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[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Ten

        I couldn't pinpoint a reason for my sudden combustion - I couldn't even remember the last time I'd been so emotional during a therapy session - but before I could embarrass myself any further I stood from my seat, heading for the door as the silence broke out behind me. Before I pulled it shut, I caught a glimpse of a disquieted Murdoc and his niggling eyes pointed towards me as I escaped. I just couldn't face him any longer.

     I paced back and forth in the entrance of the clinic, fanning myself as if I was suffering a heat stroke. I sat myself on the bench, dabbing the sweat off of my forehead and massaging my stinging cheeks. I figured I'd calm myself down before calling a taxi and dried my face with my shirt, pulling out my phone from my bag.

        "(Y/N)?"

        Startled, I hopped in my spot and almost dropped my phone. My hands scattered to catch it and I looked up to see Murdoc, the glass door slowly shutting after him while as stood motionless. I sighed with relief, even if I was embarrassed to be such a mess in front of him. "Hey, Muds . . ."

        There was a heavy silence hanging over us and I set my phone on my lap, wondering which one of us had more guts than the other to start a conversation first. "Wanna talk about it?" he asked.

        I inhaled deeply, nearly letting out a sob when releasing my breath and sniffing once more while he came towards me. "There's nothing much to talk about," I explained, tilting my head down.

        He perched beside me, our shoulders inches apart as he got comfortable. "There's gotta be something wrong," he pushed with a soft smirk. He tapped my shoulder with his own, "You can tell me."

        Part of my senses doubted myself. However, I'd known this man for roughly two months and we'd already kissed, so even if things we going a little fast, we were close enough, right? I scratched and rubbed my arms to warm my body up, pondering the right words to begin. Rain began pelting the pavement an hour prior to the session, leaving flooding puddles throughout the parking lot and streets, producing a foggy mist around us. The cold air pained my lungs but I just couldn't catch my breath. I wanted to spill everything I'd been holding in to Murdoc so badly, but the thought of facing my problems again just built more tears in my eyes, and I wasn't sure I was ready to breakdown in front of him. It was too late, though.

        I bawled mercilessly, the both of us completely ignorant to when I would stop. Not any time soon, certainly. Murdoc was puzzled, and I felt bad as I watched his attempt at handling me and my malfunction. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, letting me cry my heart out before I was ready to talk. It took five minutes of silence, aside from my sobs and snivels until I was stable enough to pull myself together.

        I could hear Murdoc's smile through his words, "Are you done?"

        I nodded and finally caught up with my breathing, turning my body towards his. "I don't know what's wrong with me . . ." I mumbled. "I just don't know how much longer I can live like this."

        I'd said so little but, and rightfully so, alarmed Murdoc to an awful extent. "W-what do you mean?"

        What did I mean? I'd been talking as if I understood myself but my mind was wandering elsewhere; I wasn't sure what I wanted from myself anymore. "I don't know . . . but I’m so, so tired of living this way. People tell me it gets better all the fucking time but if it doesn't . . ." I swallowed, “I don't know if I wanna be here long enough to see it get worse than this."

        Murdoc shifted his body closer, but moved his head back, searching for a solution to my distress. "A-are you . . . Are you suicidal?" he questioned under his breath.

        I lifted my puffy face to meet with his pale green complexion. How could I admit it? I wanted to be honest, but I couldn't help but feel like such a misfortune. "I . . ." Murdoc stared me down. It was an obvious threat to tell him the truth whether I wanted to or not. "Yeah . . ." I confessed. "I am."

        "For how long?”

        "A few days now . . . I don't know why I've been hesitating," I added, "but I don't walk into traffic for no reason."

        Murdoc was hushed but I could sense his trepidation like an animal. "So . . . you've conditioned yourself to . . . not look both ways?"

        "I suppose you could say that."

        I looked down and noticed his hands, one of them fiddling with the zipper of his leather jacket nervously. "Shit, (Y/N) . . . I'm sorry . . ." His tone gave me the impression he was feeling guilty, but for what? "Is there anything I can do for you?"

        I shook my head, "I'm just gonna go home, might take another shift to distract myself."

        Within a single blink, Murdoc's eyes switched like a light from sincere mourning to on-the-spot safety plan assertiveness. "No way," he said. My eyes widened at his spontaneous mood swings, taken back by his impulsivity. "Not like this. I'm not leaving you alone," he concluded.

        “What?” Deep down I wanted to reject his offer - or more so a demand - so I could isolate myself. I’d listen to my days worth of sorrowful music playlists and drown myself in a fort of pillows, blankets and tears; but I knew it wouldn't work. “Are you sure?”

        Murdoc stood up, holding out his hands for me to take. "Of course I'm sure," he insisted.

        “You aren't busy though, right?"

        He pulled me to my feet and I couldn’t help myself from smiling. "Nah, Tuesdays aren't usually busy due to therapy."

        Murdoc opened his arms wide, motioning for me to accept his proposal, and drew me into a hug. I was speechless. We stood for a few seconds, feeling him rock me back and forth and before letting go of our embrace and intertwining his fingers with mine. Was this Murdoc? He didn't seem like the hand-holding type, never mind the hugging type, no matter what the situation was. There was obvious chemistry between us but I could tell this wasn’t the typical romance he invested himself in. "C'mon, we can hang at my place," he said, heading for the parking lot. He didn’t release me, guiding me to his car as if I wouldn’t recognize it by myself. I was so genuinely muddled by his inexplicably affectionate gesture I couldn't understand what I was doing or where I was going. Nonetheless, I climbed into the passenger seat and it was much cleaner than it was before; I tried not to be impressed.

        As expected, Murdoc turned the radio on, and I decoded the familiar tune of Black Sabbath in all its heavy metal holiness. I relaxed myself to the beat vibrating through the speakers like last time, and I knew I made the right decision. I felt right where I was supposed to be.

        The ride wasn't any different from our past minute-long road trips down the highway, but I couldn’t help but notice it took longer. The only thing protecting us from awkward silence was the wind slicing through my hair as Murdoc rolled down the windows.

        "Is joyriding another activity I need to mark down on your list?" he asked.

        I smiled, too distracted by what awaited beyond the vehicle door to turn around. "Absolutely.”

        I heard him chuckle and he drove past the next exit, leaving me to wonder where he was taking us. "I'll spare a few more minutes on the road then," he decided.

        I looked back at him with a beaming grin, "Thanks."

        I received one in return and watched him turn up the music, his eyes skimming over the pavement. I understood, there and then, how much of an appreciation I had for long, comfortable tours around London. I slightly wished we'd stopped so he could look at me just a little longer; so that I could look at him and find the sincere generosity of his time dedicated to admiring the little things in his eyes, hoping it wasn't all an act.

        "(Y/N)?"

        "Hmm?" I questioned, my eyes glued to his picture before I noticed it moving. But how long had I been staring? How long had he been calling my name? I instantly flushed red, my eyes widening like sinkholes before leaning back and covering my face in embarrassment. This only seemed to amuse him more.

        "Alright, I know I'm charming and all but I'm sure there are other views worth noticing as well." His eyes moved beside me and out the window, and I followed his gaze to be met with the restless River Thames.

        The waves were small but strong, crashing against the walls that tamed their force. There weren't any boats on account of all the rain, but the weather only made the water splash harder and make my heart tremble tremendously in my chest. I couldn’t stress it enough: I might've lived in London since university, but I'd been stuck in the void of my apartment for more than half of the time. I couldn't remember the last time I'd driven past London’s many blessings but gazing upon Tower Bridge made me feel sick in a way. How could I have let myself miss out on such incredible sights right in front of me?

        “Breathtaking, eh?"

        “Yeah . . ." I said, my eyes glued to the mist lifting from the billow. I sighed, and I missed not fearing the water all the years ago. Every comber looked so refreshing - and I yearned for a simple droplet or two whenever I came face to face with a cup or even a puddle outside my apartment building - but I couldn't. I just couldn't do it.

        "We should do this more often; go out every once in a while and look at all the different Wonders of the World," he said.

        “You really wanna?" I turned back to him, my face lightening up with the change of subject.

        “Sure! You don't seem to get out much," he chuckled, a smile staining both of our faces. "Especially when I take you on tour with me."

        I rolled my eyes, "You're still convinced I'd go?"

        “Won't you?"

        I froze. "I-I mean, I would love to but . . ." I quieted down and Murdoc rolled up the windows, turning down the music.

        “What's the matter?"

        “I just wouldn't wanna be a burden," I stated bluntly.

        Murdoc nearly stopped the car, feeling the jolt as it sent both of our heads a few inches forwards. "What?" he exclaimed. "You could never be a burden, (Y/N)! In fact, I'd hire you to help us if my record company wasn't so strict," he said. "Why would you think you're a burden?"

        I smiled at his kind words before softly frowning. "All I know is I can be a lot of emotional baggage to carry. Y'know, I'm still working on myself and I know it's gonna be a long process . . ."

        Murdoc stopped at a red light, leaving the conversation quiet for a moment. "Well, hey," he began, "why don't we work on it together? It'll be like . . . rehab but much cozier and exotic."

        I laughed louder than either of us expected, "I don't think there's a way to make rehab cozy and exotic."

        “You'd be surprised," he smiled. "Besides, tour can be stressful, but it's a good type of stressful. ‘A distraction from the urge’ if you will."

        I pondered, my finger tapping my chin as I sat it upon the palm of my hand, my elbow on the car door's window pane. "It's definitely captivating. Sometimes I wonder if you're actually serious or not."

        “What, this whole time you thought I wasn't serious?" I looked back at him, realizing how crazy this man truly was. "I mean it. Get your degree, quit your jobs - all three of them, “he emphasized, “and come with me on tour. I'll ensure you a spot on our team whether my company likes the idea or not."

        I laughed nervously but his glaring eyes wore me down. "You’re not kidding?”

        "Not at all! How many times do I have to tell ya'?" Murdoc chuckled. Truly, my heart was all in for it. In fact, the thought didn't only excite me, but give me genuine hope. He was so confident that things would turn out okay in the end that I actually felt as though my future was set. Murdoc wasn't my therapist nor my doctor, and I wouldn't act like he was, but he was the only person I knew at that point who wasn't obligated to be there for me, yet was there anyway. "Does it not sound fun?"

        "It really does," I said. "I just wonder if I'll be ready to leave by the time you do.”

        “Oh, believe me," he smirked, “you’re ready to leave this place."

        I chuckled and he continued down the road, meeting with more busy streets and crowds of pedestrians. "Say, I'm a bit peckish. Wanna look for a place to eat?"

        Murdoc being Murdoc, we hit up my Café. I waved to Lawrence when passing the register, thinking about how much I'd miss his freckled smile when I left. I didn’t know how I felt about working at the Café so much, but I’d probably miss that place no matter how frustrating working in customer service was sometimes. We grabbed our grub and left the busy shop, Murdoc leading me through the city as if he were my tourist guide. "Did you adjust well moving here for university?" Murdoc asked me, taking a sip of his coffee.

        I twisted my lips in contemplation, "Yeah, a little bit. I needed time to get used to the accent but I got it eventually."

        “I feel ya there," he smirked. "Folks from Stoke are known for talking fast so everything felt sort of . . . slow," he mocked, leaving me laughing.

        “In that case, I didn't need you to tell me you're from Stoke-On-Trent," I joked back, feeling him nudge my arm all the while he bellowed.

        We walked a little further, a vibrant green park soon coming into view. Small blooming trees were planted without pattern, struggling to grow in the youth of Spring. They circled around a fountain in the middle of the yard, multiple sidewalks leading from the roundabout road to the beautiful sculptured centrepiece. I prayed to every god and goddess I could remember in hopes that we wouldn't get any closer. “What's your favourite part about living here?" he asked me. He took long strides forwards, crossing the street as I followed slowly behind him.

        “The weather," I dully replied, fear fuelling my energy to spin around and leave down the road, partially hoping I'd get hit by a speeding vehicle before I reached the other side. "What about you?"

        “This fountain," Murdoc smirked, speeding his pace. I winced and sighed, anxiety pumping through my veins as my heartbeat thumped faster. If I got any closer I'd have a heart attack. "Come on," Murdoc smiled, gesturing me to follow him. I watched him look to his left and right, assuming he was watching for wandering police officers as if he cared. He placed his palms above the fountain walls and pushed himself up, standing himself on top. He walked along the barrier, balancing himself with stretched out arms like a child. I pursed my lips, looking around frantically and hoping he wouldn't get us in trouble. Murdoc would be the death of my reputation one day, I knew that for sure. "Stu was up here one day, fooling around like a halfwit before falling in," he laughed. "I can't tell you how hard I wheezed!"

        I walked closer, hesitant like a stray cat towards a human. My breath began arriving in short, fast inhales and exhales, realizing how much I was sweating and shaking. What if he were to fall in and hit his head? What if I couldn’t pull him out in time and he were to drown? How would I ever make it up to him if I was the cause of his death?

        "(Y/N) . . . ?" Murdoc addressed. I stood still, my eyes widened as tears built up and my heart pounded in my ears. Finally, I backed away; the further I got, the easier it was to breathe. "Are you okay?" Murdoc hopped down from the wall, nervous to approach me. I wanted to shake my head, but I couldn't move any part of my body aside from my legs which pulled me back. His fingers wrapped around the fists that I clenched at my chest, pulling them down and turning me around to face the streets rather than the sculpture. "W-what's wrong?"

        I blinked, the tears leaking down to my chin and slowly down my neck. "I-I'm not good friends with water . . ."

        The pensive Murdoc squinted his eyes. "You . . . You have a fear of water?" I shook my head and he pulled me away further, pulling me towards one of the benches decorating the perimeter of the park. "Shit . . ." he mumbled, setting me down beside him and holding me close. "I'm so sorry (Y/N), I didn't realize."

        I calmed myself enough to speak, still gasping at every other breath. "I didn't want you to," I said. "I hoped you never would."

        "Why?" Murdoc asked, looking back at me. "It's clearly . . . important that I know so this doesn't happen again," he said.

        “I know . . . I didn’t want my fears to dictate what you do and don’t do because you don’t wanna . . .”

        “Hurt you?” he supplied.

        For lack of a better word, I nodded. “But I hate thinking about it, let alone talking about it . . ."

        He clearly didn't know what to say, and I didn't expect him to. What could he say that would make me feel better? “I know where you're coming from," he connected. "But listen . . ." I looked up to him, wiping the tears from my eyes and clearing my blurry vision. "I know you probably won't want to - I know what it's like to be pushed out of my comfort zone to help heal from . . . from stuff - but maybe I could help you?"

        I cleared my throat, pushing my hair from my face. "How?"

        "Baby steps," he said. "We'll just take baby steps," he repeated. "It won't be easy of course, and I don't even know much about your fears to begin with, but . . . I know it'll be worth it. During tour, if you’d still like to come, I can help you . . .” I stammered, “practice.”

        I couldn't make voluntary decisions like Murdoc could. He might’ve had a doctorate in psychology but were we capable of helping each other when we eventually left rehab and set off on our own? Auditioning for what might as well be Fear Factor: Without Cameras wasn't something you could sign up for so quickly, but I knew he wasn't wrong. Getting over my fears, or at the very least coping with my trauma, would undoubtedly save me from long-term suffering I'd have to endure. However, I also knew that one day I would have to push my limits and walk into the splashing void of wet predators - both living and inanimate - and that it would take a lot of stress and motivation to get there. Murdoc must’ve had his own goals in mind as well; could we reach them together without faltering?

        “You’ll be with me through it all, right?" I asked.

        “Of course I will," he smiled. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, holding me tightly before lifting his other hand to my cheek. He wiped the last of my tears away with him thumb, "I always will."

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Nine

        "Hey."

        I turned my head and saw Murdoc standing a few metres away, his chiselled features still striking from where he stood. I felt as though Murdoc was either always predictable in the strangest of ways or he was a complete stranger, and there was no in between. Even if I just met him. The air surrounding him usually felt perfectly quintessential as Murdoc was of himself, except he wasn't the same Murdoc I came to know. I felt exactly where I needed to be - or should've been - but he seemed nervous, not wanting to come any closer. I sighed and greeted him with a smile, "Hey." I nudged my head to the side, gesturing him to join me under the roof of the entrance.

        He ambled over as a cautious stallion would then pursed his lips like he was lost in thought. It took him a while to say anything, but eventually he took a deep breath in and out, turning my way. "(Y/N) . . ." I looked back at him. "About what happened the other day . . . I-I didn't mean to force myself on you."

        I widened my eyes, caught of guard and almost nonplussed. He certainly didn't force himself on me. Sure, the kiss was unexpected, but I let him crawl on top of me with open arms. I acknowledged the idea of silence not equalling "Yes", which I totally understood, but I think kissing him back with fiery passion was my own way of playing into his affection. Or lust. Now I wasn't so sure I knew what I was getting myself into . . . What was his goal that night? Suddenly there were too many questions.

        "No, no, Murdoc, you didn't at all." I hesitated to continue in case I wore out the assurance to a questionable degree, but laughed a little. "I . . . actually enjoyed our time together . . . a lot."

        Murdoc looked at me with doubtful, departed eyes, clearly just as surprised as me. "But I was also kind of an asshole," he claimed. "Not only was I withdrawing like a child does 'cause we were interrupted but I couldn't even offer to take you home." It meant a lot how much he cared and I would've never expected him to be that type of man, not that that's what was bewildering. If he was insecure about being intimidating in any way, I would've expected him to take an accepted apology with ease.

