Chapter XXXV: Iron Curtain
Angel sprung awake when she heard the crunch of buckling metal, leaping to her feet. At once, everything was silent, as if the noise had never occurred. But as she listened, heart racing, she heard the low groan of the building above her. She doubted whether or not if she wanted to know what happened, if it would be easier on her mind to crawl back under the warm arms that made sleep come all too easily and ignore it. But she was already pulling Murdoc's brown jacket over her arms.
Hopefully, it was only something outside; maybe something had been knocked something over on the roof? But as she made her slow way up and up the staircase, there was a severe chill in the air, a bitter cold that turned the railing into a bar of ice. She peaked into the third floor. Nothing—undisturbed darkness. A cool wind brushed against the back of her neck, and Angel glanced up, onto the fourth floor landing. There were another two floors upwards, one of which she'd never plucked up the courage to travel to. She glanced into the fourth floor hallway—again, nothing.
But the wind grew colder and fiercer, and when Angel finally reached the next landing, her fears were realized. Snow. It covered the steps in fresh powder, leaving a trail into the hallway. She glanced up. A gaping hole had been ripped down from the ceiling, plaster splattered like blood where the snow piled up and overcame the weak spot of the roof. Wind blew freely through the hole, down the corridor and forced the stairway door ajar, flapping like a desperate bird trying to escape. Angel nearly fell to her knees. That was it—Kong was finished. Murdoc could bring in the best contractor and carpenter in the world, but this building had been dealt a fatal blow, and Angel felt helpless. It was like watching an injured animal die, and there was nothing to be done. The wood was rotting away, the studio was slowly but surely falling in on itself, and each creak or the metalwork made Angel cringe and prepare for it all to fall down on her. She no longer felt safe in the place that had become her haven. The ease of breaking into the grounds now was only second in her mind to the ease of bringing the whole thing down.
She barely heard the tip-tapping of feet as she rubbed her face in her palms in denial, not wanting to see her hard work beginning to dissolve. The footsteps stopped right behind her.
"Ange', you hurt?" 2D asked, crouching down, fearful that she'd been stuck with the debris. He reached out tentatively, only to be smacked away by Murdoc's paw.
"What the 'ell happened?" he yelled.
Angel just sat there on her rump, hands in her lap, staring at the mess. He grunted and leaned down, tilting her face up, turning it this way and that, looking meticulously for a gash or a cut. Angel avoided his eyes.
"…Yer fine. Come on, get up."
She didn't answer.
"It's gone. What going to happen now?" she asked distantly.
He clicked his tongue, pulling on her arm.
"Come on, 'f ya stay 'ere, yer really gonna have a hefty bump on yer head." The ceiling groaned overhead, making 2D anxious and jumpy. "Ange', dun' be difficult."
Wavering for a minute, waiting for her to get up, he groaned and leaned down and took her torso over his shoulder, lifting her up. The burden made him nearly topple over—she was a heavy girl. 2D wrung his hands, peering up at the girl as she passed, and followed quickly behind, plaster raining steadily down from the ceiling.
There was a heavy silence that fell over Kong that day; an overwhelming, suffocating, quiet that kept all conversations hushed and short, as if the building would come down on their heads if they spoke any louder. Angel stayed rooted to the couch in the studio, playing the worn-down sitar aimlessly, almost badly, moving her fingers more as if she were tapping her nails nervously on a tabletop rather than playing a song. Her single suitcase sat beside her, sadly, and she waited with a clenched chest for the other two to be finished packing.
They were leaving Kong.
Murdoc said it was a waste to invest any more money in a house that was tearing itself down anyway, that they'd have to pack it up and move on out before the rest of the building followed the roof. She felt smaller than ever before—that meant all her hard work, all the abandonment of her music, was for nothing. Her foot tapped nervously.
Now what? Where was she to go? She had no more money, she knew no one but Mr. D (did he have any last name at all?) and , and that wasn't going to get her very far…She could beg Murdoc for a loan, she supposed, since she had no citizenship to go to a bank for one, a hitch a plane back home. The fact that her time with that man was quickly running through her fingers was a thought she kept smashed into the back of her mind.
What if she never saw him again? She was just another girl, after all, and the fact that she hadn't even gotten what all of his girls got—a hot and heavy shag in the trailer—made her bitter, though she didn't want to admit it to herself. They were more like 'kissing cousins', she sneered, and that irked her. Her lips parted,
'A virgin,
Shoulder to shoulder in blue.
She clasps her hands
On a cross that bleeds.
Upside-down,
Married to herself.'
The tinny sound of the instrument vibrated through her fingertips, and she tapped her shoe's heel against the cream carpet impatiently.
The door opened in a rush, startling her, and 2D poked his head in.
