it were dirty, and he was dirty. The whole room was dirty. Everything dirty. Mordecai and Rigby had no idea how to live properly. Mordecai wasn't inherently lazy, but he had no clue how to look after himself properly. Rigby was lazy, but he didn't really know how to take care of himself either.
It had never been a good combination. When left unchecked, they would both become extremely dysfunctional. That side of them had come out the farthest when they lived in Mesa. Neither of them had undergone therapy, however, and the scars from the time still weren't healing – even though they weren't aware of it.
There were only two differences between Mordecai and Rigby. Mordecai was more intelligent, obviously, but he was also able to better pass as normal – even though he was far from it. And as Rigby fell asleep, he began to dream of Mesa.
It was six in the afternoon, middle October. Mordecai and Rigby were lying in Mordecai's bed. They always lied in each other's beds – it was the only alternative to the couch, which had been covered in empty beer cans and liquor bottles. Mordecai was absentmindedly browsing the Internet on his laptop next to him. Rigby shifted to face him.
"Hey dude" Mordecai said, noticing Rigby was awake. Rigby didn't say anything, but just looked out the window. It was mostly black, but there was a streak of orange running through the end of the sky, the kind that you only get in a city during fall.
"What time is it?" Rigby asked. Mordecai glanced at the corner of his screen.
"Six twenty-three" he said, "I didn't wake you, did I?" He added. They would both drift in and out of sleep randomly, seldom speaking.
"No," Rigby said. "Did you eat yet?" He asked.
"No, I'm not long up. I woke at like quarter to six, and I couldn't be bothered getting up." Mordecai said. Rigby stared at the ceiling, his stomach rumbling.
"Do you wanna go to the Clock?" Rigby asked. 'The watched Clock,' was the name of the diner Mordecai and Rigby frequented.
"Yeah, I guess. I'm pretty hungry actually. I didn't eat since that shitty Indian food last night." Mordecai said.
"It wasn't too bad, I mean, it was fine." Rigby said. Mordecai turned to him and made a face.
"I know Indian food can be salty, but fuck, the sauce on that chicken was made of salt. And plus, the chicken was on the bone, and worse, pieces of it fell off into the sauce. It was so nasty, dude." Mordecai said "Never again," he added.
Rigby sat up, feeling slightly rough around the edges. They both drank too much cheap rum the previous night. He hopped over Mordecai's long legs, and landed clumsily on the floor. The carpet was a dark blue, with tiny specks of crumbs and God-knows-what-else running through it. The result was that sharp crumbs would often stick to their feet and get in their shoes. It was annoying, but not annoying enough to vacuum it all up. Rigby wiped his feet on a clear spot on the carpet, trying to get crumbs off. He pulled on a thin, dirty white shirt, and a thicker overshirt.
"Come on, man." Rigby said, giving Mordecai a nudge. Mordecai stretched, and closed his laptop, sitting it on the chair they used as a bedside table. He got up and pulled on the same wife-beater he had been wearing for two weeks.
"All right, let's go." Mordecai said. They made their way through their house, carefully avoiding discarded takeout cartons and random detritus. They made it to the front door, which Mordecai slammed behind them, not bothering to lock it.
They walked down the street, and by then, it was completely dark, with only streetlamps and car headlights illuminating their way. Neither of them spoke, because nothing needed to be said.
The walk was only about a minute and a half. Rigby pushed open the door, and they stumbled in. The middle-aged woman behind the counter, looked up, saw them, and nodded. She began cooking their order straight away. They were regulars. Two slices of French toast, sausage, and biscuit for Mordecai, three pancakes, no butter, and two slices of bacon, soft as possible, for Rigby.
The two sat down at their regular booth, and both immediately lit cigarettes. The smoke lingered round them, creating a smoky barrier between them and the rest of the world.
Mordecai took out a small square box from his back pocket, and sat it down on the table between them.
"Happy birthday, dude" he said, smiling a little. Rigby blinked.
"Is it the twenty-fifth?" Rigby said, his eyes widening slightly.