        "Don't worry about it, Muds, I took the bus," I smiled. "That's one less car to pollute the earth," I chuckled to lighten him up.

        "Are you sure?"

        "Positive," I pressed. Our gazes fell into each other like two deep pools of realization. I felt him inch closer with eased in comfort and I recognized that adorable, authentic smile I always dreamed about slipping back onto his face. I love that smile. I would walk into a million busy London, England thoroughfares to make sure it stayed there.

        "Well, I guess . . ." he turned back to face onward with aplomb. "On account that I didn't scare you off or anything . . . You're always welcome to my humble abode. And if you need anybody to talk to, I'm just a text away."

        I smiled to him, wishing his hands were out of the pockets of his jacket. That way, I could possibly shuffle closer, I could possibly hold one. Or maybe we could hold more than just our hands if Murdoc really felt something between us. "You're always welcome to my home, as well . . ." I paused. "Which, I just realized now, you've never been to."

        Murdoc smirked with perked up keenness, "Oh, right." We both eyed each other with the same idea. "And you've still got some of your music to show me, too."

        I felt my smile grow. "When are you free next?"

        The weekend came faster than expected. My exhilaration for the future certainly helped the boring, drawn-out days sweep by with ease. Cassidy had left with her friends again and wouldn't be back until late in the morning, I assumed, so it would just be me and Murdoc alone. Me and Murdoc alone. Was I possibly too excited for him coming over? Maybe. Was I probably holding my breath? You bet. Either way, I unnecessarily prepared myself for anything and everything.

        I'd told Murdoc my address after our last session, and when I heard him knock on the door I knew it couldn't have been anybody else. Placing my phone down and taking one last glance at my now clean apartment, I made my way to the door. Sure enough, when I opened it, I saw the handsome bloke carrying a small, warm smile on his face, "Good evening."

        "Hello there," I greeted with nod. It was showering that day and I noticed his choice of clothing; a more comfortable turtleneck sweater, with an oversized leather jacket and simple jeans all drenched from the rain. He kept his classic Cuban heels on though, and I let him in immediately.

        As I closed the door I watched him look around, realizing that in the light of my living room lamps his hair wasn't greasy as usual. It's not as if I cared about his hygiene considering I didn't even know how to take care of my own, but when he walked by he smelled quite nice. Stuff like that didn't typically stand out when Murdoc and I crossed paths but I guess something about that day encouraged him to step it up a little. "Nice place," he huffed.

        "I'm not gonna lie, it's usually a pigsty, but I figured cleaning for once wouldn't hurt."

        "For once or for me?" he smirked, and my face heated up.

        "Well, I've gotta make sure my guests feel special," I grinned. I didn't know what to expect of the rest of the evening but part of me was a tad more nervous than I thought I'd be. "Want a little tour?"

        "That'd be great," he agreed. Being an apartment, there wasn't much to show. The living room had a barely stocked shelf, coffee table, a single three-person couch and T.V set up on an end table on the opposite wall. Then, on the other side of the doorway, was a two-person dining table with only one chair, an empty kitchen and trash bin. The washroom wasn't anything special, nor was the laundry closet, but I saw Murdoc's interest gravitate towards my bedroom more and more. When I opened the door he smiled at the boredom of my tedious nest; a mattress, small bedside table, laundry basket, and an old, broken dresser drawer.

        "There's nothing really here, as you can see, but it's where I spend an unhealthy amount of my free time anyway," I nervously laughed. I invited him inside and he took a look around, admiring my belongings.

        I watched as he chuckled, "Did you just move in or something?"

        I laughed in return and shook my head, slightly humiliated. "Nah, I just never found the time to decorate or anything. I'd prefer to waste my money on that after the essentials."

        "Well, you should treat yourself sometime. Or at least draw a doodle every now and then and hang 'em up." Murdoc turned back to me, his head pulled into another wave of interest. "Where's all your music? Perhaps you could hang those up instead and give the room a little creativity."

        I blinked, looking around as I pictured the idea in my head. How could I have not thought of that before? "They're over here," I pointed to one of my dresser drawers. I didn't have enough clothes to fit every cubby, so I simply filled one up with my writing and a few sentimental belongings. I pulled the top drawer open and picked up a few sheets, scanning through them to make sure they weren't any of my intolerable pieces.

        I was never sure how to feel about my music. I was no critic, so I just kept writing and improving until I was satisfied, but I never had the confidence in myself to think they were good enough to be shared. And there I was, showing off my work to a professional producer from a music industry who did this shit for a living. It was at that moment of comprehension I completely regretted telling him about my hobbies.

        Murdoc took the paper from my hands, reading them over as he made himself comfortable on my mattress. I bit my lip, anxiously yearning for his reaction, but the more he read, the deeper he seemed to have dove into my work. I watched his eyes wander the paper with furrowed brows and wondered whether it was a fortunate or more unfortunate sign. "(Y/N) . . . You wrote this?"

        "Y-yeah. I . . . Is it bad?" I felt my gasp hitch.

        Murdoc shuffled in his spot and sat up straighter, re-reading the pages he held. "(Y/N), this is really good," he said, clearly as amazed as expressed. I felt a sigh of relief lift the heavy buckets of suspense from my chest and escape through my lips, walking over to sit beside him.

        "You really think so?"

        "Of course!" he exclaimed. He nudged me with his shoulder, an unexpected sign of validation towards my creation. I smiled so wide I must've looked stupid. I understood my happiness but couldn't perceive why Murdoc appreciating my music made me feel as giddy as it did; more than it would from the approval of others, I mean. Then again, he worked with music everyday, but he was also the only man that I deeply cared about at that point. No wonder I wanted a pat on the back from him so much. "Got a name for it yet?" Murdoc asked.

        "Nah . . . It's not like anybody else is gonna see it anyway," I faintly laughed.

        "We'll see about that," Murdoc chuckled.

        "W-what do you mean?"

        "Well, with work like this, there isn't one producer I know that wouldn't dive headfirst into signing you off," he said.

        I held my breath. I wasn't expecting Murdoc to absolutely abhor my writing, but his reaction felt almost too good to be true. "I-I don't know about that . . ." I replied under my breath. Murdoc looked at me as if I was just trying to be modest.

        "Well, if you're so unsure, you weren't wrong. I am a producer, so I might just steal this myself and release it with my name on it," he joked.

        I laughed, shaking my head. "Thanks for behaving so merciful towards my musical complaints."

        "Complaints?" Murdoc questioned. "These are more than just complaints," he commented with an insulted tone. "This is fucking art, (Y/N)! What's this one about?"

        I looked down to the ripped piece of crinkled paper, then back up to him, our faces only inches apart. "Um . . . Money, I guess you could say. I-I mean, it's more about how a lot of people would prefer money over other things? Especially how some people would rather waste their time and lives for money instead of appreciating what they already have."

        Murdoc's eyes grew soft and he hummed a low, gravely noise I'd remember him creating before; a sort of trademarked quirk of his. I hoped it wasn't a sort of scowl or laughter towards me and my stupid stuttering. "Nervous?" he asked.         I felt myself lean in close, and it looked as if he might've been as well. "N-no," I whispered. "Just flattered."

        "Well, I think it's endearing," he said. Our noses were nearly touching and I felt tempted to lean in for a kiss, and I think he felt the same way as well.

        Murdoc's smirk remained and we sat quiet, our lips seconds away from colliding before there was an echoed knock at the front door. Startled, I backed up, looking up to my bedroom door. I saw Murdoc's irritated expression bubble to the surface, gritting his teeth as he turned to the door as well. I could tell he took his No Turn-offs policy very seriously. "I-I'm gonna go get that," I said.

        I rose from my spot, reaching for the door handle. "I'll be waiting," Murdoc growled from behind me. I glanced behind my shoulder to see his tongue crawling out through his mischievous grin. His lustful expression, as well as his tongue sliding out between his lips and unrolling like salmon-colour silk was both interesting and arousing. I smirked back, reluctantly leaving the room and heading down the hall.

        I unlocked the front door and pulled it open to find Cockblocker Cassidy on the other side. She smiled at me, rushing past me and into the living room. "Change of plans!" she exclaimed.

        How lovely, I thought. "I-is that so?" I smiled as sweetly as I could. I watched her hop onto the couch, picking up the remote for the T.V. "Don't you have your keys?"

        "I think I left them here by accident," she answered. "At least 'I hope'. I'd hate to lose them again. Remember when I lost them the first time you came out with us?" she laughed.

        "Yeah . . . Well, what are you doing here?"

        Cassidy turned to me with a cocked eyebrow, "This is my apartment too, isn't it?"

        "No, you're right," I corrected myself, "but what are the change of plans?"

        "What's this?" I heard from behind me.

        I straightened my back as I jumped in my spot and whipped my head around, startled. I smiled awkwardly at Murdoc as he walked down the hallway, inviting himself into our conversation. "U-um, Cass?" Cassidy nodded, placing her feet on the living room table and nestling herself into a comfortable position. Murdoc walked forward, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans and Cassidy looked up, instantly alarmed and hopping to her feet like a nun watching a naughty movie. "This is my friend," I smiled.

        From the corner of my eye, I noticed Murdoc glancing back at me very briefly with a hint of dispirited confusion before smiling back at Cassidy. It hurt me the way he looked at me, but I wasn't sure what made him react so. The two walked closer to each other, their palms meeting in a swift handshake. "Pleasure to meet you Mr. . . . ?"

        "Niccals," Murdoc supplied. "Murdoc Niccals. And you're Cassidy?"

        "Cassidy Desdemona," she said.

        "(Y/N)'s told me a lot about you," Murdoc continued, and to my dismay, I nearly squeaked, gasping in shock. "All good things, I mean," he chuckled.

        "I should hope so," Cassidy mumbled, taking a glimpse of my suspicious, twisted grin. She ambled closer in my direction, "You never told me there was a man in your life," and she didn't even bother to whisper. Sometimes I felt like Cassidy's only purpose in my life was to torment me like a sister figure.

        "Cass, i-it's not like that-" I stuttered, before looking back at Murdoc. He looked at me, awaiting my answer with apprehension. "I mean . . . I-t's none of your business," I concluded as an attempt to be mature and straight to the point.

        Cassidy chuckled, shrugging and proceeding down the hall. "It was nice meeting you, Murdoc," she simpered over her shoulder before retiring for her bedroom.

        I sighed and wiped the sweat from my forehead, looking back at Murdoc who rested his hands on his hips. "What could be so important between us it's none of her business?" he teased. I smiled, feeling an urge from every atom of my being to lean in and taste his lips for real, but I felt paranoid knowing Cassidy was hanging around. I sighed with gloom, and Murdoc's smug look dissolved. "Is something wrong?"

        "No," answered under my breath. "I'm just . . . Cassidy might as well have eyes everywhere . . . She's the inquisitive type," I said.

        Murdoc mouthed an "Oh", looking away awkwardly and it was silent between us as I scratched my arm. "That's alright," he smiled, walking forward and raising his hand to meet my face, his thumb grazing my cheek. "It just means we'll be over at my place more often than yours," he said, coming closer and closer to my face.

        "I like your bedroom better anyway," I agreed, my fingers brushing his arm as I traced it over to his hand, holding it in my palm. He moved it back down to my shoulder and to my neck, his nails running through my hair as we moved closer. Our lips were about to meet before his hand left my shoulder, searching his back pocket and pulling out a small slip of paper in front of me. "What's this, you tease?" I light groaned with a smile.

        "A little something for your wall," he said, holding his hand in front of me. I looked down to see a silly sketch, reminding me of the first time he ever attempted a drawing for me. It honestly wasn't that bad of an okay hand symbol - I was impressed - but what I held up in front of me was a stealth attack of affection.

        It was a small drawing of two stick figures, one green-skinned with what I could only assume to be a bass guitar and the other with a microphone who's hair colour matched my own. I laughed, "Where'd this come from? I don't even remember the last time I ever sang."

        "Saw a pencil and sticky notes on the ground and thought I'd bless you with my talent," he said. "Pretty accurate for someone who drew from memory, huh?"

        "Oh, you know it," I smiled up at him, walking back to my room as he followed closely behind. I stuck the paper to the wall beside my bed so it could be the first thing I saw when I woke up every morning, and I smiled. I looked at it and smiled. I felt Murdoc's presence behind me, giving me a soft, fluffy feeling in my stomach I'd never felt before. It rose from my feet to my head and he got closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and letting me melt into his arms.

        I lifted my head from under his chin and turned around, and as soon as my eyes reached his face, our lips finally met. I felt my heart pounding in my throat and his delicate hands cradle me like a small house pet. I snaked my arms around his waist and pulled our chests together before our kiss broke. I couldn't help but giggle.

        "Do I amuse you?" he asked, and I looked up at his half-lidded, captivated eyes.

        "In a way," I admitted. "I'm just . . . I'm just happy."

        That single moment offered me more gaiety than I'd felt in years. However, no matter how euphoric he made me feel, Murdoc didn't really seem like the type to be willingly tied down by any serious relationship, did he? He was more of a smash and dash type of person, and he didn't hesitate to make this clear in therapy. I was partially convinced his admitted sex addiction wasn't still in broad action, but there had to be a reason he seemed to care so much about me. Hopefully he felt the same butterflies in his stomach as I felt in mine whenever I saw him. Besides, if Murdoc wanted to look like such a tough guy, surely he wouldn't want to act sweet in front of others very often . . . Maybe I was more special than I thought I was?

        "You alright, lass . . . ?"

        "Hmm?"

        "You spaced out a little, love." Murdoc smirked at me, and I blinked my foggy eyes away. In front of me stood a shimmering white cloud of blurry Murdoc's face and I hadn't noticed until I was too embarrassed to reverse the damage. "Undoubtedly another habit of yours?"

        I gave his face some personal space and backed up, sucking in a deep breath before shrugging. "You caught me," I sighed.

        "Well, if you're gonna get flustered over my devilish charms, maybe here isn't a good place," he said, looking back to my bedroom door.

        "You're probably right," I said, wondering if Cassidy could be listening into our conversation as we spoke. I was thinking irrationally, I know, but as much as I liked to think I knew her, we were still merely strangers who only went out partying a couple of times and got hammered at any attempt to familiarize each other.

        "Wanna go for a drive?" he offered, his smile wrapping me in a warm blanket.

        "Sure," I grinned. "I'd love that."

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous Cover

:) sorry that it says Stevies_Characters, it was originally for my Wattpad account lol

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Eight

       "How'd you enjoy today's session?" I heard from behind me. Murdoc caught up to me as I started down the sidewalk.

        "It was nice," I sighed with grateful tranquility. I hadn't felt unattached from stress for a while and it felt good to escape, even if just for an hour. "What about you?"

        "It was relaxing, I suppose," he smiled at me.

        I couldn't help but smile back before facing forward once more and proceeding in the direction of my apartment. "What was so special about today's session?"

       Murdoc already had his eyes on me, looking at me with a goofy and distracted smile. "O-oh-" he shook his head, snapping out of his daze. "Nothing really, just wondering." He proceeded to follow me, taking strides at the same pace as me. "Well, even if I didn't talk a lot today again, it was nice seeing you since the last time we talked."

       I immediately blushed and my bottom lip quivered with unbelievable and bubbly excitement. "I agree," I nodded. "What are you going home to?" I asked.

       "More work," he said. "But fun work, so I have no right to complain. What about you?"

       I sighed, "More work at the convenience store . . . Exhausting work."

       Murdoc clicked his tongue, "Bummer . . . Maybe I'll come visit you again and make it less exhausting."

       I giggled, "You're gonna get me fired one day, I swear."

       "And why's that?"

       "Well . . . I mean, you make me unprofessional, no offence."

       Murdoc scoffed with an unexpected, unsteady grin, "W-what do you mean?"

       "I'm supposed to be assisting people and topping up shelves, not conversing." We reached the cross walk, Murdoc taking it upon himself to stick his arm out in front of me so I couldn't walk any further. It made me laugh and shake my head with embarrassment.

       He looked down at me as I pushed his arm away from my chest, "Is it not worth getting fired to have a little laugh?"

       I thought about it for a second, "Nah."

       As the streetlights turned red, we proceeded to walk with the rest of the crowd. "I don't take 'Nah' for an answer." I smirked up at him, wondering if he'd continue to walk his own way or if he'd rather follow me. "Would it count as assisting people if I came to visit you and bought something?"

       I was about to open my mouth in disagreement but I had nothing to disagree to, "I-I guess it does."

       "Good. I'll come visit you during my break then."

       I sighed with defeat, but looked forward to his company. "I'll see you in a few hours," I waved, turning to walk away.

       "Farewell," he mumbled from behind me.

       As I got inside, I didn't bother locking the door. I ripped my clothes off and jumped into my uniform, grabbing my drawstring bag and digging through the kitchen for a few snack bars and a water bottle to bring. I rushed out the door and continued with my work routine.

       I considered my convenience store work exhausting because we had our huge monthly supply, which meant lifting endless towers of heavy boxes and taking extra time with fragile items. It was a pain in the ass to say the least, as well as a pain in my back by the time the shift ended, but it wasn't something I had the audacity to whine about. I decided to stop ranting in my head and focus more on the positives; because even if I was in desperate need of a massage, I would see Murdoc that evening, making it all worth it.