"Muhdoc says 'e 'as somefin for ya," he said quietly, " 'E wans'ta meet you in the lobby."
"…Kay," she said as he disappeared, closing the door gently.
Angel glanced down at the sitar; she wondered if Murdoc would let her keep it if she asked. She couldn't exactly see him playing it often, if at all. Slipping the thick woven strap over her shoulder, she took the suitcase in one hand and zipped her jacket all the way with the other. Technically is was Murdoc's coat but she hoped he wouldn't bring that up. She wanted one piece of him, one little, insignificant piece. Her chest shriveled up, clasping her heart so tightly that she felt as if it would stop.
Her boots thumped mutedly down the cement hallway, ten times slower than her heartbeat. What did he want to give her? She glanced up, and nearly yelped when she saw him standing by the door; no bags, dressed unusually dapper (for him) in a black peacoat, his skull broach nestled into an ebony scarf. He stared at her, silent, and with an expression that was impossible to read. That made her anxious. His lips curled downwards into a slight frown, just slight enough not to be negative, but certainly not a smile.
He wasn't feeling much calmer, bouncing his right leg as he watched her draw closer. He'd been thinking long and hard about what to do with her, and with a lump in his throat growing bigger by the moment, he cleared his throat.
He wasn't ready to give her up, not just yet. She was still what intrigued him—someone who offered him some strange solace, some kind of calming spirit who, after all he'd done to her, still was as eager to work and please him as they day she returned to Kong. If he just let her go, that would mean giving up someone that may be valuable down the road, someone he might be able to depend on when all others shut the door in his face when he really fucked up, someone…that elicited affection from his black heart. He rubbed his hands together. There was room in his apartment for one more…
" Ange'," he said, clearing his throat again, "Seeing that we're leavin' some things behind, an' I don't 'ave room for them all righ' now, I was gonna lend ya one 'f the bikes in the Carpark." Her eyes lit up temporarily, mouth opening slightly as he reached into his pocket and tossed her the key with the iron skull keychain. He smirked. "Thought it would help you get around, love. Can't have you wandering through the streets on foot alone at nigh', right?"
Her chest fluttered, but her stomach ached, and she felt sick. The Indian. But of course, that was a parting present, wasn't it? Pressure built in her eyes, threatening to show her degree of heart break, threatening to show how weak she truly was inside, how naive that she thought they could last forever in this place, together. Her shoulders shook in effort. She nodded, biting her lip slightly.
"Thank you ," she managed, smiling, "That's really, really sweet of you…I-I'll get it back to you once I go back to North Carolina. I'll get it back to you."
He was silent for a moment, then, mustering up the pride and confidence to ask, opened his mouth, only to be cut off suddenly by 2D, who limped in, shouldering a heavy bag.
"Got everythin' ya need, Angela?" he asked, smiling mutedly, wanting to get out of Kong as quickly as possible in order to avoid another beating that seemed all-too ready to come from the bassist, with that look he was giving him, his eyes fiery and hard.
Angel rose her head with a start. As if blinders had fallen over her brain, her mind began to slow down, and shut out the reality of everything around her, making it hard to focus. She barely heard 2D when he asked again.
"Yeah, I just need to, uh, go down and get the bike from the lot. I'll ride it to Trent tonight and see if my apartment is still available."
Murdoc's face flushed, mouth hanging open slightly, and before he could rush to finish his offer, 2D piped up,
"Didn' ya say tha' place was a hellhole?" he asked, remembering her talking about it so colorfully over last night's dinner.
"It'll do until I get home." She waivered, then added, "To the States."
Kong was her home.
2D leaned on one foot, then the other, obviously missing Murdoc's overwhelming expression of 'get-the-hell-out-of-here', including a scowl which integrated every muscle of his face.
"W-well, 'f ya really haf' nowhere else ta go, I've still got tha' pad up in Colchester, 'f ya need a place to rest yer head tonigh'. I won't bother ya, I swear! I can clear off th' couch an' all."
She lifted her head slightly, feeling a tinge of hope in her tightly clenched chest, her grip relaxing on the iron skull, which had worn a deep impression on her skin.
"Are you serious?"
" 'F it'd help ya."
A sharp knife cut down through Murdoc's middle, tearing his torso apart into little black shreds. His eyes widened, lungs unable to draw a deep breath. No…For Satan's sake this blue-haired twat...His long claws dug into his palm, unable to deny his body urge to hurt something terribly, even if it was himself. His teeth ground together so sharply, so gratingly that the sound resembled chalk scraping heavily against a chalkboard. He didn't hear the rest of what the two said to one another, but stared at the floor, chest rising and falling with short breaths taken fiercely through his nose. Had the girl not been between him and the singer, he would have cracked his skull open on the floor like a raw egg, and smear his brains—if he had any—up and down the walls. The idea of mutilating him was so tempting, to crack each rib under his iron-plated boots until he could no longer breathe…
"Where are you going, Murdoc?" he suddenly heard, as if he was breaching the surface of deafening water. He looked up at her, silent, through narrowed eyes. "Do you have somewhere to go?"
