The trip back to Kong was nearing on unbearable, nobody was really talking. Noodle spent the entire trip asleep, Russel was always lost in his head, and 2D just seemed like he wasn't even there. Murdoc swore he'd heard him crying once or twice, but didn't dare say anything. He had thought about talking to the singer after the women had left, but knew better than that. He considered talking to him once they were all back home, but doubted they'd get enough time alone for something like that. What would he say anyways; as far as Murdoc was concerned he had kept his promise. He felt like shit about what had happened, it reminded him back to when he'd shagged Paula. He hoped this wouldn't go like that, he knew there was most likely nothing stopping 2D from dropping out of the band this time.
When they arrived home everybody got out of the bus and silently went inside. Murdoc watched as everybody went off to their rooms to rest. Some part of him thought 2D would say something to him or at least look at him, but he didn't. He just made his way to his bedroom slamming the door shut behind him.
The Satanist made his way to the kitchen grabbing a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet and made his way out to the parking garage and into his own little space. He flung himself down on the bed and began drinking greedily from the bottle, he really had missed being in his Winnebago.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall feeling somewhat content with the silence. Maybe 2D would just get over it; the kid barely had an attention span. He would just simply forget about it, Murdoc still couldn't see what had upset him. More so that he didn't want to, he had wanted to push the younger man. He'd wanted him to not worship him, not look at him with that expression of love he carried even when the older man was beating him senseless. Maybe now that would all change, they would stop having sex most likely, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about the singer having feelings for him; he still couldn't let go of how pissed off he had been. He'd seen him throw tantrums, break things, and sometimes even burn them. Something about this told him the singer's fit would last longer than a day or two of destruction. He really wanted to check on him and try to explain what had happened.
No, he didn't need to do that. He just needed to sit in his space, drink, and forget about the singer. He needed to stop caring about how he was feeling or if he was in pain physical or other wise. He was beginning to soften up because of the younger man and it was driving him crazy, the only way he'd gotten through sex with two women was by thinking about the blue haired idiot.
He felt the guilt and confusion fade into anger. He looked at the near empty bottle that he gripped tightly in his hand; he threw it against the wall watching as the glass shattered falling to the floor like dangerous snow. He got out of his bed and stormed out of his home on wheels, he made his way to the singer's room. He hated how he was feeling, how he had been feeling for all of this time now, this wasn't how he was supposed to function. He'd built himself up to be a certain way, years of working on building a wall around his emotions and one fucking idiot he hit with his van changed that.
Murdoc threw the bedroom door open causing the singer to look up at him from his spot on the bed. His black eyes still looked angry, but the anger was turning into fear when he noticed the look of rage on the older man's face. The bassist grabbed him roughly by the arm and jerked him down onto the floor, 2D tried to get up, but Murdoc kicked him swiftly in the stomach knocking him back to the ground. The younger man curled up on his side clutching onto his stomach, his face grimaced in pain. The Satanist leaned down grabbing him by his hair and dragging him up to his feet and shoving him back against a wall. The taller man looked at him with confused fear, Murdoc wanted to hate him so badly. He wanted to blame him for every little thing that went wrong in his life, why was he so emotionally attached to the idiot. He didn't have a working brain cell in his head, he was pathetic, and clingy….He was weak just like Murdoc had been growing up, just a weak, disgusting, trusting little idiot everybody beat up.
He punched 2D in the face a few times before tossing him back to the floor. This time the singer didn't even try to get up he just curled up into the fetal position and began crying.
He was too weak to even fight back; he would just stay there letting the bassist do whatever he wanted. It sickened him, why was he so weak, and trusting? He was pissed at Murdoc, why wasn't he telling him off or trying to hurt him?
The bassist began kicking him again at his arms, legs, and his back. He reached over grabbing a lamp off of the bed side table and threw it against a wall. He looked down at the singer who hadn't moved an inch, his body shook most likely with an oncoming migraine, and Murdoc could clearly hear him sobbing. He thought about kicking him again, apologizing, or screaming at him. He didn't though, he didn't trust anything else he could do or say, and with one final look he turned and walked out of the room leaving the blue haired man a bloodied mess on the floor.
The rage flooded out of his body leaving him with a feeling of exhaustion and more self hatred. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and stumbled out to the garage going back to his space. His home away from home where nobody could really get to him, he didn't want them around. He just wanted to be alone with his alcohol and the pills he had stocked up that he'd stolen from the dullard. He didn't need anybody and he wished he could find a way to remove the humane voice in the back of his head telling him how stupid he was. Some part of him wanted to run back and apologize, that was weak though, and Murdoc wasn't weak. Not anymore, he'd been weak at one time in his life, but he had killed that person. He wasn't that stupid kid anymore who took shit and would sometimes make a smart ass remark, but still be left bloodied in the corner. He wasn't like 2D, he wasn't a fucking victim, he was the attacker, and he damn well liked that role. Yet he couldn't help the tightening in his chest and the wetness he felt built up in his eyes, fuck.