       After tossing another empty box into the back room and stretching my back once, I heard a bell ring from to front door. It wasn't usually apart of my convenience store employee procedure, but I ambled towards the front to check on the customer, just in case. Realizing it wasn't the familiar leather and chains I came to know, I was beginning to lose hope, and found myself packing everything away for the night. However, seconds away from starting the last shelf, I heard another jingle and a smile immediately painted itself on my face. To the sound and rhythm of his infamous Cuban heels, I followed his footsteps to see his curious expression wander throughout the store. I watched him from afar, slowly catching his attention as he moved about, grinning in my direction.

       "You realize I'm minutes away from closing, right?" I smirked.

       Murdoc made a beeline towards me, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he titled his head. "I didn't wanna bug you while you were busy, like the considerate gentleman I am."

       I quietly laughed as we met in the middle of the foods aisle, "Thanks for thinking about that. I was starting to convince myself you weren't coming at all."

       "Oh, I never break a promise," he said, following me as I headed back to my unloading station. "Besides, I know you don't drive or take the taxi, so I figured I'd walk you home myself if you'd like." I nearly stopped in my tracks to look back at him with bewilderment. Not that Murdoc wasn't naturally a kind man, but it still caught me by surprise that he seemed to care so much. Maybe he was just flirting with me - that was also a possibility - but he still decided to go out of his way to spend more time with me, and my heart melted.

        "Aww . . ." I smiled, scooping a handful of toys and shuffling up and down the kids' isle while Murdoc watched me put them away.

         "Also, I was hoping to catch up a little after your shift?" he questioned.

       I glanced back at him with excitement, but stopped myself within a moment, remembering my plans. "Damn," I sighed. "I wish I could, Muds, but I've got a meeting at the theatre." Convenience store shifts weren't usually at that time of night; it was rare I ever closed the store by myself. So if I couldn't make it to my theatre ticket-selling position in the evenings, I would arrive for any after hour meetings to catch up. It wasn't very nice working late during busy movie nights but at least it gave me another reason to dismiss Cassidy's schedule as nothing to do with me. I acknowledged that this much doubt I had about her was a huge red flag but I couldn't just not give her any chance I could to help me get my social life back. Even if our friendship was doing more harm than good, I admitted.

       "(Y/N), c'mon, you're always working," Murdoc protested, pulling my hands down from the ledges and to my sides.

     I ignored him and proceeded to stock the shelves in front of me, "You're beginning to sound an awful lot like Cassidy." Murdoc seemed to take deep offence to my comment as he backed up, furrowing his eyebrows and crinkling his nose with disgust. I felt instant regret, choking on air as I saw how he took it and I watched him with worried eyes. "I-I didn't mean it like that, I-"

       Murdoc held his hand up to pause my babbling, "I know, (Y/N)." We both smiled in understanding and he leaned against the shelf beside me. "I can't be the only one who thinks you need to have a life, though," he said.

       "Well . . . you're not, but . . . I don't think there's anything wrong with succeeding well as an employee for a life," I responded.

       "That's not a life, (Y/N), that's just a stepping stone to achieving greater things in life." He got me there. "When're you free next?"

       I paused. "Maybe . . . Maybe this weekend, but Cassidy said she wanted to bri-"

       "Nope," Murdoc immediately shook his head. "You know what happens when you go out with her," he continued. I couldn't hear the disappointment in his tone, but there was no way he wasn't displeased with my ongoing doormat habits.

      I sighed and lowered my head in guilt, "I-I know, Mudz, but . . . I feel so bad shutting her down. She's just trying to help me . . ."

       "Doesn't seem like it," he disagreed. "Why don't you just take the day off for yourself instead and . . . go do things you've always wanted to do?"

       "Like what?"

       "You got a bucket list?"

       I shook my head, "All I've ever thought about since being employed is making money to survive living in an apartment and getting into college." Murdoc widened his eyes with disbelief. "I never made time for fun because . . . I felt like it wasn't important."

       I heard an audible sigh and I started walking down the aisle towards the back, Murdoc following me like a lost puppy. "Y-you can't just not make time for recreation," he said. I was about to enter the back room before he stopped me, his hand placed gently on my forearm to get my attention. "Wait . . . Why don't we make one together? Then on the weekend, instead of hanging with Cassidy, we go out together." We both paused. "N-not 'out together', but y-you know what I mean," he mumbled.

       I smiled, "I better not be pulling you away from any plans you made before me . . ."

       He shook his head, "You're more important either way."

       I couldn't tell you why, but I instinctively wrapped my arms around him. "Thanks for helping me," I said, my appreciation muffled by squishing my face into his chest.

       He was caught off guard at first, but slowly, his arms snaked around my waist as we held each other for a few ethereal seconds. "Yeah . . . No problem."

       I let go, "Now I better get back to work."

       "Good idea," Murdoc smirked, pointing finger guns in my direction. "I'll see you on the weekend, though?"

       I nodded, "See ya," and watched him leave my side for the rest of the night.

       The rest of the week had felt short but almost too short. I understood the only meaning to my life at that point was to work and work and work in between lonely nights at home laying restlessly in bed, but I didn't want time to fly by so quickly. It was all worth it to pay off what I needed to graduate with a better chance at life, but I felt as though I was wasting my time. Maybe Murdoc was right about recreation? With that, I couldn't wait for him to get back to my text accompanied with a smiling face.

        "I should be done my meeting at 6:00 so why don't you stop by at around 6:30?" he texted.

         "Sure thing!"

         He sent me an okay hand emoji afterwards. It seemed to be his favourite emoji apart from the eggplant and cucumber emojis, but I dismissed the thought with a laugh.

       Murdoc and I didn't text daily, but when we did, he seemed to be the one texting first asking me what I was up to. I'd respond with either "work" or "nothing" every time and proceed to ask him how he was doing, which he would respond with either "excellent" or "fine" every time. Each conversation starters were predictable but the longer the conversations went on the more special each topic proved to be. I hadn't had many contacts in my phone but our chats felt like something I'd never experienced before. There wasn't a lot of deep importance or meaning to our messages; just stupid, yet somehow still funny jokes and him boosting my confidence without realizing it through admiration and reassuring or validating me when I'm doubtful. I guess the back and forth was important to me after all, but I could never tell with Murdoc. After all, I can't be the only person he comforts and supports in a special way, can I?

       I shut down my daydreaming and stood up from my warm, comfy nest of blankets. Part of me almost contemplated flaking on Murdoc just so I could lay in bed all day, but that's the last thing I needed in such desperate times as such. Desperate for enjoyable leisure, I mean. I fetched my wallet in search for loose coins to pay for public transit but three pounds weren't the only thing I couldn't find. I swore when I got my monthly pay from the convenience store I went straight to the bank for cash just in case, even if I never ended up using it. But the fifty pounds I had just . . . disappeared.

       I blinked with confusion, stammering to myself as I began to look around the apartment. Did I drop it? Did I leave it somewhere? Did Cassidy mistake it for her money? "Cass?" I called out, knocking lightly on her bedroom door.

       I heard groaning from the other side, as well as shuffling, and she opened the door with tired, sleepy eyes. "What's wrong?" she murmured.

       "I-I thought I withdrew five tenners a few days ago but they're just . . . gone," I explained. She looked at me carelessly, sighing and scratching her neck. I waited for an answer but it seemed as though she was waiting for me to talk some more. "Have you seen them anywhere?"

       She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. "Nope," she yawned. "I'll tell you when I do, though," she said, closing the door without a goodbye.

       I'd never seen Cassidy so inattentive but then again, she came back from a party that night. She got home at probably two in the morning and had been sleeping off her hangover since, so I decided I wouldn't take it personally, leaving and locking up the apartment.

       Lucky enough to see a few pounds laying around the living room, I was dropped off just a block or two away from Murdoc's home. As I remembered from before, his roommates weren't there the first time I was invited, but Murdoc mentioned they were home for the weekend and actually excited to meet me this time around.

       Thinking about it made me smile as I walked up the front steps of the dwelling. After a few seconds of deep breathing, I knocked on the door, backing up and fiddling with my fingers nervously. After ten eerily long seconds, the door opened to my one and only Grinch, a smile already plastered onto his poorly shaved jaw. Classic Murdoc.

       "Hey, (Y/N)!" he exclaimed. "C'mon in," he invited, stepping out of the way and gesturing with his arm for me to enter. I did so with a grin, watching him shut the door behind me and place his hands on his waist. "How've you been?" he asked.

       "Good, thanks," I quietly laughed at his enthusiasm. "How about you?"

       "Great!" he responded. I'd never seen this keen side of Murdoc, but I couldn't be more interested in getting to know him. "My band-" he stuttered. "M-my mates are this way," he sweat, scratching the back of his neck. I followed him down the hall towards what I assumed was the living room, entering the intriguing aura it emitted.

       The whole house had a sort of reckless and "I really couldn't care less, I just want to hang out" vibe I never knew I needed to feel until that very moment. The walls weren't afraid to show their true age, just like the rest of the house's architecture, the decorations were rather questionable but unique and enthralling, and the furniture definitely didn't match, but still seemed comfortable enough you wouldn't mind. I loved it.

       Two men were sitting on the couch, standing up and turning their attention to the sound of our footsteps entering the scene. "Russ, D', this is (Y/N)," Murdoc introduced as I stood beside him timorously.

       The first of the two to walk up to me was a bigger African American man, about 5'7, wearing a plain white shirt under an army green jacket and tucked into loose fitting jeans. To top off the look he stood in black army-esque books, and sat a red beanie over his shaved head. He held out his hand. "Russel Hobbs," he smiled. Now that I saw him up close, I couldn't ignore his milky white eyes, catching me off guard.

       I took his hand and shook it, "Nice to meet you."

       "I'm 2-D!" called the next man, taking my hand in his and shaking me like a maraca. The kid, pale, lanky and at least 6'2, had vibrant blue locks sticking out in the oddest of places as if it'd never been combed down before. He wore a baggy baby pink t-shirt and wrinkled blue jeans cuffed just high enough to see his bright neon pink socks hidden by his fancy leather shoes. I'd noticed his nails were painted mismatched colours as he shook me violently before looking up at his seemingly eyeless sockets.

       "Charmed," I laughed as he let go.

       "You must be (Y/N)!" I heard from behind me, coming face to face with a 5'2 tall Japanese girl giving herself extra oomph with her white heeled booties. "I'm Noodle," she smiled, waving then holding her hand out for me. I took it with secret surprise, not realizing Murdoc had a female buddy living with them as well. She had great taste in fashion too, rocking her pink blouse hanging off her right shoulder and over her black miniskirt. She had two pigtails taming her choppy black hair, and I noticed that she would be the one of the four in that house with actual human eyes; not that her beautiful emerald gems were a bad thing to have.

       "Nice to meet you, Noodle," I smiled, strongly influenced by her energy.

       "Well, (Y/N) and I will be upstairs if you need us," Murdoc said, turning on his heel, and waving goodbye we retired to his place of hiding.

       His chamber was all too familiar, maybe even too familiar. In fact, it felt an awful lot like home for me; as if I never should've left the first time he invited me over . . . Despite how strange it sounded.

       "So!" the man clapped, pulling out a piece of paper and pen from his desk. "Start dropping names, what do you do for fun?" he asked, getting down to business with a clipboard on his lap.

       I smiled, getting comfortable beside him as we sat on his bed, "Writing music, of course."

       Murdoc made sure to take notes but it immediately went quiet. "Well? Anything else?" he chuckled.

       "Uh . . ." I stammered, turning back at him with a wince.

       "That's it?" he laughed.

       I found myself laughing awkwardly, ". . . U-uh, yeah . . ."

       "How about . . ." Murdoc pondered. "You work at a movie theatre, right? Don't you ever go watch any movies?"

       I shook my head, "Sure, I get offers to see movies all the time, but I never have time to go."

       "Oh, well that's gonna change," Murdoc smirked.

       I shook my head and chuckled, "You can't just change my work schedules, Mudz, or I'll make you pay for my education when Fall comes around."

         "At least then you won't be so tied down," he said. "There are so many places you're missing out on, so many sights you've gotta see!" I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my face to look at the man in all his excitement. He wrapped an arm around me, his hand risen in the air as if he was introducing me to the world - the closet doors across from us - like I'd never seen it before; and honestly, he might as well have been. It's not like I'd been anywhere outside of London, England for the past ten years, except for in my dreams. "In fact, when my band gets up and running again, I'll take you on tour with us," he insisted.

       I couldn't help but laugh at his commitment. The thought was surreal but thrilling at the same time, I found myself daydreaming about it.

       Murdoc and me, feeling the bumpy road below us as we shared the same bunk, whispering among each other as everyone else fell asleep.  Or Murdoc and me, sitting in the same row together, looking out at the clouds we soared above before settling on a movie to watch together. Maybe even Murdoc and me, feeling the mist of the tides as they crashed against the boat while we watched for whales or sea turtles or dolphins. Well . . . Maybe not that one in particular, but now that I thought about it, giving up university to dedicate my life to keeping Murdoc company while he produced music didn't seem so bad.

       "Of course, I wouldn't make you do something you didn't want to," Murdoc started, catching my attention once again. "But then again, there are a few producers I could get in contact with for you and you could meet them face to face," he sang convincingly.

       "Couldn't you just produce my music for me?" I chuckled.

       "I'd love to, but then I wouldn't have enough reasons to persuade you into tagging along with me."

       I laughed, rolling my eyes, "You got me there." I sighed, feeling myself fall back onto his sheets and Murdoc followed, his arm brushing against mine.

       "I wasn't kidding, too." I looked at him with confusion, but near exhilaration at his proposal. "If we could get you into university so you can get that bachelors degree; you'd have a better chance at being recommended. As a sort of reference figure, I could provide you the best of the best, front-of-the-line selection any musician could ever dream of!"

       I turned my head to him, speechless. "A-are you serious?"

       "D-did I stutter?" He mocked. Smartass . . .

       I could hardly believe it. It was all I'd ever wanted, to be recognized for my writing and to finally have a chance at succeeding in life. It made my heart ache with overwhelming, buoyant relief. "Murdoc . . . You don't know how much that'd mean to me!"

       I watched his smug smile grow, "Only the best for you." I couldn't tell if this was genuine kindness or he was just trying to be sly, but he still held out his hand, and there was no way in Hell I wasn't taking it.

       "Murdoc, holy shit!" I boomed. "I can't believe this, oh, my God, I could kiss you!" I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold back as much enthusiasm as I could in the moment; but before I could even look back in his direction, I felt a pair of lips land on mine. Out of instinct, I closed my eyes, and knowing it was Murdoc, I kissed back.

       Suddenly, everything slowed down. I heard him shuffle beside me and a hand reached my face, his long nails tapping my cheeks before his palm gently cradled my cheek. We broke away for a breath and I opened my eyes to see the man looking down at me, his eyes softening up.

       I couldn't recall ever seeing him so genuinely romantic before and it felt strange to witness, especially after something so . . . unlike him, I could say. But then why did I enjoy the unforeseen picture of it all? I adored the moment so much I kissed him again myself, and he had no problem pulling me into him. His hand slid behind my head, causing me to press myself against him more. He clearly enjoyed how rough it was quickly playing out and I would be lying if I said I didn't too.

       Soon enough, his weight was almost on top of me and his lips slowly trailed to my jawline. He crawled over me, his waist against mine as he planted kisses in the crook of my neck. I almost winced in both pain and anticipation as he began to nibble on my skin, twisting it and surely leaving marks. My hands slid up his back and almost under his shirt, holding him as he ran his tongue against the love bites he left. After a few minutes of feeling each other up, I even imagined things escalating further before a knock was heard from the door. Naturally, Murdoc was easily irritated. He lifted himself from me, sitting on his knees, one of my legs in between his as he looked back, daggers piercing from his eyes. "What?" he growled.

       "Russ is heating up some left overs if you two wanted any." It was 2-D's thick British accent, loud and clear through the wooden door.

       Murdoc sighed, looking down at me as he bit his lip. I felt so awkward doing nothing but I wasn't sure what I could do. I simply laid still as he observed my neck, studying the progress he made. "Sure, whatever!" Murdoc called back, turning away from me once more.

       "'A'ight, come downstairs when you're ready," 2-D said. We heard him leave the hall and Murdoc slowly got off of me, sighing. I propped myself up, sitting straight and brushing myself off. I watched the man rub his neck and hold his hand out, not bothering to look at me. I could tell he was a little embarrassed being cut off like that, but I didn't mind at all. I thought it was rather sweet and possibly cute to see his reaction. I took his hand in mine and he seemed surprised when I did, looking back at me with confusion written in his eyes. Still, he accepted me with a smile and held tight, starting for the bedroom door and leaving the room behind as we headed downstairs.

       Supper was swell. I thanked Murdoc and his friends for the food and we conversed quietly, Murdoc not even making an effort to participate. It concerned me how quiet he was but I figured it was on account of what happened prior to the meal; I understood the frustration of cockblocking. I nodded to myself in understanding and kept on eating, noticing he wasn't really touching his food either. 2-D was the first to finish, leaving his plate empty as he left for his room. Noodle was next to leave, taking 2-D's plate with her to the sink to wash and put away. Russel paid close attention to Murdoc and me, and I'm almost 110 percent sure he noticed the hickeys on my neck.

