Murdoc wasn't sure what to feel. He knew he was annoyed, angry and definitely confused. But he wasn't sure if it was with himself or with Cameron. Why had this happened again? She'd once again controlled the situation, she'd called the shots and he hated it. It was bad enough that she robbed him of the chance to kick her out the first time they fucked, but now she'd kicked him out? That was too far. He shook his head, infuriated, and stomped down the stairs on the way to his Geep. He flung open the door at the bottom of the stairway, feeling pleased when it opened so far that it hit the brick wall outside with a loud, satisfying bang. He stalked towards the vehicle, checking the time on his phone. It was just after 4 am. Hopefully Russel's friends would be gone, or at least would be passed out so he could get some much needed peace and quiet. He threw himself heavily down on the seat and put the key in the ignition, staring the engine and turning back onto the main road.
Seeing how Cameron lived explained a lot. It explained why she was rail thin, why she'd been so reluctant to have him back to her flat, why she had bitterly lashed out at him for his riches and fame in the diner that night. He wondered how long she'd been living like that, and if it was the reason behind her sulkiness. Maybe it had something to do with the way she constantly pushed him away after they had sex. Not that I should mind, really. He was irritated and a bit worried that he had to keep reminding himself not to care. He gripped the wheel tighter, nails digging deep into the flesh of his palm, hoping that the pain would divert his attention away from the troubling thoughts. It didn't.
Cameron reminded him a lot of himself at that age. He often saw much of himself in her, a likeness in disposition that sometimes came too close for comfort. It was erie at times, like he was looking into a mirror. He could read her expressions well, recognizing them as ones that used to (and when he was alone, sometimes still did) mark his face. He didn't like the tortured sadness he often saw flash in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking at her. It hit close to home. Her face held what he desperately tried to keep away at all costs, hiding from the feelings behind booze and sex. He wondered if she had a Sebastian Jacob Niccals of her own in her life.
He pulled into the carpark at Kong, staying in the Geep for a few minutes after he'd turned off the engine. He wasn't sure why, but he had an odd sensation of not being able to get out of the vehicle. The will to move was not there, and his body felt numb. He sat frozen, mismatched eyes directed forward but not focusing, hands still clutching the wheel. He was roused from his trance by Russel coming into the carpark. Russel had been cleaning up the mess of beer bottles and red solo cups left by his friends when he heard the roar of the Geep approaching Kong. He was feeling drunkenly good-natured and wanted to check on the almost certainly inebriated bassist before he went to bed. "Yo! Muds?" He called, walking over. Murdoc's head snapped up, startled by the sudden sound.
"'Ey Russ." He said. If it had been 2D, he would have taken out some of his frustration and punched the Dullard. But because it was Russel and he didn't want his nose broken for a 9th time, he simply asked, "Didja have a good night?"
"Yeah man, it was off the heezy!" Russel said enthusiastically, affectionately punching Murdoc on the shoulder. "How was yours?" He asked.
Murdoc sighed. "It was fine, mate."
"You get some ass?" Russel questioned with a wink and a nudge.
"Yeah." Murdoc answered expressionlessly. "I'm going to bed. Night Russel." He found the strength to get out of the Geep and stagger towards his Winnie. He slammed the door behind him, leaving the bewildered drummer standing with a confused look on his face. Why's Muds so bummed if he got laid tonight? Russel wondered. He figured that sex was pretty much all Murdoc needed to be happy. The big man shrugged his beefy shoulders, dismissing the mild concern. Murdoc was prone to moodiness. He probably picked up a drag queen by mistake or some shit like that, Russel thought, laughing quietly to himself as he walked back into Kong to finish cleaning up before he passed out for the night.
/
Cameron was a mess. She'd woken up the next morning after her night with Murdoc feeling miserable. She stayed in bed all day, not caring that she was missing work and would likely be fired for it. She couldn't find it in herself to care about anything. She lay apathetically, staring unblinkingly at the dirty wall of her room and thinking about what a fool she was. It never ceased to amaze her how consistently she fucked up her interactions with other people. Murdoc had seemed pissed off when he left, and understandably so. But she'd been scared, no, terrified of what she was feeling. The idea of Murdoc leaving her was almost unbearable. That was why she forced herself to make him go. She had to convince herself that she was still strong enough to say no, to hold herself back from doing things that would end up hurting her, no matter how much she didn't want to resist them.