"Yep." Mordecai said.
"Man, I thought it was September…" Rigby said sitting back, trying to think.
"Don't worry about it. You're just getting old." Mordecai said, grinning. Rigby smiled, but then his face fell, and he seemed to be lost in thought.
"I'm twenty-two today. What am I even doing?" he said. Mordecai's expression fell, and he gave Rigby a sympathetic look.
"You don't have to be doing anything right now. We're just gonna get some food, and it'll be great. Then we'll stop by the liquor store, get some booze, then get smashed" Mordecai said, trying to cheer Rigby up.
"That's what we do every day." Rigby said.
"I know. I know. I mean…as long as we have each other, or something…right?" Mordecai asked. Rigby looked up, and gave a weak smile.
"I guess," He said. Mordecai nodded towards the box on the table.
"Open it" he said.
Rigby tore open the cardboard, and removed the plastic. It was Extraordinary Burglary Mechanized 6, the newest installment in one of the most controversial free-roam, shooter games ever. Rigby hadn't been able to stop talking about it for months.
"Dude…" Rigby said.
"Open the case, dude, but just do it on the down-low" Mordecai said. Rigby gave him a puzzled look, but regardless, he cut open the plastic seal, and opened the case. Inside were the game cartridge, the instruction booklet, and a sealed bag of a spring green powdery substance. Rigby looked up at Mordecai in awe.
"Kief, dude" Mordecai said, a huge grin on his face.
"Man…how did you…?" Rigby asked.
"Shhhh. Relax, dude. Don't worry about it. We're just gonna enjoy it, okay?" Mordecai said. Rigby nodded.
"Thanks dude. Thanks for even remembering…" Rigby said.
"Anytime, man" Mordecai said. Their food came shortly after
After eating, they headed straight to the liquor store, which wasn't far up the street. Upon entering, the man behind the counter got their cigarettes for them, while Mordecai and Rigby selected the same two-liter bottle of rum that they always got. Again, they were regulars.
"I've got this, dude" Mordecai said to Rigby. Mordecai felt like Rigby shouldn't have to pay for anything on his birthday.
The total was only seventeen-fifty. While getting out his money, Mordecai suddenly became slightly dizzy, and nauseous. He became fumbling around with the cash a bit, and became slightly sweaty. The man behind the counter gave them a knowing look, and just gently took the relevant money out of Mordecai's hand, and then gave him his change. Mordecai held the counter, and took a few deep breaths while he regained his composure.
"Thanks" Mordecai said, eager to get outside. He and Rigby left the store, and Mordecai headed straight towards a nearby bench. Rigby grew concerned.
"Hey, Mordecai…what's up? You good?" He asked.
"Yeah, yeah dude, just need to sit down" Mordecai said. He sat down heavily on the bench and clutched his head for a couple seconds. He stared at the plastic bag containing the alcohol.
"Hey…do you actually wanna take a sip right now?" Mordecai asked, hoping the rum would make him feel better. Rigby nodded, took the bag out of Mordecai's hands, opened the bottle, and passed it to Mordecai. Mordecai took several liberal swigs of the rum, and then lowered the bottle from his beak. He took a few deep breaths, and already, he was feeling much better.
"Man, that's better" Mordecai said. Rigby took the bottle from Mordecai, and took a few sips himself, and then they put it back in the bag, both wanting to get home.
They arrived home and headed straight for their bedroom, trying to ignore the messy rest of the house, and whatever unpleasantries may be lurking within all the trash.
"There's a dead mouse" Mordecai said, pointing to a corner by the kitchen door. At this point, the two could be considered level-two hoarders. They had had a few problems with mice, rats, and flies, but they tended to stay away now, because Mordecai and Rigby would often eat them to save money on food, so they could spend it on alcohol.
"Are you gonna get that?" Rigby asked.
"No way, dude, I ate the last one" Mordecai said. Rigby groaned, picked up the mouse, and headed into the bathroom. There, he turned on the cold tap, and ran the mouse's body under the water.