       "Not hungry, I suppose?" he commented, addressing Murdoc. Murdoc looked up at him and simply grumbled, laying his fork down on his plate of seemingly tsunami-hit potatoes and steak. Russel sighed and rolled his eyes, lifting himself from his seat with his own plate and leaving us by ourselves. I'd finished my plate by then and looked back at Murdoc, who seemed much more content when the other three weren't around.

       By the time it was dead quite and not a soul could be heard, Murdoc took a single tiny bite of his food before pushing his plate away. He looked towards me, "Are you still hungry?"

       I shook my head and he took my plate. "Thank you," I smile, but he didn't smile back. He left his seat and placed the two dishes on the counter, walking back over to me. I stood from my seat and tucked in the chair. "Thanks for having me," I said.

       Murdoc looked up at me, his arms folded on his chest. "Uh, no problem," he responded.

       I smiled at the peaceful, yet slightly awkward aura in between us. "It's getting late, though . . . Perhaps I should leave," I said, taking a single step towards the exit.

       "Let me walk you out," Murdoc offered, hesitantly sticking out his elbow. I proceeded to grin, taking his arm and wrapping it around mine as he escorted me to the entrance. He opened the front door and I slowly walked out, leaving a reserved Murdoc behind. "I hope you have a wonderful evening, (Y/N)."

       I let go of him and turned back around, "You too . . . I'll see you on Tuesday." He nodded, giving me one last slanted smile to daydream about until our next session together.

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Seven

       "Good morning, princess."

       I smiled at his text, replying back with tired eyes. "Good morning, princey."

       Murdoc had texted just a few minutes after my 6:00am alarm. I was finishing my breakfast when he messaged back and I placed my dishes in the sink. "Plans today?"

       "Working from eight to five at the café, you?"

       "Damn, I'm heading into work as well. Perhaps I could visit during my lunch break?"

       "Haha, I don't see why not."

       I began to wash my dishes, including Cassidy's leftover breakfast as well. I put them away one after the other and carried on my usual morning routine. I had a quick shower and fixed my hair, putting on my uniform before brushing my teeth. I got back to Murdoc's text as I headed out the door. "Then I can't wait." It made my morning.

       Despite working in London, this café didn't get any busy days. Surprisingly, the busiest days we got were on Saturdays and I didn't even work a lot then, so I never really saw how many costumers typically stopped by. There were usually three workers at a time, leaving me plenty of shifts to get in extra hours if I wanted and wasn't too busy with my other jobs. My manager wondered if I could juggle three jobs at a time but she didn't know how desperate I was for both money and distraction. From many, many things.

       I worked as both a cashier and waitress at the café. I even stocked shelves a few times, but there were never many shelves to stock considering how small the place was. It was a simple desk with one register, a display case, and only five tables, not including the front window where we kept the highchairs. That's probably why I loved it so much. I actually got paid well enough to stand and not do much of anything most of the time.

       "Hey, (Y/N)," I heard from behind me. I turned to find my coworker setting a box down and turning into the other room, most likely to get another one.

       "Hey, Lawerence."

       He came back out, stacking boxes of food for me to show off. "How're your other jobs doing?" He was a lanky green-eyed kid with long brown locks and warm, pink skin drowning in countless freckles. He was only twenty and he just started working a few months ago. We talked every now and then but it never went anywhere, I couldn't even call each other friends yet. You could say he was your stereotypical hipster if I'm being honest.

       "They're alright, but you know this shift's my favourite for obvious reasons," I said, struggling to converse.

       He smiled at me, looking out at the empty tables with understanding. "Well, nobody else was able to come in, so would you mind stocking these while I fetch a few more boxes?"

       "No problem," I smiled.

       I had many opportunities to make friends around me, but none who I thought would want to deal with me. We could hang out until they found out about my drinking problem and soon enough, I would be alone again; like everyone I knew before I hit rock bottom. But meeting somebody from the clinic who actually understood the struggle of quitting really lifted a weight from my shoulders. When I went into work I felt like it was another job to try and make friends, but I finally knew I didn't have to do anything apart from the actual job I was being paid to do. I just had to keep at it and be respectful, which made me feel a lot better realizing.

       I spent the next few hours charging and serving customers, putting things away little by little as Lawerence worked in the back. "(Y/N)! Help me lift something!"

       I turned on my heel and walked through the back to give Lawerence a hand when I heard somebody walk through the front door, the same familiar bell notifying our assistance. Lawerence and I hauled the box towards the front and I glanced back, "I'll be right there!"

       As I set our items on the ground, I heard a familiar voice address me. "(Y/N)?" I could hear him smiling. I instantly straightened my back and looked across the other side of the counter.

       "Murdoc!" I exclaimed with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

      "What? Thought I was joking when I said I'd come see ya?"

       All I did was smile and lean on my folded arms. "Would you like to order anything?"

       "Just a large black coffee," he said. I placed the order and handed him his cup.

       "3.50."

       "Aww, you're not gonna give it for free?"

       "Nah, I'd rather keep my job, but maybe some other time," I smiled.

       He chuckled and pulled out change from his pocket, leaving me to count it for him. He left me at my station to get his drink and on his way to his table, he leaned against the counter. "You're free to join me for lunch," he said.

       Looking up at him I sighed. "Not sure if that's very professional," I winced.

       "Who cares about profession," he rolled his eyes. "Nobody's here, anyway."

       I shook my head slowly and gave in, picking a muffin from the glass case beside me and following him to the table at the very back. He pulled out a chair for me and I laughed at his gentlemanly behaviour, sitting down. He took his seat across from me and sipped his coffee. I wondered how one could ever stomach black coffee but figured asking would be pointless. "How did you know where I worked?"

       "Told me the last night," he answered.

       "Right," I corrected myself. The night before was a blast. Murdoc's vision of a hangover cure was multiple glasses of water, juice and caffeine with sunglasses and a movie marathon. I couldn't pay attention to any of the classics that played, they were simply playing in the background as Murdoc and I conversed, telling each other about ourselves. I learned a lot about him; his religion, what interests him, random facts. He told a lot of stories, too, and I didn't remember the last time I had laughed so hard with somebody. Whenever it was my turn to speak, I felt bad. I didn't have anything to say but he still seemed almost hypnotized by anything I said. I didn't understand his patience, but I was grateful. "What've you done today?"

       "Helped a few people think of lyrics and what-not." I watched him shift his cup, focused on the coffee stirring around inside.

       "Is that an everyday thing? Are you a producer?"

       "Oh, no, I'm nobody important," he said. "All I do is organize files, as I said before."

       "Oh, come on, organizing files is just as important as writing the lyrics."

       Murdoc chuckled, taking another sip of his coffee. "I guess it can be," he gave in. "What about you? How long have you worked here?"

       "Not long, actually. I've had quite a few jobs before the ones I have now. I've only worked here for about a year."

       Murdoc nodded and it became quiet between us. "Ever thought of getting out of here?" he asked.

       "A lot . . . a lot, a lot, a lot . . . Never had the money to, though." I didn't consider where the question came from, so out of the blue like that. All I could think of was how strong of an answer I had. Nearly every second - morning, noon, night - I would contemplate the day I'd finally leave London, England and start over somewhere else; somewhere fresh and new and away from all the poor memories I made in that Hell hole. "What about you?"

       "Plenty . . . I've actually been quite a few places," Murdoc answered.

       "Really?" I replied with interest. "Where?"

       "All over Europe, America . . . Even visited Canada and Asia a few times . . . It was a job thing."

       "I never knew you had a travelling job," I said. I began to daydream, wondering what it was like for him to get around so much. It must've been amazing checking out different landscapes and cultures, meeting new people everywhere you went.

       "Yep, I've even spent months overseas . . . far away from here. Though travelling gets a little bothersome nowadays." I snapped out of my daze, confused at how bored he could get hopping from one country to another that much. "I-I mean, I'm grateful, of course, but there's the packing and airports and bumpy roads and difficult weather . . ." he rambled.

       "Damn . . ." I sighed. "I don't think I could ever not be excited to leave and voyage all over the world."

       "Maybe I'll bring you with me eventually and you can see for yourself how stressful touring can be," Murdoc chuckled.

       I laughed back, shaking my head. "I've never been on a plane before . . . and I don't remember the last time I went on a boat," I said, biting my lip with a sudden nervous whole in my stomach.

       "It may seem scary at first, but it's actually pretty fun. It's pretty luxurious," he smirked. "Y'know, people bring you appetizers and beverages, you can listen to music, watch a movie . . . And if you're brave, you can look out the window and look at the breathtaking view," he expressed.

       I smiled at his appreciation of nature, trying to picture all the recollections he was remembering. I couldn't help but feel a strong urge to be apart of his journey. "How long have you been home?"

       Murdoc took a second to think about it, "A few years. Um . . . The band I mainly worked with took a little hiatus so I haven't been working a lot lately. They've gotten around to seeing each other, however, so I'm beginning to help them more and more with songs . . . It'll be a bummer when I leave again, though."

       "What, you're not ready to take a lavish cruise around the world again?"

       Murdoc chuckled to me, "It's not that . . . Touring isn't even all it's cracked up to be." His smirked faded, "I'm just not ready to . . . I don't know . . . Leave what's comfortable, I suppose."

       My smile dropped the slightest, but I still tried to remain bright. "What'll you be missing when you're gone?"

       "As much as I hate to admit it . . . you know me," he added, ". . . but therapy . . . It's more helpful and not as stupid of an idea as I always imagined . . . It's actually pretty eye-opening to listen to others who go through what you go through, y'know?" I nodded, remembering back to last night. Murdoc had expressed a lot about himself, including his self-aware stubbornness, ignorance and tendencies to lack cooperation; and therapy was no exception. "I'd also miss you . . ."

       "M-me?" I questioned with surprise. Murdoc looked up with a rather nervous expression but quickly smirked at my response. "I-I mean . . ."

       He laughed, holding up his mug, "I honestly don't think I've met somebody who understands me more . . . It's nice having friends that listen to you, of course, but bonding with somebody who really gets it hits differently." I sat in near awe, trying to blink the surreal feeling out of my head. "Thanks for that," he concluded. This was very hard for me to process - somebody like Murdoc acting so out of character he felt like a totally new person. "I may be a reserved man, but I know how to show gratitude and thanks," he said, catching onto my bewilderedness. "Though, I barely tell anybody that cheesy bullshit about therapy and friendship, let alone act so soft, so don't think this corny stuff is staying." That would explain a lot, I told myself.

        We were startled by a sudden bell ringing, started both me and Murdoc. Conditioned stimulus rose my head to the door, causing me to shoot up from my spot in alarm. "I-I'm sorry, I've gotta . . ." I said, pointing to my next costumer. Murdoc excused me with a shrug and I quickly made my way over to the cash register, apologizing for my absence and serving the consumer before they left. I looked back at Murdoc who had risen from his seat and made his way over to me.

       "I should probably head out," he said, leaning towards the exit. "I'll see you soon though, I hope," he smiled.

       "Yeah, sure," I smiled back.

       He gave me a small wave and I couldn't help but laugh. "Farewell," he said, leaving through the door.

       I walked home after my shift completely exhausted and a disgusting sweaty mess. I entered my apartment, proceeding to make myself supper in time for Cassidy to be home as well.

       "I saw a recipe for chicken with a red wine sauce," she texted me.

       I gave in, "Sure thing :)." I'd just have chicken without the sauce, it's as simple as that. Although pulling out wine from under the sink was tempting, to say the least, I knew it wasn't worth it. I ignored my shaking bones and swallowed my drool, preparing our dinner.

       Ever since I met Cassidy I always pondered if she knew about my addiction. Even if there was never any closure, there were definitely signs and hints towards my unhealthy relationship with drinking, and I knew she wasn't dumb enough to ignore red flags, right?

       The front door abruptly opened, disturbing my peace as I spun around with panic. "Hey, (N/N)," Cassidy smiled from the entrance.

       I calmed myself down, wondering how deep in thought I was to not hear the door unlock in the first place. "Hey," I responded with a smile.

       I looked back down at the pan in front of me, Cassidy catching a whiff of her meal. Both of our stomachs growled, mine craving more than just the chicken. "Smells good," she complimented. I know, I thought.

       "Well, it's done," I concluded, turning off the stove and grabbing two plates from the cabinets.

       Cassidy walked over and took her portions, leaving me with the rest. As I put my plate together she addressed me, "You're not gonna have any of the sauce?"

       I looked up at her, "Nah . . . Not that hungry."

       "If you say so," Cassidy shrugged. She sat at the dining table, but I felt my heart sink in my chest, as well as lightheadedness from the scent of my demons in the air. I left her alone in the kitchen and quickly escorted myself to my bedroom where I closed the door and rubbed my eyes.

       Rehabilitation was never easy. It looks so effortless when you're standing on the outside, but I didn't know what I was in for when I started taking therapy. If I wanted to, I could've gone into the kitchen then and there and drank until I choked on my vomit before blacking out. It was always easier to give up, but I didn't get as far as I did by falling back into my routine again, did I?

       I distracted myself with dinner and my laundry, cleaning up after myself for the first time in another long week. However, when you're picking up the pieces of your distressing life, it's hard to find a reason not to ignore it and let it destroy you more and more. At that point, I felt like anything and everything I did, no matter where I turned, I would always find a reason to drink rather than find a reason to live anymore. Nothing felt worth staying for that night . . .

       Except for Murdoc.

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Six

       I pushed my hair back as I brushed my teeth, straightening my clothes and adjusting my name tag. I always hated my preparation routine for work. It might have only been a change of clothes plus tidying myself up, but it took up so much of my energy. It sounds pathetic to some, I know, but simply living drained me enough. I put my toothbrush back and ran my fingers through my hair as I hurried towards the front door. I picked up my drawstring bag and left into the hallway, locking the apartment up behind me.

               I had a shift at a small convenience store down the street. It was my least favourite of the three part time jobs I worked considering how loud and crammed it was. We got many young customers since the building sat so little ways away from a secondary school down the street, so I had to deal with a lot of inconsiderate preteens. Not to mention how easy it would be to get robbed so I'd spend hours stocking shelves in fear until my coworker came in for their shift and I'd go on break.

        As I walked into the staff room I took out a snack bar from my bag, as well as my phone. Looking at my notifications I blinked, confused.

       "Busy tonight?" It was Cassidy.

       As much as I hated rejecting her offers, I couldn't waste any more time partying that week. "Got a shift tonight, sorry"

       "Come on," I read alongside an irritated emoticon. "You're always working, lighten up."

       "I have rent to pay, Cass," I answered with a smile.

      "Isn't three jobs a little unnecessary though?" I rolled my eyes. Sure, three jobs was a lot to juggle, but I was part time and she had her own full time job. She wouldn't understand.

       "I'm not successful like you lol."

       "Tru." I slightly winced at her response. I knew I didn't have the right to considering I pulled that self-deprecating joke on myself upon my own free will, but I guess I wasn't expecting her to answer so bluntly. I stopped complaining and began typing.

       "I digress, I'm busy, sorry."

       "Suit yourself."

       I reminded myself that I felt bad for shutting her down. She was one of my only friends and she was trying to help me but time after time I kept refusing her offers. I guess I couldn't blame myself, I had jobs to fulfill, but she wasn't wrong. Was three jobs really too many?

       No, I convinced myself. I needed the money, she just didn't realize how important it was to me that I worked hard in order to achieve. It was understandable of her though, she didn't know my position. It was just her telling me to live a little, which was also understandable. Defending Cassidy inside my head through a mental argument made me feel a little better. Realizing how dramatic of the situation I turned it into, I shook my head, finishing my lunch break and heading back to work.

       Cassidy was usually busy with work on the weekdays, going out with her friends to have fun Friday night to Sunday morning, while I spent them keeping myself distracted in different ways with my shifts at the café.

       "I feel like you're always working," my boss chuckled before he entered the next room.

       I smiled as warmly as I could. "I've got nothing else going for me right now," I mumbled as I continued stocking the shelves.

       "I know you offered to take the closing shift but . . . why don't you take this one off?"

       I looked up at him. It was considerate of him to free me of my work, especially on a Friday night, but I took the shift for a reason.

       I enjoyed Cassidy's company, along with her friends', but deep down I knew my jobs were the only thing between us; and in a way, that was a good thing. If I wasn't free, how was I going to go out and drink with Cassidy and her friends? I figured I wasn't the one who had to oblige if my managers already booked me off; it was the only excuse I had that made me feel a little less guilty. I didn't want to hurt Cassidy's feelings or push her away by telling her I didn't want to hang out willingly, so this was my key to escape, even if it was just more work. At least it got more pay; I'd get out of that apartment and into my own dorm someday.

        Packing up my things, I waved goodbye to my co worker at the cash-register, heading out the door for a night all to myself. Cassidy usually left around 7:00 PM, which was when my shift ended, so I had no problem going home right away. I could slide in right after she left and she wouldn't know I was there. I smiled at my plan, relieved I could escape a night I'd regret in the morning.

       As I unlocked the front door, I sauntered inside, throwing my belongings onto the couch as I slid against the door, shutting it. I sighed, locking it behind me before I heard footsteps from the hallway.

       "(Y/N)?" I felt my heart drop. "I thought you were working late," Cassidy smirked, working her way towards me.

       "Oh . . . I'm . . . coming home for lunch."

       "Don't you have lunch there? I already texted you during your lunch break," she pointed out.