She sounded hopeful. "Backstabber," he nearly said, but bit it back, and spat out,
"I've got my own plans. Worry 'bout yerself." He moved past her swiftly, knocking into her arm, calling over his shoulder, "You'd better stick with Face Ache. He makes 'is fair share 'a girls squeak, I'm sure he'd get you off 'f ya asked 'im real nice-like!"
Her eyebrows furrowed, shoulders flinching as the stairway door shut, gutted from the inside out. 2D recoiled, a careless rabbit who only just realized how narrowly he escaped the rattlesnake's bite. His hands shook; he didn't intend to say that so suddenly, with him around, but he pitied the girl…He glanced over at her, wringing his hands together. He expected her to go running after the bassist, dive down into the Carpark and grovel, but she only turned and picked up her suitcase again, face blank.
"Are you ready to go, 'D?" she asked calmly, quietly.
"Y-yeah. Do ya want ta go get the motor—"
"I'll pick it up another time," she cut him off, "I'll just go back the way you came."
Angel led the way towards the front door, pulling the strap of the sitar zipped up in its deep blue fabric case higher onto her back, rearranging herself nervously. 2D wondered if there was anything he should say, but he was never any good at trying to console anyone, not even himself.
So this was how she was leaving Kong, she thought, floating without direction, not seeing where she was going, but moving methodically towards where her body felt the door was. Scorned. It made sense, of course, every time she left somewhere, she felt as if she left something important behind. This time, it just happened to be her happiness. It felt right, though, in a sick way, to leave her innards on the floor behind her and move on a husk, unable to feel anything but the emptiness of the space around her.
Her head snapped up suddenly, and she dropped her things on the front step, doubling back to rush upstairs. She'd forgotten one thing.
Pushing a few boxes aside, Angel made her way to the closet in Russel's room, and for the first time in a few days, took up the blue dress Murdoc had given her in her hands, pressing it to her chest. How could she let this go? The only physical token of his kindness, the last remaining shred of affection he'd shown to her…The only thing she could take with her and think of him, and not think of how she'd seen him last—full of anger and hateful.
It still smelled like perfume, and she hugged it close, the feeling of silk running over her bare hands like air, forcing her to crouch down and just touch it for a moment, letting everything suddenly sink in, and without warning, began to cry. Not silent, like the previous night, now it came unabashed, loud, red-faced, ugly crying, rubbing her nose against the sleeve of her shirt. She couldn't seem to help it, and in frustration, gripped the dress hard, as if it would help her in some way.
"I lost my chance!" she choked out, body shaking roughly, calling out to no one. "Wh-what am I so stupid for? So stupid…" she sobbed, rocking to and fro on her heels. "Idiot, idiot! You stupid….gah-god what's wrong with me?"
The floorboards creaked behind her, and she turned, big tears rolling down her face, eyes wide in terror. He walked forwards from the doorway, black boots making a soft noise against the carpet, but stopped just short of the girl, looking down at her. Angel rubbed her eyes quickly with the back of her wrist, unable to bear the thought of being seen so much out of control, so childish, but he seized her arm swiftly.
"What're you cryin' about, love?"
She rubbed her lids dry, defiantly, against her shoulder, and cleared her throat of the thick coat of mucus that had collected from her sobs.
"I'm just tired," she lied, getting to her feet. "It's just…getting to me."
Murdoc made a tiny scowl at the corner of his mouth, but said nothing.
"Sorry I couldn't fix your studio up," she continued, giggling that tiny little laugh people used as a filler when they got nervous. She started blinking back the glaze filming over each eye that made more tears slip out and roll into the crevice of her sockets. "I wish I could have been more help, but uh…yeah, sorry."
"Ange'," he said firmly. "Let yerself go just once, ya stupid bint."
"Thanks for helping me, really. I'm grateful. I'll pay it back to you somehow." She withdrew her hand from his grasp unkindly, wrenching away with a sudden pull, and smiled weakly, barely hanging on to whatever emotional sanity she had left. "Bye, Murdoc," Angel said, and strode quickly to the door, only to be grabbed again.
He snatched her by both wrists, wrestling with her to stay still enough to look her in the eye. Throwing her up against the wall with a sudden burst of energy, he ran his hand up her back, nails grazing her spine, each nerve ending brushed with a dangerous touch. She quivered, thighs aching. His eyes were hard, cold, and stared directly into her skull.