It was backwards, she knew, but she wasn't sure what else to do. She was gravely aware that she was on the brink of depression. It crept into her sometimes, gnawing at her insides and threatening to make her go insane. That was why she couldn't afford to let Murdoc hurt her. She was standing on the edge of a cliff and below her was a sea of inevitable and all-consuming anguish. It wouldn't take much for her to fall off and be dragged to it's murky, sorrow laden depths. She loved Murdoc and his rejection of her was the only thing with the power to make her drop. And she knew that he would never love her. If her own family, her own flesh and blood didn't love her, how could she even begin to think anyone else would? Especially Murdoc. If a person didn't receive love from those who were meant to love them, they never stopped looking for it. Though it never occurred to her, Cameron had spent the better part of her young life subconsciously hoping that someone would love her and prove her fears wrong. But all that seemed to find her was loneliness and isolation. So she was forced to cope the only way she knew how.
That night, she snorted nearly 4g of her pills, an amount that approached dangerous, almost toxic, territory. She followed the pills with large gulps of the "emergency" vodka she kept in the cupboard, soon loosing count of how many swigs she took. She drank until the burning substance tasted like water, flowing easily down her numb throat. Her stomach rejected the alcohol almost immediately, however, and she ran to the bathroom, vomiting convulsively. Her shoulders shook as the pure, clear liquid, unmixed with food of any sort spewed from her mouth. She leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down to sit on the cold, cracked tiles. She felt dizzy and lightheaded and her vision blurred, making it difficult to see.
She tried unsuccessfully to stand up, stumbling and falling back against the wall. She giggled drunkenly, grasping the basin of the sink, pulling herself up and looking in the mirror. "Mmmurdoooooc you silly old man, this is your fault. Why don't you love me?" She asked her reflection. Suddenly, her eyebrows knit together and her face became angry. "Don't give me that look!" She shouted, banging a fist on the wall. There was no answer, of course. "You're me! I can control you!" She erupted into a fit of mad cackles, leaning her face into the mirror and pressing the tip of her nose onto the glass. "I seeeee youuuu! I see intooooo you!" She smirked at her reflection, "You're sick." She stated maliciously, voice dripping with poison.
Cameron backed out of the bathroom, cautiously keeping her eyes on the person in the mirror until she was out of sight. Cameron was sat on her mattress. She compulsively tapped her hands on her knees, having a strange sensation that if she stopped moving, she would become paralyzed. She jerkily lay down, covering her head with a pillow. She'd begun to hear what sounded like thousands of people murmuring, the voices seemingly coming from the inner canals of her ears. "SHUT UP!" She shrieked abruptly, throwing the pillow from her head, jumping off the mattress and backing into the corner of the room. Hair covered her face and she was breathing heavily, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. I have to keep moving, she thought anxiously, waves of panic washing over her body. She paced the room, swiftly striding from one wall to the other, back and forth at least twenty times.
She grew tired soon, and picked up the near empty bottle of vodka and went onto her balcony. She bent over the rusty iron railing and looked down at the dark, spinning street. As she leaned hazardously over the ledge, she guzzled the remainder of the bottle. She carelessly tossed it off the balcony, hearing it crash on the unforgiving asphalt below. "HELLO!" She shouted. "IS ANYONE THERE?" She was answered with silence, except for the occasional sound of a car speeding by beneath her. The sight was beautifully hypnotizing. The ground seemed to swirl and the pretty headlights of the cars reminded her of the candles on her 5th birthday cake and the first time her mother hit her. When she'd been asked if she liked the bible she'd been given as a present, she truthfully answered no, at that age barely knowing how to read. Her mother had soundly slapped her face, calling her a worthless, ungrateful wretch. Cameron had been too upset to blow out her candles.
The wind made her hair float around her tear-stained face like an amber halo as she focused on the headlights below her, thinking that maybe if she went down and blew them out, she could make her wish. She could fix her problems and repair her damaged life. Everything would be okay. Everything will be okay! She thought with a smile. She climbed onto the ledge of the balcony, preparing to jump off. The thought occurred to her that if she didn't make the jump, maybe that would be another solution, another way of fixing her problems. She wondered if there was a heaven.
/
A/N: Quote: (If you don't receive love from those who are meant to love you, you will never stop looking for it.) from Robert Goolrick, The End of the World as We Know It: Scenes from a Life.