"Why do you always have to do that? Seriously, there's no law of the universe mandating you run your food under water. Every time man, we get takeout or delivery, and you take yours and run it under the water. It's your whole family as well, every single meal, soaked in water. It's fucking gross, dude." Mordecai called from the other room.
"Screw you" Rigby said.
"Just why though?" Mordecai insisted.
"I don't even know" Rigby admitted. Once the mouse's body was drenched, Rigby closed his eyes, held his breath, and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed as hard as he could, ripping bits of fur off of the mouse's body. He had to take it out a couple of times, and chew bits of wet fur off in order to make it easier to eat. Once he was done with the fur, he bit the tail off, and once that was gone, he finally was able to put it in his mouth and chew on it until he could swallow. The taste wasn't terrible, it was the texture and the way it felt in his mouth that made Rigby more averse to eating mice.
Afterwards, Rigby joined Mordecai in their room to play the new game, and get smashed.
About twelve hours, a liter of rum, and several bowls of weed later, Mordecai and Rigby sat on the carpet mindlessly staring at their TV screen. They had been playing Rigby's new game all night, and at this point, they were randomly pushing buttons on the controllers, not paying much attention to what was going on onscreen. Mordecai let his controller fall out of his hand, and stretched his legs.
"Hey dude, you tired?" He asked.
"Kinda, but I feel like if I go to bed now, I'll just be tossing around and shit. Like, my body's tired, but my mind isn't" Rigby said.
"Dude, do we have rum left? That'll take care of that." Mordecai said. Rigby looked over his shoulder and saw the discarded rum bottle on the bed.
"Nah, it's empty. But I mean, it's nine, so the liquor store is open if you wanna get more…" Rigby said.
"Sure, hold on" Mordecai said. He pulled out his phone, and checked his bank account online. There was a dollar and thirty cents in his account.
"Shit, we're out of money." Mordecai said.
"Oh crap…whose parents do we call?" Rigby asked.
"Yours…my dad gave us money just the other week, dude." Mordecai said.
"Yeah, but my dad gave us like next to a thousand dollars a couple weeks ago, he'll be disappointed if I call before next month, and that's even worse than him being pissed off at me." Rigby said.
"Fuck, dude, yeah. We shouldn't have gone to the bar every day." Mordecai said, facepalming.
"Call your mom, she always give us money" Rigby said.
"Yeah, but it's early. She'll be passed out still, and she'll be pissed if I wake her…wait, why can't we call your mom?" Mordecai asked.
"Cause my parents actually talk to each other" Rigby replied.
"Oh. Well, I'm gonna call my dad, I guess…" Mordecai said.
"You're gonna die, man" Rigby said.
"Shut up, dude" Mordecai said. He took a deep breath, and called his dad. After just one ring, he picked up.
"Wells Fargo, mergers and acquisitions, William Quintel speaking" his dad's voice came over the phone.
"Hey dad…" Mordecai said.
"Oh, it's you. Hey kiddo." Mordecai's dad said.
"Uh…what's up?" Mordecai asked.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm working." Mordecai's dad said.
"Oh, cool…anything new?" Mordecai asked.
"You need money." Mordecai's dad said. It wasn't a question.
"Well…I mean, yeah…" Mordecai said.
"Mordecai." Mordecai's dad said, "I don't want you to think I can't give you money, because I can. But really, I just gave you three hundred dollars last…. Friday" He said, checking his computer, "What do you even spend it all on?" He asked.
"Well, you know, like…essentials and stuff. I'm still looking for a job…it's a rough economy." Mordecai said. His dad laughed over the phone.
"No, I'll tell you what you're doing. You're not looking for a job, for one. Two, I have a pretty good idea exactly where you're spending your money. Let me take a guess…"
"Dad…" Mordecai interrupted.
