#skin by writing on it with pen and smoking a fag. i feel like im two seconds from not taking my meds so i can really FEEL the suicidality

[schizononagesimus]

i have a disorder called gets a fic idea then blacks out until it's done

[our-smooty]

Take Me to Church - Chapter 22: Expectations

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Car Accidents Angst Hurt/Comfort Drugs/Alcohol Implied/Referenced Suicide SuicideHealing Everything Hurts

Summary: The band is back together, but things are… weird to say the least. But when a crisis arises, can they pull it all together and be a family again?

Link to other Chapters on my Blog!

1 Week Later - The First Session - Murdoc

“So uh, yeah. Guess that’s about it.”

The therapist in front of him was still writing. She’d been diligently taking notes through his entire abridged personal history, jotting down each and every high and low point. So far therapy was nothing like he thought it would be.

“OK… so you said you’ve had mental health treatment before?” she asked after a moment. Murdoc nodded.

“The other times were all in prison though, if that makes any difference, luv,” he answered. She looked up at him and smiled. He resisted the urge to look away.

“I assure you, Murdoc, that you’ll find my methods to be significantly different from those in most correctional facilities,” she told him. He tried not to look too relieved. “I’d like to begin by asking you what you want to get out of therapy.”

He paused. What did she want him to say? “I assume you heard all that from 2D already.”

“But I’d like to hear what you want Murdoc, not what Stuart wants,” she shot back with a grin. Murdoc laughed dryly. Where had 2D found this one, then?

“What I want is a bottle of--” His therapist shot him a withering look, and he sobered up. “Fine. I uh, I jus’ want to be… Less of a prick?”

He watched her write down “less of a prick” with a sort of cognitive dissonance. “Anything else?”

“I’ve got--” his voice was shaky and quick like if he didn’t hurry and spit the words out he’d never do it. “I’ve got stuff, in my head. I-I’d like to get a handle on that.”

“What kind of stuff, Murdoc?” she asked, still writing. Fucking hell this therapy thing was going to be harder than he thought, wasn’t it?

“Sometimes I do things, and I don’t really know why. O-or I’ll be feelin’ a certain way for no reason.”

“And you’d like to understand that?” she finished for him. Murdoc nodded again, not making eye contact. His nails found purchase in the soft material of the armchair while his knees bounced. The room felt warm and his skin felt too tight. “Alright. Those are both great goals, and they’ll help me tailor your treatment appropriately.”

He grunted in response. The room was quiet again before she put down her pen and faced him directly. “I want you to know, Murdoc, that it’s very brave of you to seek therapy for your problems.”

He scoffed. “Only took a few decades.”

“What matters is you’re here now, and we can begin to work on things together.” She handed him a booklet from her desk. “I want you to take this, and read it over before our next meeting.”

The booklet was thin, with a cover full of smiling people. The title read, “PTSD: Signs and Treatment.” Murdoc swallowed hard.

“I also want to go over a few grounding techniques with you today, before our session ends. Does that sound alright?” He was still staring down at the booklet, hands trembling slightly. With great difficulty, he nodded and sat up straighter. He could this, he had to.

Thirty minutes and a great deal of deep breathing later, Murdoc was walking out of the office. He paid the lady at the desk and set up another appointment for a week later at his therapist's suggestion. Every movement he made felt far away and floaty. Kind of like being drunk without the warm sense of security.

His daze was broken when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. Suddenly he realized he was outside the doctor's office building, smoking a cigarette he had no memory of lighting. Checking the text, he was unsurprised to see it was 2D.

im in the car outside

text me when ur done

I got coffee

Murdoc knew 2D was nervous about the first session. He’d already seen their therapist last week, but this was the first time Murdoc had gone. After a few sessions alone, they’d agreed to have one together, the cycle repeating indefinitely. Or until they didn’t need to see the therapist anymore, though Murdoc wasn’t hopeful that’d be any time soon.

Honestly, the bassist had wanted to drive himself to the appointment. It’d give him time to himself to process the session figure out how he felt about everything they talked about. But Stuart had insisted on driving Murdoc there and picking him up like a chauffeur. He was probably afraid Murdoc would flake out and just not show up.

I’m done.