       I froze in my spot, my face painted red. I was never good at confrontation, a big reason I'd ran away from my problems all of my life. I wished that this could be one of those problems, buts it's not like I could just move out so impulsively. "Yeah . . . I meant my dinner break."

       "Oh . . . That's a shame," Cassidy pouted. She entered the livingroom, settling down on the couch. "I was really hoping you'd join us."

       "I'm sorry, Cassidy," I sighed.

       "It's fine . . ." she brushed off. "I gotta go call the girls now about our drive."

       "You made plans but you don't have a drive?" I questioned.

       "Well, I was hoping you'd be the one to drive since I thought you'd agree to come along, but . . ."

       At that point I felt guilty. She really wanted me to come, huh?

       What if I was being selfish? Cassidy wanting me to have "fun" wasn't really her peer pressuring me, was it? It was all coming from good intention; she didn't know why I was saying no and she didn't know I shouldn't have been drinking. But I did.

       Perhaps all I needed to do was learn some self-control. That way I could join their group, assist them as their helpful driver, and reassure myself I didn't need to be intoxicated to let loose. But was self-control really as easy as I was convincing myself?

       I looked over at Cassidy sitting on the couch, scrolling through the contacts on her phone before I opened my stupid mouth. "On second thought . . ."

~~~

       I struggled to keep my eyes open, rubbing them once more and looking up at the clock. I knew I shouldn't have come to that day's session but I figured, if it got me out of the house, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I forgot to consider the sunny weather however, burning up my eyes as I squinted my way through London on my way to the clinic. I shook my head, trying to keep focus as much as I could.

       I know my praying probably wasn't doing so good, but I wanted to convince myself if I hoped hard enough, people wouldn't be suspicious of my behaviour. I was definitely not feeling well, but was I doing a good job at hiding it? A sigh of relief escaped through my lips as the session came to an end and I carefully stood up, grabbing my bag. As everyone else moved on, I noticed Murdoc waiting for me by the door and I tilted my head in confusion. I glanced behind me as Phoebe was focused setting up for her next session and I turned back at Murdoc who smirked with crossed arms. I tried to smile at him but I knew it couldn't have looked right. He chuckled and wrapped his arm around my back, helping me walk forward. We left the building in silence and stood together outside as we watched the familiar faces of our group disappear. I wasn't sure why I didn't continue walking, but I'm not sure why I was expecting a hungover me to do anything correctly anyway.

       "And you decided to drink because . . . ?"

       I looked towards him, horrified. I figured it wouldn't be worth lying, so I dropped my face to a frown and sighed in defeat. "Is it that obvious?"

       "Not gonna lie, I'm impressed at how well you held it together in there. It wasn't even that obvious, but I know you." He slanted his head, still looking for an answer with a cocked brow.

       I shook my head, disappointed in myself, and I noticed his smirk beginning to fade. "It's nothing bad, Cassidy offered to bring me out with her friends again, so . . ."

       "Hmm . . ." It was quiet for a moment but Murdoc wasn't gonna let me get away with a sorrowful expression. "Don't be so down in the dumps about it, love," he said. I turned to him, frustrated. Why couldn't he just understand that being happy about your unhealthy habits isn't exactly healthy? He recognized my unpleasant response and laughed at me. "Seriously, (Y/N). I'm not telling you to give up on rehab, but you don't have to hate yourself for messing up-"

       "I know but I'd rather hate myself more so I'm more likely to never do it again, Murdoc," I retorted, instantly regretting it. I felt guilty for raising my voice, aside from the instant headache I received from it. I watched him blink in shock and he pursed his lips, awkwardly. He clearly wasn't expecting that from me and I wasn't either, darting my head back forward, trying to ignore the uncomfortable atmosphere I'd just created. "It's just . . . I-I don't know why I do this to myself . . . People tell me I shouldn't beat myself up but how can't I when I let myself be in that position over and over again . . . ?"

       I heard his Cuban heels tap the pavement as he inched closer to me. I felt his smirk through his sympathetic sigh. He lightly nudged my shoulder, catching my attention. "I know how you feel . . . But maybe it's best you stay away from the kids who convince you to drink with them in the first place?"

       "What are you implying? It's not like I can avoid Cass, she lives two meters away from me." I closed my eyes in defeat for a few seconds, catching some conscious sleep. I could feel Murdoc watch and I looked towards him once more, desperate for him to help me solve my problem.

       "What I'm implying is . . . maybe spend a few hours with me. We could learn more about each other . . . Maybe even stay for supper if you really want. You don't have to, but life gets boring when you've got nobody to talk to." I knew this smooth-talking character was a confident man, he could make any women fall for him whenever he wanted. I didn't take Murdoc's offer as him flirting, not when he had so many better options around us, but why did he seem to hold back so much? I could see a hint of apprehension in his eyes as we looked at each other, he couldn't hide that from me. I couldn't be special, though, there must've been plenty of other girls before me who saw exactly what I saw. I guess I was just excited to have somebody else other than Cassidy who seemed to want to get to know me.

       "You need me to come over because you can't talk to your roommates?" I questioned, barely believing it.

       "I could try, but it wouldn't be the same," Murdoc persisted. "Besides," he continued. "I've got a hangover cure I think you'll enjoy," he said.

       I wasn't sure what that meant, but I didn't hold my breath. He probably genuinely did want to help me feel better, this wasn't some sort of pick up like to get laid, and I wasn't ready to be alone again either.  His smirk remained as if it were his only means of defence when he presented any form of pure kindness to somebody. He certainly wasn't shy, but perhaps when he offered a nice gesture towards someone, he felt more vulnerable. I glanced at the ground and back up to him, "Why not?" He seemed to wear an authentic grin for once, starting for the parking lot. I wished he would've worn it more often, watching him look back at me and gesturing for me to follow him.

       With a smile on my face and pep in my step, I walked after him. He took out the keys from his pocket and alerted his drive; a red muscle car. It was in great condition on the outside but when Murdoc opened the door for me, it was trashed on the inside. I nervously grinned and sat myself down in the passenger's seat. When he closed my door and got in on the other side, he instantly picked up the piles of junk and clutter, tossing everything to the back seats. "Let's just move this," I heard him mumble. The front was soon cleared of the cigarettes, flasks, and other trash, but it still reeked of alcohol and smoke. "Sorry," he chuckled, but I just shook my head carelessly. As he started the car and revved the engine, I flinched, watching him turn the radio on and turning the volume down from its past obnoxious high. Listening to his metal, I turned my head out the window as we drove out of the parking lot.

       I heard Murdoc hum a little as the songs passed, making the drive a little more peaceful. I closed my eyes when he rolled down the windows, feeling the wind against my face cool me down from the warm Spring air. I took a deep breath in and opened my eyes as I exhaled, feeling Murdoc's eyes on me once again. I glanced back at him and he immediately looked back to the road, tapping his fingers to the beat of the aggressive rock that played.

       The wind in my hair was refreshing, and the speed we were going fuelled my adrenaline. Murdoc gave me such an addicting and adventurous craving. His company may have been new and different to my life but it was definitely something I needed. I thought of these facts over and over, comforting myself until we were getting closer and closer to the highway. "Murdoc?"

       "Hm?"

       "W-where do you live?"

       "Oh, not far at all," he claimed with confidence. "I just enjoy taking the longer route on the highway. It fuels my fire," he added with a growl.

       As soon as we entered the highway, Murdoc excited, swerving his car around the corner as we came closer to a haunted-esque home. It looked broken down and neglected, so I wasn't surprised when Murdoc's vehicle came to a screeching halt on the side of the gravel road. He took out his keys, swinging his door open; but before I could open mine, he was doing it for me. I simply smiled at his gentlemanly actions, crawling out and taking my bag with me. He secured his car and walked me to the front door, fumbling with his keys again to unlock it and push it open. "After you," he smiled.

       I quietly laughed, thanking him. "Wow," I whispered. It was definitely an oldie. The architecture wasn't very modern, as well as the wallpaper and overall building. I stood in awe, intrigued by the aura.

       "It's just us today," Murdoc said, closing the door behind us. "My ba-" he began before coughing. I turned to him, waiting for him to finish. "My roommates, I mean, go out and hang out when I go to therapy, like the fun roommates they are, so maybe you can meet them some other time," he concluded. He groaned at the thought of it, slouching as he tossed his house keys to the coat rack.

       "Oh," I nervously laughed, sympathetic towards his loneliness.

       "Whatever! Who needs 'em!" He headed up the stairs across from the entrance, looking back at me. "Coming?"

       I nodded and we walked up together, heading down the hall. "My room isn't any better than my car, but it's hopefully tolerable," he admitted, opening the creaky wooden door. I headed inside before him, looking around. It was certainly messy, but I could see more of an organized chaos rather than clutter. His room was almost exactly how I expected it to be; leather this and leather that, dark-coloured everything - the typical Murdoc Niccals aesthetic. I smiled at how perfect it felt and even noticed his bass guitar in the corner of the room.

       "You play?" I asked, pointing to the instrument leaning against the wall.

       "Hm?" he questioned, looking in my direction. "Oh, yeah! Self taught from when I was just a lad," he explained, walking forward. He picked up the guitar and sat on his bed, beginning to strum. I joined him and he winced at the awfully out of tune strings. "She's an angel when she's tuned," he said, tuning it himself.

       Finally, he began to play, and I couldn't believe my ears. He was incredible. His hands worked so gently against the strings it was almost as if some professional came down from Heaven and worked their magic themself. "You're amazing," I said. Murdoc responded with a smile, continuing to use his talent. He made it look so easy, he worked so effortlessly. "How long have you been playing?"

       "I began performing when I was just a kid, but really started playing instruments when I was ten, maybe? My uncle would come over and bring his bass with him - he played in his own little band - and eventually I found enough courage to steal one for myself and practice whenever I could," he rambled. Did he really? I wondered if he still kept that stolen bass as some sort of sentimental piece.

       Looking at his present bass I studied its style, unable to find any clues as to what brand it could've been. It definitely looked like a rare type of guitar and I found myself thinking about it hard. "Where did you get this one?"

       "I'm contemplating whether you'd believe me or not," he said, pausing the music to converse more.

       I shook my head, "Why wouldn't I?"

       Murdoc grinned mysteriously. He must've been trying to tell me to prepare for his storytime but I was already prepared to trust him when my gut told me so from the beginning. He chuckled and shuffled in his seat, beginning to play again. "Back when I was a teenager, Devil-worshipping became one of my favourite pastimes, y'know? Eventually, I started making packs, and as a trade he gave me this beauty," he said, lifting the guitar from his lap a few seconds.

       I wasn't a very religious person. I lost my faith a long time ago, and for valid reasons, but something in the back of my head believed in him. I nodded, "What did you trade him?"

       Murdoc nervously laughed, "I-I dont really remember, something about music." He got up and put his bass away on its stand before looking back at me from where he stood.

       "Have you ever thought of playing professionally?" I asked. He walked forward, towering over me.

       "Definitely. I'm not gonna lie, I've even written a few songs before, but I just . . . I don't know, I just never got around to searching for fame."

       "You've written songs before?" I asked, beaming with excitement. "May I hear?"

       Murdoc smiled at me and headed towards his writing desk, pulling out one of the drawers. In his hands he held a folder just flooding with paper, and a few fell out. He ignored them, placing the folder on the bed. "There's another one somewhere," he mumbled.

       "There's another one? I thought you said you only wrote some," I said, opening the folder.

       "Well, I wasn't expecting you to ask," he answered.

       I looked through the pieces of chicken-scratch, listening to the tunes of the sheet music in my head and reading the lyrics. I learned how to read sheet music back in high school when I took a class, and for some reason I couldn't forget how. "Murdoc . . . you're a wonderful writer, how could you hide this stuff away?"

       Murdoc shrugged, sitting on the bed beside me. "I didn't think the world wanted to hear my sappy lyrics, either."

       "Yeah . . . Not that it's anything bad, but I wasn't expecting something so soft to come from somebody who . . ." I looked back at him as waiting for me to tell who I saw him as. "Somebody who . . . seems hardcore and listens to metal."

       Murdoc chuckled, leaning closer to my ear as I proceeded to dig deeper in his work. He watched over my shoulder, "The audience needs a bit of a surprise once in a while, it brings something worth playing and someone worth playing for."

       I smiled and placed the paper down, remembering the songs in my head and what their words could mean. "What was this one inspired by?" I asked, pointing to one of the sheets. The title of the song was 'Broken' and I was instantly intrigued when I read the first line.

       "Ahh . . ." he answered. "I met this girl once and . . . to say the least, it didn't go as planned."

       I winced, glancing back at him and his pursed lips. "What happened?"

       "I'd rather not say," he spoke dramatically. "It pains me just to think about it," he continued in theatrical emotion.

       I laughed in response, "Well, I wouldn't want to put you through any bad memories . . ." It went a little quiet, the only things we did was look at each other. "What are your songs usually inspired by?"

       "Oh-h-h, life events, stories I think of, dreams, and even nightmares . . . nightmarish memories. Not very happy stuff in all honesty."

       "Well, where does all the happy stuff go when you don't write songs about them, too?"

       "It was never there in the first place," he mumbled, turning away from me. I watched his grin slip away, distracting himself with whatever was outside the bedroom window.

       Hearing him say that nearly shattered my heart. It was so unexpected, I was trying to find the right thing to respond with. "What do you mean it was never there?"

       "Let's just say life sometimes isn't the easiest to get through . . . and let's just leave it at that," he answered. "Okay?" he concluded, looking back at me.

       All I could do was stare. I knew his bad habits had to have come from somewhere but I hoped it wouldn't be something intentional. I thought he just enjoyed his beverage more and more as the years went by, but it sounded like it was purposefully an escape; similar to my relationship with alcohol. "Murdoc . . . I'm sorry."

       "It's not your fault, (Y/N). Besides, I still live on," he replied with more enthusiasm this time.

       "I know, but it definitely doesn't seem like you're living on, more just getting through the days . . . Of course, there are days where it's okay to simply make it past and focus on tomorrow but it shouldn't be like that all the time."

       Murdoc stopped responding and looked down at his lap instead. All I could do was watch and hope he wouldn't leave me in the dark, pushing me away. "I know, but I'm getting by. That's all that matters, right?"

       "But you also need to make sure you're getting by as best as you can," I encouraged. "I know it's easier said than done, but making sure you're actually living and not just surviving is important too."

       Murdoc looked back at me and smirked, "You don't have to get mushy with me, (Y/N). I've heard this a lot."

       "I know, but I want you to know that if you need somebody to talk to I'm here."

       Murdoc's face twisted into confusion. It was as if nobody pushed the way I did, and it honestly hurt me thinking that this could possibly be the first time he's heard something like this in a long time. "Thanks," he said. "I mean it . . . And you can always talk to me as well."

       "Thanks, Muds."

       All Murdoc did was nod and stand up, starting for the door. "Now, about that hangover cure . . ."

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Five

       I rubbed my eyes and shook my head, hoping to fling whatever sleepy feeling I had off my body. I glanced up from my lap for only the fourth time during that session despite all the talking that went on. I only ever listened when Murdoc spoke but nobody else's voice excited me enough to keep an ear open. I hated how obvious I made it when I wasn't feeling my best but I couldn't dare waste my energy on pretending when I had an evening shift, as well as a morning shift I needed to attend during the upcoming 24 hours. I needed whatever power I had left to make it through the next hour alone.

       The session seemed to speed by faster than usual and I was the first to leave in a hassle. I hurried out of the building and proceeded to walk home, keeping my head down in misery. I told myself to go home rather than waste my time outside, but I didn't think it would hurt to get some fresh air with the state I was in. As I walked across the city towards my apartment, I acknowledged how empty the park was. It was probably because the weather didn't look any better than it typically did, I reminded myself. The playground was a wasteland and there were only a couple teenagers in the field a small walk away from where I stood. Looking around, I ambled towards the swings, hesitating to sit.

       Sitting in a swing brought a cloud of nostalgia and memories over my head, but it felt unfortunate to be reminded of the better times. I swatted the headache away and bit my lip, clutching the chains of the swing as the hole in my chest only grew more profound.

       "(Y/N)?" I heard a familiar voice from behind me. I snapped my head around as my heart skipped a beat, but it was just Murdoc. He stood wearing a pained smile, "May I sit?" I slowly nodded and he sauntered towards me, sitting down on the swing next to mine. There were a few moments of silence as I ran the tips of my shoes through the sand below us, tracing random lines. I then began kicking at the ground, erasing the masterpiece and starting over.

       "Did . . . Did you follow me here?" I asked, keeping my eyes away from him.

       "Ehh," Murdoc sighed. "I guess you could interpret it as such but not for any creepy reason . . . I just wondered how you were doing." I looked at him, curious. He was wondering how I was doing? "I know you're usually quiet during sessions, but you seemed a little unhinged today," he commented. "Is something bugging ya?"

       "A little," I answered, feeling like a child. I shook my head, "Yeah."

       "Wanna tell me?"

       Could I? Was it a good idea? "Last night didn't go as well as I hoped it would," I said, looking at him.

       "W-what'd you do?" Murdoc asked. He didn't seem concerned but instead confused as to how anything I did could be bad.

       "I . . . went out with a group of people and ended up . . . drinking . . . And I couldn't stop." I felt so ashamed for what had happened but Murdoc didn't seem to understand why I reacted to the problem the way I did.

       "It's all apart of the process, love," he replied with a comforting smile.

       I furrowed my brows, immediately addled. "The process of rehab includes drinking?"