"…Let me finish. Every day, you roll out of bed at two or three, lie around on your ass for a few hours, until you and Rigby can be bothered to haul your asses out of bed, then you go to the bar, and I'm guessing you spend twenty to thirty dollars on beers and shots of God-knows-what there, then you get food at some delinquent diner, which probably isn't even listed on Zagat – that's probably ten, fifteen, then you probably go to the liquor store and get even more booze, your disgusting cigarettes, and maybe a little weed on the weekends – that'll be another twenty. So all and all, I'm guessing you spend fifty dollars a day on alcohol, food, and cigarettes, minimum. Am I on the right track at all?" Mordecai's dad said.
"Dad, stop…" Mordecai said.
"And then, once it's gone in four days, you call Rigby's parents, give some sorry excuse about "living expenses," get money from them, that lasts a few days, then you call me again." Mordecai's dad said.
"That's bullshit" Mordecai lied.
"I smell it on you when you come home, the alcohol. Just like I smell it on your mother. You're a mommy's boy, aren't you, my son?" Mordecai's dad said.
"Don't compare me to mom." Mordecai said, somewhat aggressively.
"Are either of you getting the shakes yet?" Mordecai's dad asked.
"Fuck you. Are you going to give me money, or not?" Mordecai asked.
"Don't you fucking dare speak to your father like that. If I had said that to my dad, he would have gotten straight in the car, come round, and smacked me till I fucking bled." Mordecai's dad said, losing his temper.
"I'm not even sorry." Mordecai said.
"You know, I don't make four hundred grand a year by sitting on my ass and drinking all day like you two do."
"I bet the coke helps," Mordecai said. His dad ignored the comment, and continued.
"I just sent you twenty-one hundred dollars. That'll last you for a month of nonstop drinking, right? Let me know when you and Rigby both get jaundice. I'm guessing I'll be speaking to you again in about thirty days. Bottoms up." Mordecai's father said, and with that, he hung up.
"Cunt." Mordecai said to himself.
"Well?" Rigby asked.
"Yeah, he sent money" Mordecai said. Rigby gave a look of surprise.
"Holy shit, how did you manage that?" He asked.
"Cause," Mordecai said, "if he didn't I could call mom and tell him he didn't, and he wouldn't hear the end of it. At least mom cares. Kind of." He said.
"Well, how much, man, come on!" Rigby said, becoming excited.
"Two grand, dude" Mordecai said, grinning.
On his trampoline, Rigby rolled onto his back. He felt a lot like he remembered feeling like back then. It was almost exactly two years ago. He was going to be twenty-four in August, and little had truly changed. They had both managed to quit drinking outside of the weekends at least, and most would be glad they had a job, but really, Rigby didn't want to work. He wanted his life to mean something, but for him, that didn't involve working from nine-till-five until he made it to seventy, or croaked. After two years, he still hadn't figured out an alternative.
And now, he had the feeling as though his life was over. He imagined that this is what it felt like to have cancer, and have only months to live, as if nothing existed beyond the next day, even the next hour. As if he had experienced every experience possible, and there was nothing left in the world to see, say, or do.
One way or another, it had to end.
Hey all.
So, I'm really, really sorry it's taken so long to update, I feel really bad, honestly.
I just want to take this opportunity to reassure those of you who have expressed your interest in the story that this story has not been, nor ever will be, abandoned. Really, I've just been so busy with school, I've had zero motivation to do anything lately. I hate college. I hate it so bad. Honestly, I thought about the story every day, I really did - I never forget about it.
I'll be flying home for winter break on December 13th, and I'll have a month off, so I'm hoping to put up at least three chapters then. Whether there will be another one before that, I don't know. I've got a bunch of finals coming up. I hate my life.
Now, onto the chapter itself. Shorter than recent chapters, but I'm kinda pleased with it. Reviews are desperately wanted. Let me know if you think I'm going too far with imagining up their pasts. I usually hate it when people do that, but actually, I'm having a lot of fun with it, and I do want to get their families and home lives involved in the story pretty soon, so really, it's relevant, promise.
Major fucking kudos to those of you who get the insanely obscure Bioshock reference. Not the Grand Theft Auto one, that's way too easy :P
Much love,
~Art.