"Do act like yer so innocent," his eyes narrowed, lips curled up. "I know exactly what you want from me…Don't go running ta 'D, love, he's table scraps compared ta me."
His tone of voice irked her; so arrogant. She scoffed, weakly and half-heartedly, but she somehow managed to choke her gasps down as his nails traced patterns into her goose-pimpled skin. He leaned in.
"Give me one good time ta remember ya by, Ange', 'f ya don't want ta stick around."
"Get off—" she half moaned, but he snapped, voice firm.
"Don't give me that! What the fuck 's wrong with ya? It's fucking obvious! Yer not hidin' anythin', yer as open as a goddamn book. So just screw me and get it over with!"
Her eyes shrunk back into her skull, her entire body flinching at his rage. Murdoc panted slightly, chest rising and falling in deep, long movements, the black fabric bending over his lanky features invitingly. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. His face pursed up in mock distress.
"What, little Angela can't stoop to my fucking level? Too good fer me? What? What the hell is it that you think yer so 'holier-than-thou', madam, hm?"
"You're…hurting me," she winced, shifting her wrists as he nails sunk into her back, leaving deep grooves that were growing deeper.
"What?"
"You're hurting me you bastard!"
His grip let up, ever-so-slightly, but he didn't back away, pressing himself entire up against her, measuring up to her with his boots, every limb lining up perfectly. Her legs surged at the firmness that pressed into her lap, knees buckling with the bittersweet pressure.
"Murdoc, I don't know you," she pleaded, shaking her head.
"You know me enough," he responded, voice husky, hands sliding downward under the hem of her pants.
"Do you love me?"
The question shocked him into stillness, her eyes probing his face for an answer. Nothing. Not even a flicker of compassion or longing, just confusion.
"I-I…well, in a way…yer very…I like you. Yer a nice gal, yer certainly not what I'm used ta. Yer comforting, real motherly-like. But, I…love, ya know is…"
"No, then..." she mumbled. "Then why the hell should I trust you…"
"You'd enjoy yerself. J'est let yerself go—"
Her shoved into him, snapping.
"And what happens after? Huh? What happens when I want to be with you, and you'd rather be with some whore you met and screwed in an hour? What the fuck am I supposed to do? Watch?"
She screamed, face turning and ugly shade of red and near-purple from the strain, tears dripping down her face unintentionally. He gritted his teeth together, lips twitched until he burst out,
"FUCK YOU, you think I dun' have a drop 'a decency in me? I may be a horney bastard, yeah, I've had my fair share of tarts, yeah, I'm a fucking two-timer. But fuck all 'f I wouldn't give ya 'least a little good treatment! I can be selfless when it goddamn suits me! An' 2D—!"
"What the hell does 2D have to do with this?" she hollered, throat running raw. "It's you that seems to get some sick pleasure from putting me with him in your head! Leave the guy alone!"
His head cocked to one side, eye narrowed into slits.
"DO you want him?"
"I want you more than I've ever wanted a man in my goddamn life!"
"Then fucking be with me! I want you! What the hell is wrong with you, are you that cold? For Satan's sake, Ange'!"
"I'm not going to fuck myself up for you! I'm not going to let you make me your stupid bimbo that lets you do whatever you'd like without having any concern for me at all! I'm not the kind of girl you want, so just skip to the morning after and LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE! Just LEAVE me ALONE! Please…" She gasped in hiccups, shoulders trembling, back seizing. "Just leave me alone…"
Fluorescent lights buzzed mutely overhead, the only sound aside from Angel's sharp breaths and tiny choking noises when she couldn't catch her breath. Tears soaked her neck, her throat hot and dry, burning from screaming. Murdoc glanced down to his shoes for a moment, looking less upset and more and more pensive as the silence settled in.
He knew what she thought was the truth. No one had just ever said it so plainly.
Murdoc suddenly looked back up at her, and feeling a twinge in his chest, finally spoke,
"Yeah, you're probably right." But then took a long breath, "But, then again…you migh' not be…But, why take the chance? You obviously know so much…"
When he drew back, letting a gust of air back into Angel's lungs, she felt him slip something into her pocket, looking rather unaffected and distant.
"Anything 'appens, love, ya change yer mind maybe…swing by," he said in a low voice.
Then, giving her one last disapproving look, he slipped out as silently as he'd entered, and left for good.
Eyes spilling over with saline, she sunk to the floor and sobbed, unable to stop, uncaring if he was still lingering outside the door and could hear her. It didn't matter.
Only when her eyes ran dry could she pick herself up and stumble down stairs, forcing a calm face. 2D was still waiting.