       Murdoc laughed, "Not exactly." I blinked at him, wondering where he was going with his lecture. "The point of rehab is to make mistakes and learn from them. I'd know," he said, taking out a box of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket. "You won't always be perfect and you shouldn't beat yourself up when you slip. Your goal may be to stay away from drinking but every once in awhile, especially for kids like you who work so hard, you'll need a little sip. Even if it escalates to . . . not being able to stop," he expressed, talking with his arms. "Sometimes it isn't easy, of course, but you'll never get better if you don't fuck up a little. You should never put yourself down like that, you've been working too hard to deserve that."

       I was surprised to find Murdoc making such a speech. Both surprised and grateful he noticed how hard I tried to better myself. I appreciated his advice, even if it didn't feel very realistically healthy. "Thank you," I said.

       He was about to light his cigarette before he stopped and turned his head to me, our eyes instantly locking. "For what?" he blinked, genuinely clueless.

       "For believing in me," I answered. "Nobody's really encouraged me like that before."

       Murdoc smiled and lit his cigarette, placing it in between his lips while he put his lighter away. He held the fag gently in between his two fingers, making his deep thinking visible. "Well, thank you too."

       "For what?" I chuckled.

       "For listening." I smiled at him before looking back at the ground, the aching feeling in my chest filling with an explosive, bubbly feeling of delight. He sighed and got up, "Well, I know it isn't as easy as '1-2-3' to cure a melancholy heart, but perhaps a little trip to the café wouldn't hurt if you'd like to join me?"

       I followed his eyes as he stood, my mood only swaying up the more he talked. "Yeah, sure!" I agreed, standing up as well. He nodded, a genuine smile twisting his lips as he began to walk. I followed beside him as we made our way down the park's gravel paths and towards the busy street.

       "Did you grow up here?" He asked.

       "I came here for university . . . My friends and family visited me every once in a while." I said. I told myself to be open but it only made me uncomfortable, causing me to instantly shut up about it. "Y-you?"

       "Grew up in Stoke-On-Trent, moved here back in . . . 1995 maybe?"

       I'd heard of Stoke-On-Trent, but nothing exactly good. "What made you move?"

       "My job," he said, keeping his eyes staring straightforward. I kept my eyes on him, not noticing I was inching closer to him.

       We made it to one of the many small coffee shops in the city, Murdoc opening the door for me to go first. I said thank you and targetted first empty two-person table I saw by the front window. Murdoc followed me, sitting across from me. As I got comfortable, he suddenly got up, "Thirsty? Hungry, maybe?"

       I just nervously smiled and shrugged, "I don't have money on me right now, so I'll just-"

       "I'll pay," he offered, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket.

       "Oh, no, no, no! Don't waste your money on me," I pleaded. "I'm not very hungry."

       "Oh, come on," he smiled, tapping the leather wallet as he watched me. "Want a warm drink? Cold drink?"

       I hated to have him buy me something, but I didn't have anything to eat in fear of throwing up during my hangover that morning. "I . . ." I sighed. "I . . . wouldn't mind a (insert beverage), I guess."

       His expression lightened up into something more gentle than enthusiastic. "You're worth more than that, (Y/N). Are you sure you don't want anything to eat, as well? It's my treat." I shook my head. "I'll get you a muffin," he decided for me. I watched him walk away in awe, both flattered and doubtful.

       I had worth? Did he genuinely mean that?

       "Thanks," I said just loud enough for him to hear.

       He turned on his heel at the sound of my voice. "Sure thing," he replied with a cocky grin before continuing.

       Perhaps him having me let him order food for me was his way of making himself look and feel good. It was shallow of me to think of him like that and I didn't want to believe it but I couldn't get past his comment. I wasn't worth anything was I?

       I frowned as I thought about it but I couldn't let him notice. As he came back and sat down, impatiently tapping his foot against the ground, I swapped it for a smile and looked up to him. "I'm gonna pay you back someday," I said.

       "Don't even dare," he responded. "It's a gift," he concluded.

       "Bet," I dared, keeping my eyes on him.

       A waitress came over a few minutes later, placing our food down in front of us. "Enjoy," she smiled, walking away. I took my muffin into my hands and began to eat, casually glancing up at Murdoc. He pulled out something from his jacket pocket, catching my attention easily enough. He looked towards the front desk and out from under the table, his hand appeared, holding a silver flask. My eyes widened at the sight, looking back at the cashier lady as well in hopes she wouldn't catch him. As he poured the alcohol into his coffee, the scent of vodka hit me like a brick and I backed up, biting my lip.

       "Shouldn't you stay away from alcohol?" I questioned quietly, hoping I didn't offend.

       "Hmm?" Murdoc mumbled, glancing up at me. "Oh," he responded, staring at his flask. He screwed on the cap and stored it away in his jacket again. "Eh, as I said before, I'm hopeless when it comes to rehabilitation. Besides, I couldn't care less about my health," he claimed, stirring his alcohol-infused coffee with a spoon.

       "I'm sure if you tried you could get better," I encouraged.

       "The only thing staying sober benefits is the people around me," he chuckled, pointing around the room with his finger and taking a sip with his other hand. Placing the mug down on the table, he shook his head, "Don't mean to be such a horrible influence, but . . ."

       I shook my head and tried smiling sweetly, "Don't worry about it. I understand where you're coming from . . ."

       Murdoc looked up at me and grinned, turning his head to the window. "It sucks when the people around you expect you to be happier sober, y'know?"

       I looked up, unsure of what to say. "I guess."

       He looked to me again, his expression dropping from a straight face to a small frown. "What's wrong?"

       "Well, I don't have anybody close to me to tell me that, honestly. But I can understand how bugged I'd be if somebody said that to me too."

       "You don't? No friends? Family?"

       I shook my head. "Lost all my friends and I'm just not . . . close with my family anymore, I could say," I explained.

       Murdoc blinked, turning his body away from the window. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "W-who convinced you to get help?"

       "Myself, I guess."

       "Hmm . . ." Murdoc tapped his long chipped nails on the table. "Did you start for any reason in particular?"

       "Drinking or rehab?"

       He shrugged, "Either if you don't mind sharing."

       "Oh . . . I mean, I wanted to get better, y'know? So . . . I decided a while back that I wanted to make something of myself and wanted to be successful. Now I've got three part-time jobs, I've been saving up to finish my bachelor's degree I started back in my early twenties, and . . . I started drinking to numb myself when something happened during university . . . I don't really wanna talk about it." I looked down awkwardly, picking at my nails as Murdoc's expression turned sympathetic almost. He seemed to listen closely to me, but I didn't take that as something personal. It's the normal person's job to care for other persons too, after all.

       "I can understand that. What were you studying in?" he asked with a peaceful smile.

       "I was studying for an English degree," I grinned. "I've always dreamed to do something with my writing," I continued. I took a sip of my drink and watched the small ripples in the cup bounce off of each other.

       I heard Murdoc chuckle and take another sip, biting his lip. "I, uh . . ." he stammered, contemplating whether or not to speak. I looked up at him, promptly intrigued about what he had to say. "I earned a doctorate in anthropology . . . different cultures and such, but I never exactly did anything with it."

       I was happy to hear he was successful in something. Murdoc looked like the type to rebel against school and not care about his education or career. It was great to know how far he got to get a doctorate. "What do you do instead?"

       "I, uhh . . ." he chuckled nervously. He rubbed the back of his head, "Music industry. I just hang around and organize files and . . . Yeah, it's a pretty chill job."

       I nodded. It must've felt secure having a real full-time job instead of working as a cashier in some café as I did. "When and . . . why did you drink?"

       "Eh . . . I might as well have been an alcoholic since . . . what, twelve?" he chuckled. "It didn't get worse until I was in my twenties. That was a long time ago," he laughed. "I mean, I am an old man," he joked. I laughed with him and he took another sip of his drink, nearly emptying his mug. "Y'know, I had to leave my position where I didn't need to take care of responsibilities and such . . . So becoming an adult and being kicked out of my place, as if I really belonged there," he mumbled the last part. "It was tough. So I decided to drown it all out with vodka ubungo . . ." His smirk slowly faded. He took out his flask again and I began to feel bad for asking. Was I making him feel worse? Was I triggering him to drink more? "Apart from the horrifying truth of maturing into adulthood that stressed me into drinking, it's also the section of my life as a child . . . I grew up in a pretty fucked up home. Beatings and all that stuff," he explained. My heart dropped at the sound of that. He might've put on this costume as some tough, aggressive man, but I couldn't imagine how hurt he must've bee after something like that. He unscrewed the cap and poured the rest of the alcohol in. After another sniff of vodka, I felt the overwhelming urge to engulf myself in a bottle too. He opened his mouth to continue but a booming voice shouted from across the room.

       "Excuse me, sir!" Both of us instinctively looked towards the direction the voice was coming from and I felt myself choke on my breath. "No outside food or drink is allowed, I'm afraid," a waitress called from the front desk.

       Murdoc blinked slowly, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure a little sauce won't kill anybody, love!" My eyes widened at him and my jaw nearly dropped, he would surely get us kicked out. My face flushed an embarrassingly bright red, watching him talk back to the lady.

       "I'm sorry, sir, but that just isn't allowed!"

       A man from the table beside us addressed us and I whipped my head towards the stranger while Murdoc kept his focus on the staff member. "Just listen to the lady, alright?" he suggested. Looking around the café, everybody's eyes were on us and I shrunk in my spot.

       I looked back at Murdoc who kept on smirking. Despite how scary the situation was becoming, the scene felt so perfect for a careless man like Murdoc. "C'mon, I ain't hurting anybody!" he exclaimed, waving his arms. My heart was pumping in my throat at this point and I winced, watching the lady begin to walk out from behind the desk, along with another male server from across the room. Murdoc leaned in close to me and whispered, "Can you run fast?"

       "What?"

       "Sir-" the lady continued, trying to keep the situation under control. But Murdoc left his flask behind as it fell to the floor, standing up when they came closer. He reached out his arm and took my hand in his tightly, sprinting for the door. By force, I lept from my seat and followed closely behind him as we heard shouting continue from behind us. Nearly shoving a few customers around us, Murdoc pulled me out of the building and down the sidewalk. He was running so fast I almost tripped, I was just barely keeping up. We rammed through the crowded mob, hiding us from the view of the café and I could hear Murdoc laughing excitedly in front of me, causing me to contagiously laugh with him. As we dashed down the street, I glanced back for a second, unexplainable joy and adrenaline filling my chest as we kept going. We booked it a few blocks and crossed multiple streets before finally stopping at a corner, dying to catch our breaths.

       "Jesus Christ, Murdoc!" I shouted, laughing. I didn't think either of us noticed we were still holding hands as he leaned against the brick wall of the building, gasping and panting. He kept smiling and I leaned against the wall with him, my chest against his arm as I looked at him, astonished.

       He looked down at me and I could still feel his chest rise and fall. We both stopped smiling for a second, replacing our heavy breathing with steadying breaths as we stared at each other. He blinked before shaking his head and smiling again, looking away. "They can do many things to me, but they can't take away my Grey Goose," he shouted, pumping his fist into the air. Bubbly laughter escaped my lips and I leaned into him more, happily gripping his hand tighter. His greasy hair was now a fluffy, wavy mess and I could see the satisfaction in his eyes after escaping the scene of the crime. I couldn't have imagined different.

       I sighed with realization. "That . . ." I started before inhaling deeply. Murdoc looked back at me, awaiting my comment under construction. "That was the most fun I've had in years," I admitted, keeping my (E/C) irises on his.

       Murdoc's expression looked bewildered for a moment. "Really?" It was quiet between us as I nodded. "Huh," he responded, resting his hand on my head. "I gotta take you out more," he finished, proceeding to scruff my hair. I laughed and he pulled away, gesturing to follow him down the sidewalk with the nudge of his head. He began to walk and I followed closely beside him, wondering where the day would take us.

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Four

       I stared at myself in the mirror mercilessly, hunting down any flaws I could fix. Gently pulling my hair from my face, I continued to stare before I heard a knock on my bedroom door. I whipped my head back, startled. "Coming?" I heard Cassidy's voice on the other side.

       "Just a second!" I responded, giving my reflection one final glance. I backed up, observing my outfit with uncertainty. Is this appropriate clothing? Will I fit in? What will Cassidy wear? With that last question, I decided to open the door and find out. Cassidy was still waiting outside my door, wearing brightly coloured, revealing clothing. Not that I was judging, of course. I just wondered if I'd be able to find the confidence in myself to wear clothes as such someday. I couldn't even wear quarter length sleeves without breaking down. That wasn't something I wanted to think about, though.

       Cassidy looked up from her phone, astonished. "Wow, (Y/N)!" she exclaimed. "You never sparked me as the colourful type," she commented. I looked down at my skinny jeans, boots and knitted sweater ablaze with my favourite, lively hue. It was the nicest outfit I owned at that point so it was my go-to ensemble for job interviews, shifts at my current jobs and other settings where I shouldn't be sloppy. When I was home however I just wore baggy clothes or pyjamas I could easily hide in. "Well, let's go!" Cassidy pushed with thrill, starting for the front door.

       She was wearing white short shorts with fishnets underneath and short high-heeled boots that added an extra few inches to her height. She wore a blue long-sleeved crop top and multiple silver bangles on both her wrists. She had very minimal makeup on to show off more natural features - considering she didn't need makeup in the first place to enhance her beauty. To top off the look, her hair was modestly curled and bounced against her shoulders when she leaped down the hallway. I was always jealous of her sense of fashion, along with the rest of her life. Not that I wasn't grateful for my blessings, but she had her shit together, something I hadn't had in years. I blinked the thought away and followed her out the front door, locking the apartment door behind me.

       The drive took a little under ten minutes, leaving us silent and awkward. I winced at the thought that Cassidy probably regretted letting me tag along but, convincing myself with empty promises, I told myself I'd make up for it when we got there. Despite my shortage of social experiences, I remembered to just be optimistic and positive and I couldn't go wrong. My brain flung back to reality when our cab came to a sudden halt. Cassidy hopped out and paid as I climbed out anxiously, walking for the entrance of the building. I looked up at the intimidating edifice, biting my lip and clutching my sweater. It was a lot to take in for my first night out in a while. Cassidy turned to me, "You nervous?" I slowly nodded my head, embarrassed. She walked up to me with a smirk, "You'll survive. My friends don't bite."

       I smiled back, "Do you truly think they'll enjoy my company?"

     Cassidy nodded, dragging me towards the bouncers at the door. "I'm telling you," she insisted with a little nudge at my shoulder.

       The inside was profusely worse than the outside. Taking a glance at the club's shell, you simply saw bricks and a sign, nothing fancy at all. However, walking inside, it felt like I entered a portal through to Las Vagas. Glowing UV lights lined every corner of the walls and were used as decor for the bars and stage. Nobody played live, of course, the music blasting through the speakers was enough noise already. It was a mix of rap and aggressive pop and dubstep burning through my eardrums, leaving me deaf as soon as the front door opened.

       "My friends should be around the bar," Cassidy said, guiding me through the crowd of young drunk adults. I could've sworn I saw a few teenagers as well, but it was hard to tell with the vibrant flashing lights around me being a constant distraction. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying to get away from the harsh beams of neon pink and purple before Cassidy's voice boomed in my ear again. "There they are!"

       I looked up to a small group of four, sitting and waiting with their more or less expensive outfits and accessories. Out of the corner of their eyes, they must've seen us, turning their heads and standing up. One of the girls wore a big blushing smile, opening her arms wide for Cassidy. "You made it!" she shouted through the music.

       "All in one piece too, this time," Cassidy joked. I wondered what type of activities Cassidy participated in that made her a mess before even drinking. It was at this moment I realized how scary the girls' wild and carefree behaviour might actually be.

       I should've stayed home.

       "This is my roommate, (Y/N), I was talking about," Cassidy introduced. "(Y/N), this is Katrina."

       Katrina gracefully sauntered towards me, engaging me in a hug as I stood awkwardly. I wrapped my arms around her as well before she pulled away. "Cassidy's talked you up a bunch," she said. I looked behind her at Cassidy to see her shooting me a reassuring smile, easing my worry. "Now, come here and sit down, we're doing rounds," she said.

       "R-rounds?" I questioned.

       "Sure we are," Cassidy said, sitting down and patting the chair beside her. I claimed my seat in between her and Katrina, anxiety cracking through my veins. There was a sickening feeling in my chest and I immediately felt like throwing up. "You do drink right?" Cassidy spoke slowly, staring me down.

       "I . . . don't know," I said, unsure of what to say. What could I do? I knew I couldn't drink if I wanted to get better but was I strong enough to escape the craving?

       "What does that mean?" Katrina laughed. "You'll be fine," she smiled unknowingly.

       All I could do was awkwardly laugh and fiddle with my fingers. "Honestly, I'm alright-"

       "Come on, (Y/N), it's fine," Cassidy said, pulling out her purse. "If you weren't gonna have fun tonight, why'd you come?"

       There were ways for me to have fun without alcohol, right? I had the strength inside me to not give in to peer pressure, right? I was a grown independent woman who knew that if Cassidy was a true friend she wouldn't pressure me into doing something I said I didn't want to do. But did I remind myself of this? Did I care? I wasn't sure, but was the scenery around me too distracting to acknowledge the right choices I could make? That I was sure of.

       That night, I would make the first of many horrible mistakes I'd made in a while.

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

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[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Three

      I turned off the shower and sighed, feeling the last few taps of water dripping onto my head. I shivered, the cold air touching my skin through the warm steam. I removed the shower curtain and slowly stepped out, planting my feet on the ground firmly, scared to fall. I instantly grabbed my towel from the towel rack and wrapped it around me, turning towards the mirror above the sink. I wiped off the steam with a cloth and watched myself in the mirror, seeing the water drip from my face and down my neck, tickling me ever so slightly.

