Chapter 7.3 Toki's demons

Toki let the water wash over him in the shower as he punched the tiled wall for the fifth time. That bastard. That fucking damn Swedish bastard! You couldn't even hate-fuck the man! He made you fucking love him.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…" Toki used this as a mantra as he punched the wall at half strength.

The bastard had just used you.

"…I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…"

Even on the couch, that was only for himself.

"…I hate you, I HATE you, I HATE you, I HATE you …"

He took advantage of you in the studio.

"…I HATE you, I HATE you, I HATE you, I HATE you…"

Like you just did to him.

"ARRRRRRGGGGGG! I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

Toki held both fists against the wall as the water ran down through his hair. He watched it curl off the ends and away down the drain as his breathing became erratic and shallow.

That bastard. That fucking horrible, manipulative, arrogant, beautiful bastard. Why the fuck did Skwisgaar do this to him? The swede had picked him up from the depths of despair only to kick him back down into it. Is this what he got off on? Did it make him feel good to play the hero? Did he get a kick out of seeing poor little messed up Toki brought low by his own demons? The same way…fuck…the same way he loved to see Skwisgaar brought low.

Toki slammed his back into the wall a few times before he slid down and crumpled up on the tiled floor of the shower. He put his head in his hands and watched the water trickle down and off his body.

What the fuck was wrong with him? None of this was right, NONE of these feelings were right. Skwisgaar was his band mate, his house mate, not quite his countryman but damn close enough and his friend. Were they even friends? Where did that line blur? When did that line blur?

Probably when he had his hand around your cock… or maybe when you had your mouth around his.

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGG!" He scrunched up his fingers and pulled at his own drenched hair.

He'd had the teachings of God beaten into him, literally beaten into him; 'Do not lay with a man as one lays with a woman…', 'Never shall the defilers enter the kingdom of Heaven…', 'Give up your guests, Lot, so that we may know them…' What had he done? He was no better than the wicked men of Sodom. He had ravaged an angel and now the vengeful hand of God would come and rain fire over Mordhaus. How could he have strayed so far from the path?

He laughed a desperate laugh to himself.

Strayed so far? What about all the other shit he had done? He was in the biggest death metal band in the world, how could he stray much farther, primarily since he no longer believed?! Well, it looked like he had found a way. If his father weren't already dead, this would probably kill him.

He tugged at his hair harder.

His father. His fucking father. Why did he have to have that motherfucker in his head that night? Why couldn't he have just been a little bit more drunk and not given a shit? Why the fuck did Skwisgaar have to make that smug fucking face at him?! Especially after… after being… after being so fucking good to him!

He leaned back and stared up at the showerhead.

Obligation. That was it, just obligation; Obligation to the band in conjunction with being a horn-dog. He didn't really give a fuck about him, all he cared about was his fucking guitar, his music. Toki didn't even write anything so how could he think he was important to the band, to anyone? He wasn't a shining guitar god destined to walk this world with the light of a blazing star. Skwisgaar was right, how dare he try to play his music. Each note the man played rang out his life force, it was a vent for his boiling soul, his first and only love.

How could he have thought that driving his dick into him would bring him down to his level; that it would make Skwisgaar look at him? The man was impenetrable even when you were fucking penetrating him! Toki had desperately ripped at the one loose scale over the dragon's heart but had glimpsed at it only because he had been allowed. That kiss had only been to further Skwisgaar's whimsy. A tool used to twist it all back on himself, as if he had been in control the entire time. That fucking bastard, he had been, hadn't he? He had built Toki up just to watch him fall twice as hard. What a sadistic prick.

Toki lifted himself off the floor and turned off the tap. He held there for a while and stared blankly at the wall as the last of the water ran off him.

Who was really the sadistic prick? Toki had loved being on top of him, holding him down and smothering Skwisgaar in shadow. He had loved his futile attempts at escape and the slew of curses as he drove his hate into him. He had loved those long, powerful fingers desperately crushing into his shoulder, his indecent expressions and moaning breath; even his sickly sent. He had loved every part of hating that man.

He reached for a towel and dried himself poorly before he went to rummage around in his wardrobe for fresh clothes. He dried the rest of his hair in the towel as he walked around his room. This was all too natural, all too normal. He sat on his bed and clasped his hands tightly together as the helix of guilt and remorse wound tighter and tighter inside his chest. Eventually it snapped and Toki grabbed his bed side lamp and smashed it. The sound was intoxicating. He tore the pictures off the wall and smashed all their frames. He screamed raw rage as he picked up his desk chair and hurled it against the wall. He watched the model planes suspended from the ceiling break open like piñatas as he threw random objects and multilingual abuse at them. He ripped off the bed sheets and threw them at the door.

He looked over at his guitar in the corner; this was all its fault. If he had just obeyed his father all those years ago and had never picked up the damn thing in the first place none of this would have happened. None of these feelings would be nested in his sinful chest. He grabbed the neck of his Flying V, positioned it over his shoulder and then brought it down like an axe. The instrument cracked and splintered as it connected with the stone floor and the strings twanged as they snapped and sprang up, scratching at Toki's chest and arms. He stood there panting with the mangled neck of the guitar in his hands for a long while.

He then collapsed on the pile of carnage and burst into tears. He rolled in the broken glass, splintered wood and other random shrapnel as he wailed uncontrollably. When he removed his hands from his face he noticed the small shape under his bed. Toki reached out and grabbed the dusty pencil tin then sat up and leaned against his bed as he opened it.

Inside was the long, thin, four strand plait he had shut away so long ago. He threaded it through his fingers a few times as his jaggered breathing jolted his whole body. He then twisted it around both index fingers and held it like a strap as he bowed his head down onto its tension.

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Murderface entered without asking. "Hey Toki! I got a great idea... for…" he stopped and surveyed the wreckage of a room. Toki didn't look up at him, instead he continued with his vain attempt at breathing. "Holy schit, dude." Was the only comment Murderface had. He looked down at Toki and sighed when he noticed the myriad of small, fresh cuts on his face and arms. The bassist's first instinct was to close the door and pretend he hadn't seen anything but, for all his misgivings, he managed to walk through the door before closing it.

He sat down next to Toki, lit a pair of cigarettes and passed one over. Toki accepted it with his shaking hand and it helped to regulate his breathing as they sat there together and smoked in silence. Whatever was on that video had really fucked Toki up, Murderface thought. He tested a few different sentences in his head before he picked one.

"Don't let that asschole get to you." He said plainly. Toki had a slight pause in motion but said nothing in reply. "It takesch a conscious-ch effort, I know, but don't let that blonde prick get inschide your head." He picked up part of the broken guitar and studied it, "He'sch not worth it, Toki." The rhythm guitarist still didn't reply but nodded slightly in recognition.

Murderface stood up and looked around with his hand on his chin. "I like what you've done witsch the place, though. Very Avant-Garde." Toki gave a nervous little laugh (more at the ridiculous way Murderface pronounced avant-garde than at the actual joke) and Murderface gave a little smile back. "Come on, let'sch patch you up then get some popschicles. I got a great idea for the schecond bridge. We're gunna blow those fuckers away with this song!"

He extended his hand to the Norwegian and clasped the shaking, grazed palm in his own before pulling Toki to his feet.