      I felt so awful for my roommate, Cassidy. She wasn't home often due to her job but I never showered as much as I should've and I felt guilty making her put up with me and my B.O all the time. I didn't leave my room a lot either, apart from when I went to the kitchen or washroom every few hours or had to leave the apartment itself, but she still walked past me at least once a day. I heard the front door of our apartment open and close loudly, listening to keys jingling and footsteps through the wall. I dried myself off and dried my hair as best as I could, taking my clothes with me as I left the washroom. As I left I saw Cassidy in the living room, placing her belongings on the couch and looking at her phone. Entering my room down the hall, I threw my clothes into my laundry bin where all my clothes resided at this point. I had a small dresser to put them in but there were rarely any of my clothes were clean, to begin with. I sighed to myself, realizing I had a ton of laundry to do.

      I wasn't a lazy person, I could do my laundry if I wanted to and I knew how, I just decided to make things harder for myself voluntarily. I wasn't usually a messy person either. In high school, I could've been one of the most organized kids you've met, but ever since college, I struggled to be the best I could while tackling simple human functions. I heard a knock on my bedroom door and crawled over the mountain of clutter on the floor, opening up. My room was already as small as a broom closet, the fact that everything I owned was just strewed about below me didn't help anything. It especially didn't help the door from opening any wider. I pulled it away from Cassidy who stood on the other side, struggling to keep it pushed open as well.

      She was shorter than me, as well as younger by seven years, and had adorable hazel eyes. She had dirty blonde hair that was cut by her shoulders and freckles, which made her look like the stereotypical country girl. Her wardrobe seemed to consist of oversized t-shirts with 90's cartoon characters on it and nothing but denim shorts. It was no match for the constant gloomy weather England had to offer, but she managed to pull through whenever she was out. I couldn't describe her personality-wise, I didn't know her well despite being roommates for at least a year then. All I could say was she definitely knew how to entertain people and make them laugh.

      Cassidy looked past my shoulder, her jaw dropping before she laughed. "Jesus fucking Christ, (Y/N), use your shelves," she joked.

      In response I just sighed and laughed, secretly ashamed that she noticed. "What do you want?" I smirked in invisible misery.

      "Nothing, really . . . We don't really talk much, do we?"

      I shook my head and nervously giggled, "Where're you going with this?"

      "Well, I was thinking that we could maybe go out to get coffee later today? We've never hung out outside of this shit hole," she addressed the apartment. "Or in general," she added. "Besides, I've needed to a break from work and thought I could spend my free time with somebody I wanted to get closer with?"

      I looked at her, slightly shocked. I wanted to get closer to my roommate as well, but we didn't seem to have much in common, remembering back to when I saw her room. She was the type who was successful and busy but could easily have fun and didn't have a hard time getting social at parties. She went out often but she never let it get in the way of her career. From what I saw, she was getting far and I was nowhere, just a disappointment who had part-time jobs working with coffee, toys in the convenience store and produce at the supermarket. I blinked, realizing I didn't answer her question. "Y-yeah, of course," I agreed, nodding my head. "That'd be fun," I continued.

"Cool," Cassidy smiled. She turned on her heel and slowly walked away down the hall and I watched her turn the corner until she disappeared. Grinning, I shut the door, picking up a sweater and sweatpants from the ground. It felt gross not wearing anything underneath but how else was I going to do my laundry without my towel falling? I picked up all of my clothes and put them in the overflowing basket, getting up and bringing it to the closet down the hall. I used a few minutes of my time to organize myself and finished my work before heading back to my room, wondering what I could do.

      Before I was an alcoholic I was in university studying year after year for my bachelor's degree. However, close to the end of the third year, I found myself at home every day in my dorm room alone, crying in bed as my grades dropped dramatically. Soon enough, I decided dropping out was the best option at that point and I'd been working multiple part-time jobs ever since I was twenty-three. The only materialistic things I'd been spending my money on was alcohol, disappointingly. The only gifts I got anymore were coupons and tiny Christmas presents, but for a while, I hadn't received many. I was incredibly grateful they still thought of me but I felt all of my relationships cling on by thin strings. Not even my relatives, and especially not from the friends I'd grown apart from however many years ago seemed to check up on me. I'd been saving up in case I wanted to do something with my life, but I figured I wouldn't be going down that path anytime soon, looking back on the past years.

      I hadn't had much time to myself but when I did between shifts, I found myself laying on the floor, miserable. I used to drown these feeling by drinking but therapy's helped me escape that habit, of course. I'd tried to get myself to begin walking during my free time but I hadn't been getting around to it. As I reminded myself of the lack of excitement life I sighed, pulling the blanket off my bed and bringing it to my chest as a laid on the floor surrounded by trash.

      Monotone days made for another week and shift after shift, nap after nap, I got myself ready to leave the house once more. I fixed my hair and brushed my teeth, washing my face before looking up at the mirror in front of me. I dried myself off and rushed out the door, hoping I could make it to the clinic before it rained. I was in more a rush today when I offered to help Phoebe clean up after a school field trip, so I found myself tripping over my feet, trying to get there as soon as possible.

      As I made it through the front door, I was greeted as always, and went straight to the gymnasium where I found Phoebe asking me to find the "blue bins full of art stuff". As I searched down the hall, I found what I needed. I went to grab for one of the few buckets before I heard a loud, nearly argumentative conversation outside. I'd never intentionally eavesdropped unless I heard my name, but this time I heard Murdoc's voice and I was instantly hooked. I stopped moving, my hands still gripping one of the bins as I paused. The voices were muffled from the door separating us, but I thought I heard at least four different people conversing, including Murdoc. Soon enough, there was silence, and I leaned forward, trying to angle my view to see him outside the front door. He stood with a look of disappointment as he began to light a cigarette. I watched him take a hit and exhale slowly, leaning against the wall with sorrowful eyes. I'd never seen him like that and it felt unreal, or like a dream to stare at him with such emotion on his face. I let go of the bin and slowly made my way to the door, placing my fingers on the glass. I pushed it open slowly and Murdoc's eyes darted towards as he gasped, startled. He almost inhaled his cigarette but removed it from his lips, coughing into his elbow.

      "Oh, shit! Sorry, Murdoc, I didn't mean to scare you," I apologized, holding my hand over my mouth with worry.

      He chuckled awkwardly and coughed once more, clearing his throat with embarrassment. "I-it's fine, lass."

      I smiled at him nervously before walking towards him, "What are you doing here so early?"

      "I could ask you the same thing," he responded, taking another hit.

      I stood beside him now, leaning against the wall as he stood up straight, his body turned to me. "They needed help organizing the gymnasium so I offered," I said, addressing the staff of the clinic. He exhaled and we watched the smoke lift up into the air and disappear in mere seconds. I looked back at him towering over me. "What about you?"

      His eyes softened for a moment until he blinked it away, his usual aggression blocking whatever door I almost opened. I was hoping he'd be as open as he was the other day, but it wasn't my lucky day I guess. "Uh, my roommates were bugging me so I just . . . left early," he claimed.

      "Ah . . ." I responded. I turned my head away, realizing I still had work to be done inside. "Umm . . . perhaps it's a good idea to get back to work." I watched Murdoc's eyes bolt up towards me desperately before I turned around.

      I was about to open the door when I heard Murdoc suck in a deep breath. "Would you like some help?" I looked back up at him as he slowly walked forward, his hand wrapping around the door handle.

      "That's alright," I said, not wanting him to waste his time doing tasks I promised Phoebe I'd complete myself.

      I placed my hand on the other door handle, but Murdoc stretched his arm over the glass to keep it closed. "I insist," he said, his eyes locked in my direction. I couldn't tell what his intention was and there were no clues on his face, nor any body language to tell me what he was thinking or feeling.

      I simply nodded with a smile, "If you're sure."

      The session went as all sessions went, bland and quiet, at least in my eyes. Murdoc and I didn't sit beside each other, which would've been a little strange, even if I kinda wish we did. He was quieter than usual, which the rest of the group noticed, but he brushed it off with the typical excuse of being tired. I would've believed him if this wasn't Alcoholics Anonymous but it's every unhealthy person's job to convince people they're doing fine, no matter how repetitive to the point of annoyance the excuse is. It's one of those hopes of everybody at some point that if they lie enough about something people will eventually believe them or give up prying at the very least.

      When the hour was up everybody lifted themselves from their seats, taking their belongings out the door with them. I picked up my drawstring bag and turned on my phone to play music through my headphones. I left the building only to be stopped by the startling, but not so surprising rainy weather. I usually walked, even if it was raining, but I wasn't ready to ruin the benefits of my first shower I had that month only two hours after taking it. I groaned, pulling out my phone to call a taxi. I walked around the corner to where the benches were when I noticed Murdoc. I enjoyed his company but I acknowledged the oddness of how frequent our interactions were becoming. I wondered what we would talk about then.

      "Hey," I spoke, walking up to him. He was slouching on the bench, looking out at the parking lot, enticed by the rain. He looked content for the first time since I met him. His arms stretched across the back of the bench, his hands hanging off the sides lifelessly. The only limb of his body that moved was his foot that tapped impatiently, his leg bouncing along. He looked in my direction at the sound of my voice and nearly smiled, pulling his arms away and crossing them above his chest. I felt bad for him; it was warmer before the session but when it began raining, his sleeveless shirt wasn't very appropriate weather attire anymore.

      "Hey," he mumbled.

      I slowly made my way over and sat down next to him, wondering how I could begin our next conversation. "How's it been?"

      "Eh," he shrugged. He really didn't seem into talking so I thought I shouldn't bug him. It was quiet for a few seconds before he sat up straight, pulling out a lighter. He pulled a cigarette from his other pocket and looked towards me. "What about you?"

      I was surprised he continued for me but I didn't hesitate to respond. "Not bad," I answered, pulling my hoodie sleeves over my hands to keep them warm. I rocked myself back and forth to warm myself up when I realized he was still looking towards me. I turned back to him and noticed his hand with the cigarette inching closer to me. He cocked his eyebrow and I finally got the message.

      "Nah, thanks, I'm trying to quit," I nearly whispered with a nervous giggle.

      "Ah, good lass," he pointed, putting the cigarette in between his lips. He lit it and a puff of smoke seeped into the air in front of us, "What are you doing out here?"

      "I could ask you the same question," I said, remembering the similarities of the conversation earlier that day. He must've remembered as well when he grinned along with me. "I'm waiting for a taxi."

      He shook his head, looking away from me for a second and out at the rain again, lifting the fag from his mouth. "What, your boyfriend couldn't come pick you up?" he asked as if it was as natural of a question as the sky is blue.

      He turned towards me again and I looked back at him. I was flattered but confused as to why he assumed I wasn't single. I then nervously laughed. "N-no, I don't have a boyfriend, I haven't been on a date in nearly ten years," I admitted, staring directly into his eyes. Noticing what I had just said and how awkward I must've made the interaction encouraged me to immediately avert my eyes as I felt my face flushed red.

      However, he seemed just as staggered as I was. "Really?" I nodded, grabbing at my sleeves for imaginative protection from embarrassment. "Hmph," he sighed, finally breaking his view from me.

      I gained the courage to move on from my shame. "What about you? Your wife couldn't make it?" I asked back.

      "I don't have a wife," he said.

      "Oh?" I smiled.

      "I've got many," he chuckled, taking another hit.

      I felt my heart drop heavy from my chest like a bowling ball. "Hmm . . ." I twisted my lips sheepishly.

      Murdoc turned to me frantically and wide-eyes. "I'm just kidding," he reassured in a sort of concerned tone.

      I looked back at him, a sigh of relief coming off as a short second of laughter. I smiled, shaking my head and he swapped his smirk for a real smile. I adjusted my position, "Why are you out here?"

      Murdoc was silent for a few seconds. "I enjoy the rain."

      Something about Murdoc enjoying rainy weather gave me a unique feeling of nostalgia in a way. I remembered back to when I loved the rain myself. Whenever it poured or simply drizzled I would run out onto my lawn and spin on the grass until I slipped in the mud. I had a blast every time until my mother scolded me, but that was at least fifteen years ago. Times had changed quite drastically, and sometimes I convinced myself, for the better. "Lucky you live in London then, huh?"

      "Very true," he agreed. "Not so lucky for you though, eh?"

      I felt myself furrow my eyebrows by accident. "Why do you say that?"

      "Too much traffic," he smiled. I just dropped my jaw, surprised he kept bringing up the crazy moment we met. I began to smile and lightly shoved him as he turned to me, laughing.

      "I still can't thank you enough for that . . ." I said.

      "You don't have to keep thanking me, (Y/N)."

      "But I do," I said as we stared at each other.

      He just shook his head and chuckled at my determination. "You really think saying thank you isn't enough to make it up?"

      "Not even close," I convinced myself, shaking my head. How could it be?

      Murdoc took a few seconds to think deeply before settling his gaze comfortably on me. "Well . . . Why don't we meet up for coffee sometime and think about it?"

      "Really?" Did Murdoc actually want to meet up for coffee? He didn't seem like the person to do something so simple. Or that's what I told myself at least. My self-respect decreased as I thought of the possibility it could just be a pickup line to hookup and nothing else. Not to sound into myself, but it's happened before, I couldn't imagine anybody wanting to hang out to actually become friends. Cassidy's offer was unbelievable enough. It hurt . . . so I ignored it as best as I could to not harm this precious moment.

      "Why not? You like coffee?"

      "Sure!" I turned my body more towards him.

      "Perfection," he settled. He stood up and dropped his cigarette into the disposal box on the wall of the building. "I'll catch you later," he said, backing up before he turned away on his heel. As he walked into the parking lot, one of the clouds in the sky finally drifted away from the sun, pouring its light down onto his head and shoulders. Rain cascaded down his back like glitter and I couldn't help but stare as he slipped away and disappeared out of view.

      I looked away from his direction, smiling to myself. Why was I so connected to him in such a strange clingy way? I guess clingy wasn't the right word, but I was being sort of creepy becoming closer with him. I'd excused myself before since I hadn't made friends in years and the alchemy behind befriending others had slipped my mind little by little, but I had to keep common sense common. I tried to keep myself from thinking about him so much and blinked his face out of my mind, remembering I was waiting for my taxi. My taxi I hadn't even called yet.

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Two

      His name was Murdoc.

       "I'm not here willingly, I won't speak willingly. I was told I didn't have to say anything as long as I listened, and I plan on doing exactly that."

       He was 49 years old that Spring.

       "You don't have to speak if you don't want to, Murdoc, there are people here who feel the same way. I just figured a little encouragement wouldn't hurt, huh?"

      And just as secretive as I was minus the aggression.

       "Great. Then I'll politely decline."

       He was just as stubborn as I could be as well, which made up for the large difference in emotions we chose to express.

       Defeated, Phoebe sighed and moved onward to the man who sat next to him. I found Murdoc’s behaviour and humour absolutely hilarious and inevitably interesting. I hadn't laughed as much those past weeks he'd been attending the program in years. Every night I go to bed and keep myself up remembering his wise remarks and creative responses he had for the counsellor or other attendees. Nothing negative, just entertaining and unique perks about him making the whole therapy process more enjoyable. He didn't make dark jokes about alcohol but little puns here and there to make people smile. At the beginning of the session he warmed up his attitude and by the end, he'd brightened everybody's day. His changes in moods fascinated me, too. He wasn't always that strangely happy guy people were met with first. He was the clown of the session until he was meant to talk about his issues, then he'd get a little grouchy and agitated. That was understandable, so I tried not to think about it so much and make a big deal about him for acting in a very natural way like I'm doing right now. I found it tough to avoid however, naturally wondering what brought him to group therapy in the first place.

       "How was your weekend, (Y/N)?" I looked up from my hands on my lap, my eyes darting up to Phoebe at the sound of my name.

       "I'm sorry?"

       "How was your weekend?" Phoebe repeated with a patient smile.

       I found myself stuttering. "Boring, I guess," I answered.

       "How so?"

       I'm not opening up, I told myself. I'm not ready yet. "I just . . . didn't do anything."

       "Is that all?"

       I sat silent, fiddling with my fingers. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to speak just a little more. "There's . . . not really any point of trying to get out of bed and doing nothing right when you can get drunk again. That way people won't set any expectations of you anymore." It wasn't the best of messages to send out there but it was all I could say at the moment. I couldn't even bring myself to apologize to the others who tried so hard to live without alcohol for acting so negative. I was just a party pooper.

       I heard chuckling from the other side of the room and I looked up from my lap. Murdoc let his head fall into the palm of his hand and smirked, trying to stop himself from laughing. "You got that right, lass," he mumbled. He looked back up at me and I felt myself smile. Making him laugh made me feel a little better, I'm not gonna lie.

       "What did you end up doing this weekend?" Phoebe asked.

       "I've been sober for 65 days, I didn't wanna give up . . ."

       "Staying away from the alcohol . . . how did it make you feel?"

       "Uhh . . ." I looked away from Phoebe and bit my lip.

       "Or maybe a better question is, looking back at it, how does it make you feel that you held on to your goal?"

       "I feel . . . like I don't wanna talk about feelings?" I felt Murdoc's eyes on me and glanced back in his direction, watching another smirk craft his face into a kind of expression I hadn't seen before. This time it felt more genuine. All the other times he made jokes he wore a sort of smug grin, followed by some strange quacking noise. This time it didn't look smug, it looked understanding and authentic.

       "Well, that's okay, (Y/N)," Phoebe accepted.

       "At least you're talking more, that's progress," I heard the man beside me comment. I, as well as a few others, laughed in response and soon enough, we left the room for the gymnasium. The health clinic held the Boys and Girls Club every Wednesday night and every three to four weeks we got the chance to use it for us adults to express ourselves through art. I was wondering what Murdoc would do; he didn't seem like the artistic type. He looked like he road stolen motorcycles and spent his free time in his apartment doing drugs. Not that I was judging, I was an alcoholic myself, so that wouldn't be fair. I didn't mean it as an insult either - there's nothing wrong with doing those things (as long as you pay for the motorcycle eventually) and smoking weed in your apartment. I just felt like Murdoc’s life outside of therapy could’ve been anything; endless possibilities to discover if he let me. I think I'm rambling again.

       "Well, during this crafting session, I want everybody to craft a card for somebody in the group. I want you to give them a positive message about something, whether it's some encouragement or any positive thought you've had about them," Phoebe said, lifting the plastic containers of coloured paper and writing utensils out from under the table. I turned in direction of Murdoc who stood a metre away from the rest of us. This was my chance to finally thank him. I smiled to myself at the thought of it and immediately began to craft.

       "Dear Murdoc,        I'm not sure if you remember but I'm the girl you pulled away from the traffic about four weeks ago. Thank you for saving my dumbass from being roadkill. I wish I could make it up to you."

       From across the room, I noticed he picked up a pencil and paper, but never actually wrote anything down. It took twenty minutes to create a simple yet brightly coloured card showing my appreciation and then another ten to gain the courage to get up and walk over to him. I ambled my way across the gymnasium to the table he sat at, surprised he was sitting alone. He was liked greatly by the others in our session and I could see he had already received three cards, probably complimenting his wild personality and enjoyable humour. I didn't want to criticize him for sitting alone either; everybody needs a little alone time. I stood in front of him, unsure of how to make my presence acknowledged. He wasn't looking up at me so I assumed he didn't know I was there. Without a second thought, I stuck the card out closer to his face and, slightly startled, he backed up, looking up at me with an odd expression. Out of nervousness, I dropped it and pulled away.

       "What's this?" he asked, gently picking it up and observing the front.

       "I-it's a thank you card." I heard my voice shake and felt my pulse in my throat as he opened it up. "You ran off so quickly I never got the chance to say anything."

       "Oh, sorry," he chuckled, looking back up at me. He took one last glance at the card before placing it down and tapping it lightly with his fingers.

       "It's okay, it's not your fault. I'm sure you were busy. In fact, I'm sorry," I laughed anxiously.

       Murdoc watched me carefully as if I was some strange unpredictable animal. "What'd you do?"

       "For startling you."

       "Oh, it's alright, no harm done," he said, using his hands to act out his sentences. I stood for a few seconds, nodding and tapping my foot awkwardly. He did the same but shook his head, chuckling and smiling. Did my discomfort and uncertainty amuse him? I was about to stop the unnecessary embarrassment by waving and leaving but he cleared his throat, laying his arm out on the chair next to him. "Wanna take a seat?"

       I looked up at him and smiled, "Yeah, sure!" As I sat down he smirked and stared down at his empty card, twisting his lips in thought. His pencil twirled in between his fingers as he hopelessly thought about what to do. "Who do you think you'll give your card to?"

       He shrugged, "No idea. I don't know if you've noticed but I don't really talk to anyone or do anything here aside from making stupid jokes."

       "Are you secretly shy?" I teased, feeling good about the conversation.

       He shook his head, his smile glued to his face. "Nah . . . Normally I'm talkative and sometimes a little obnoxious too, while I'm at it."

       "What's changing that part of you?" I pushed with curiosity.

       "Well, I guess I wasn't expecting to see somebody from outside of therapy inside," he explained, turning to me.

       I lifted my arms onto the table, resting my chin on the backs on my hands as I intertwined my fingers. I leaned in a little close, not realizing what I was doing. "What, do you have different behaviours for certain scenarios?"

       "I'd prefer to save my gentleman act for those who don't know me," he opened up, keeping his eyes attached to mine.

       "Why's that? Don't like people to get past your grumpy castle walls?" I joked.

       I officially made Murdoc laugh now. A wholesome exhale of joy fell from his lips and he looked the opposite way for a second. He looked back to me, "Let's leave those questions for Phoebe to ask."

       I backed up and let my arms fall from the table, wrapping them around myself as I enjoyed my time in the company of this man. "If you say so, Oscar the Grouch."

       We kept quiet for a minute and I looked around the gymnasium contently as I heard him beginning his writing. "How long have you been here?"

       "Hm?" I turned my head to him once more. "Here? For a while now, about eight or nine months, maybe. In general, I've been referred to multiple places for the past ten years."

       "Ten years?" Murdoc questioned, lifting his gaze up at me from the card beneath him.

       "Yeah . . . It's been quite the journey."

       "I can imagine. I'm impressed," he commented.

       I furrowed my brows, confused. "What's impressive?"

       "Well, a lot of people don't make it past five years of being an alcoholic before they're long gone, and you've been through this since your twenties I'm assuming?"

       "I guess, but I'm sure others have it worse," I told him and convinced myself.

       "Oh, come on, don't be like that," Murdoc encouraged. "Your story is just as important as anybody else's."

       "What about you? How long have you been doing this?"

       He sighed, "Well, as I said before, I'm here against my will." I looked at him, beginning to frown. He really didn't like it there, did he? Even if he looked like he was having fun he was just passing the time by laughing off how serious of a problem his alcoholism really was. And to be honest, I related to him from time to time. "Being in the position I'm in, group therapy alone isn't going to heal me, and my friends know that, but . . . if it makes them feel better that I'm here, I'll tolerate it until they realize how much of a lost cause I am," he laughed. He continued to write in his card and I observed him with sorrowful eyes.

       "I'm sure if you keep going you'll find a light at the end of the tunnel."

       Murdoc shook his head and his smile seemed to fade away. "I can't even bring myself to feel like I deserve it, honestly."

       "Help?"

       He nodded and sighed. "Ah, well. That's the way the cookie crumbles sometimes," he said, grabbing a black pencil crayon and beginning to draw.

       "It doesn't have to be that way, though. You don't seem like that bad of a person, Murdoc. I know we don't know each other, but I think you're a pretty cool person."

       Murdoc flickered his eyes up as if in realization. He turned to me and blinked a few times before breathing in deeply and leaning back in his chair. "Thanks, lass," he mumbled. "I mean that. Thank you," he reassured, looking back at me. "That's nice of you to say."

       I nodded, "Yeah, of course. Ever since you came therapy's changed for the better." He smiled at me and I felt myself smile back.

       "Alright, it's probably best we start putting everything away," Phoebe directed from across the gymnasium. Just like the simulations of a kindergarten class, everyone handed what they had left of their cards away and began to clean up. Murdoc finished writing what he had left and picked up the supplies from his table. I stood up too, his body movements guiding mine. With one hand he held his items and in the other, he stuck out the card in front of me. I stared at it, wondering if he was handing it to me.

       I looked up at him to be sure and he cocked his eyebrows, smiling, "You gonna take it?" As I reached out and took it he chuckled and began to walk away from me. "See you next week, (Y/N)."

       I watched him put away his things and leave through the gymnasium door as I stood, still processing what had happened. I was so ecstatic, my face flushed red, I couldn't believe he remembered my name! It sounded stupid but just the fact he offered me a seat and was opening up to me meant the world. I nearly forgot the card was in my hand, nearly dropping it from daydreaming. I blinked away my distracting thoughts and left the building, saying goodbye to Phoebe and the lady at the front desk on my way. As I left I pulled the card up and gazed at the front. It was a simple drawing of the okay hand symbol poorly shaded with a black coloured pencil.

       "Dear (Y/N),        You're very welcome. Thank you for the nice conversation, I haven't had one of those in a while. You seem like a pretty cool person as well, I hope you engage in more near-death experiences I can save you from, haha."

       I smiled and closed the card, keeping it close to me as I walked home.

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Lol I guess where I come from, first names are allowed, but no last names. At least that’s what I’ve heard from others and read on the internet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Alcoholics Anonymous Desc

After years of misery and fear, (Y/N) finally decides to go to rehab. It’s the same routine day after day, the same mindless cycle; but when a new member joins in on her journey to rehabilitation, things take a turn. He’s green, grungy and grouchy, but as (Y/N) digs deeper, she finds something within him. Perhaps this fearless and adventurous man can save her from her crippling phobias, but if he can’t, will their relationship ever be the same?

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter One

       There are 34,000 species of fish in the world and only four hundred of them are sharks. You're more likely to be killed by a dog than from a shark but I find this complicated to think about, seeing how bad of a reputation great whites have. For the longest time, I struggled as an aquaphobe and I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why keeping away from water was better in my head than getting out there and gaining back my long lost courage. I couldn’t even swim with friends in a kiddy pool without convincing myself it wasn’t safe and I was better off ten metres away. But I guess I got myself into enough danger away from water already. Like walking into traffic.

       I felt a rough yank on my arm, pulling me back from the street in what I can only now remember as a blur. I replaced my smudged vision with a clear, blank stare into the oncoming traffic and my heart leapt into my throat as an obnoxious car horn hollered down the street past the corner of the sidewalk. With my hair now in a mess and one of my shaky hands fiddling with my clothes to sort myself out, I turned my head to my left hand, watching tight squeezing fingers wrap around my wrist. I bent and rose my arm so my hand nearly met my face and traced whoever held me to a man standing too close for comfort.

       "You alright, lass?" he asked. His voice rang through my head clearly, blocking any other noise out and his raspy, low accented tone was filled with concern. My eyes lifted from his chest to his face where my sudden shock must've been fooling my eyes. It was as if the man had some sort of green shade blended in with his skin and perhaps even one of his eyes was glowing a soft red, almost pink sort of colour. I just stared at his facial features, unsure of how to answer his question. I took notice to his greasy black hair, unnatural skin which must've not been shaved that morning and foreign scent I'd never experienced before. In a strange way, everything about this man seemed to pull me in and I found myself stuck in a trance as he stared back at me, waiting for an answer. Time stood still and eventually, my eyes wandered to the people who stood around us, staring at me with confusion or frustrated disturbance and annoyance. I looked back at the man in front of me as he watched me with now irritated, furrow-browed eyes.

       As soon as I parted my lips to speak he let go, leaving an empty space between us which, in some dramatic way, made me feel lost. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and held it to his ears, already arguing with somebody on the other side. Just like that, I blinked once more, only to find him gone. In fact, nearly the whole crowd of people by the curb was gone already halfway across the street. Realizing I was supposed to join them, I sped after them, ignoring my embarrassment. I would've rather paid attention to where that man went, I couldn't let him get away without thanking him for saving my life. After attempting to look through the busy crowd in front of me I felt guilty losing hope. There was no way I could find him in this mess, even if that man was someone who stood out so well if you were playing a game of hide and seek like I was. Accepting my failure I sighed and backed up, remembering my plans for the day. I couldn't take the day off and search London for him, could I? I cursed to myself in frustration, quickly escaping the crowd around me and leaving down the other street where the community health clinic was.

       After the fifteen-minute walk I had left, I arrived at my destination, opening the wide glass doors and entering the building. As always, I waved to the lady at the front desk and carried on down the hallway to my left. I headed towards the usual room I arrived at every Tuesday afternoon, pushing the door open and coming face to face with the same familiar and comfortable people. I smiled warmly, looking at the chairs all set in a circle and a few of the typical attendees of the program chatting quietly. They glanced my way before smiling at me then continuing their conversations. I counted four of them in the room so far not including myself or counsellor Phoebe. She stood in the other room holding her clipboard as she, I can only assume, marked off my absence. I sat down in my own little bubble, pulling out my phone to wait for the session to begin.

       I was never one to talk to others in the program. I just sat and listened to their stories and only ever spoke when addressed. Aside from greeting others, saying hello and goodbye, I was probably one of the least talkative people in group therapy. That also meant I'd never opened up about myself as much as the others; some of them barely even remembered my name. I laughed it off to myself, scrolling through the pictures on my phone to entertain myself. As minutes passed, more adults entered the room and I put my phone away, crossing and rubbing my arms as Phoebe walked across the room to close the door. Altogether there were nine of us and honestly, we were all a family in a way. It had just been us the majority of the time, and for months now. We'd watched people come and go, we'd seen people on cloud nine then crash back down and I'd listened to some of the heaviest, heart-wrenching stories I'd ever heard. I guess that was the point of Alcoholics Anonymous, however, in a twisted way. Perhaps the more stories you hear the stronger the determination to not risk drinking yourself to death will eventually become. If you're not already suicidal, that is.

       Phoebe straightened her skirt and sat down, fiddling with the edge of her jacket. She placed her clipboard on the ground and clapped her hands together. "We were supposed to get somebody knew today, but it looks like they may not be coming," she said to herself, her face twisting into slight disappointment. I always enjoyed Phoebe's voice and how she spoke, as well as her overall presence. She always found a way to turn something around and make it feel good, or at least, less of a burden on somebody's shoulders. It sounded cliché, but she was such a beautiful person both inside and out. She was gentle, even in aggressive situations. She didn't need to yell in order to get your attention. After all she had done for her clients, she gained enough respect to have you turn your head towards her and stop everything and anything you were doing when she simply cleared her throat. She had curly blonde hair that just passed her shoulders and bounced above her chest when she walked. Her face was unreal, a living Barbie doll right in front of me whenever I watched her; a natural pale beauty. She had lovely blue eyes that seemed to glow, just like her smile. Even when she didn't look very happy, which was rare, she had a nice shine to her. Everybody listened carefully when she took a breath in to speak. "Well, good morning, anyway," she began. "As I know you're all aware, this program is about thinking of how we can cope, as well as crafting ideas to express ourselves. But I think it's always a good idea to encourage people to speak and release anything inside that they would like to talk about first. Why don't we go around the circle and ask each other how our weekends were?"

       Group therapy most definitely seemed more like a GSA meeting at a middle school with the school's guidance counsellors. To some people, the way Phoebe handled the program didn't feel mature enough for adults who were meant to be thirty to 59, but it surprisingly worked for all of us. Probably because not a lot of us were in our fifties or forties yet. For me personally, it made me feel better to be treated as I would be in high school, but that was just me and for my own reasons.

       I turned towards one of the women as she began to speak, only to be interrupted by the door being swung open with what felt to be no hesitance whatsoever. On the other side of the door was a man, maybe 5'7, dressed in all black. His hand still gripped the handle of the door and he paused, his eyes dancing around the room as if he was awaiting some sort of invitation to enter, even if he had already opened the door.

       "Are you the new attendee for this program?" Phoebe asked, pulling her clipboard back into her lap with enthusiasm.

       "I should hope so, bad first impressions are hard to recover from," the man answered in his low gravely voice. He furrowed his eyebrows at her like he was waiting for her to help solve his confusion.

       She stuttered a little, looking through her list. "A-are you Murdoc?"

       "That'd be me," he smirked and nodded, walking forward and shutting the door behind him. His Cuban heels tapped the floor loudly and he sat in one of the chairs, pulling his leather jacket off and carelessly placing it behind him.

       "Well, lucky for you, we only just started. Perhaps while we talk about our weekends, we can introduce ourselves to you," Phoebe offered, gesturing everybody to turn back to the woman previously talking. As she started over, I found myself looking back at Murdoc. Something about him fascinated me; like maybe I knew him, or we had crossed paths on the sidewalk and his face was still buried in the back of my mind somewhere, waiting to be dug up. I finally lost myself in a daydream, not realizing I was staring. His dark eyes, along with the rest of his bored expression skimmed across the room, absorbing his surroundings. Soon enough his eyes swept over mine and I immediately choked on my breath. His face said it all; green skin, raven black hair, one red eye and sharp jawline in need of a shave. He turned his attention back to whoever was talking but his eyes widened, quickly looking back in my direction. As soon as our eyes met, they were locked, and we each melted into our seats awkwardly. Murdoc hid his discomfort well, but I felt I had the right to say I knew when others felt secretly under attack. He might have looked unhappy to be there, but I couldn't have been more happy and relieved to find him. Right in front of me, I found the man who had saved my life.

       My green knight in shining armour.

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous Desc - Murdoc Niccals x Reader

        After years of misery and fear, (Y/N) finally decides to go to rehab. It's the same routine day after day, the same mindless cycle; but when a new member joins in on her journey to rehabilitation, things take a turn. He's green, grungy and grouchy, but as (Y/N) digs deeper, she finds something within him. Perhaps this fearless and adventurous man can save her from her crippling phobias, but if he can't, will their relationship ever be the same?