He sent the text to 2D and took a seat on the curb. Lighting another fag and taking a deep, calming drag, Murdoc tried to center himself. He hadn’t had to go over all (or most, at least) of the nitty-gritty details of his life in a long time, maybe ever. It set him on edge, knowing the things he told an almost complete stranger, willingly.

By the time he finished his smoke, 2D was pulling into the parking lot. It didn’t take very long and Murdoc had the sneaking suspicion that the singer hadn’t even gone all the way home. He didn’t feel like making a scene though. To be honest, he was mostly just tired. When Stu stopped in front of him he quickly got in, sinking down in the seat with a sigh.

“Alright?” Stu asked, pulling out of the parking lot. “Your coffee’s in front.”

Murdoc grabbed his drink with a thankful nod. “Thanks.”

The car was quiet for a moment before 2D spoke again. “So, how did it go?”

“Fine.” Murdoc really, really didn’t feel up to talking about his session now. Not even the coffee could hold off the exhaustion that was slowly settling over him.

Again, there was a pause. 2D’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel in nervous patterns. Murdoc tried to ignore it.

“Are you sure?” Satan, the singer wasn’t going to give up, was he? Murdoc sighed, realizing he wasn’t being fair to the younger man. 2D was a worrier, it was one of the things that made him so charming.

“It was fine, D. I’m just… tired now,” he answered. Stu visibly relaxed and shot Murdoc an understanding smile. It didn’t make Murdoc feel sick, so he took that as a sign the therapy was working.

“I get it, Muds. Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll wake you up when we get home?” The relief he felt was definitely a little embarrassing, but he was too worn out to care. Instead and turned on his side towards the window and shut his eyes. In the background, he could hear the soft sounds of the radio show 2D had on, and the rumbling of the tired against the tarmac. It wasn’t ideal for sleeping, but for once exhaustion was working in his favour, and he quickly nodded off against the stained seat.

2D drove them home with no problem. He’d worked as a driving instructor after all. At the very least his track record was better than Murdoc’s, and he was glad the bassist hadn’t insisted on driving them.

His eyes briefly glanced over to his sleeping partner. Murdoc had looked so drained when he first got in the car that Stu had been worried. But his therapist had asked him to work on avoiding quizzing the bassist on his every move. He knew that it wasn’t helpful and that half the time Murdoc didn’t know why he did what he did, but he was just so scared the older man would do something stupid, or get hurt, or--

He clenched his fingers around the steering wheel. That was another thing he needed to get a handle on. Because of his less than stellar past experiences with Murdoc, he tended to disasterize everything he was involved in. It was hard to stop himself, but if he was going to date the bassist, he had to try.

They pulled into the driveway of Wobble Street around 10 minutes later. 2D was feeling a lot calmer, the simple task of driving along familiar roads helped to wind down his brain. Murdoc was still sleeping, hunched up and drooling a little. Honestly, if it wasn’t freezing outside, he would have left Murdoc to sleep. But he didn’t want his boyfriend to freeze, so he carefully reached over and brushed his fingers through the other’s hair.

“We’re here, love,” he murmured, running the tips of his fingers down the angle of Murdoc’s cheek and jaw. The bassist scrunched his nose in irritation but still leaned into the touch. “Come’on, let’s get inside before my fuckin’ knob freezes off.”

Murdoc chuckled a little at that. “Don’t be crass.”

“Mmm I’ll show you crass later if you’re lucky,” 2D teased, getting out of the car himself and unlocking the front door. Murdoc was close behind.

“Hurry up, Stu. I need a drink,” the bassist griped. When they got inside he headed straight for the kitchen and the liquor cabinet. Stu wanted to be mad, but he knew Murdoc was struggling to cope the only way he knew how. Not that the singer could judge him, he’d finally been confronted with the reality of his pain-pill addiction when he ran out last week. With everything going on he’d allowed all his prescriptions to lapse. Luckily Murdoc was still able to write prescriptions with his degree and get the singer some before he went into withdrawal.

“Don’t spoil your dinner, Muds. Russel said he was going to make that mac and cheese recipe he found the other day.”

Murdoc ignored him, instead pulling out a bottle of dark liquor and a cup. To Stu’s surprise, he poured himself a glass and set the bottle back on the shelf. He raised his glass to 2D and took a sip, eyes falling shut.

“Ahh, that’s the stuff. Good year, this is.” He swirled it around in the glass, focusing on the light glinting off the alcohol. “Did you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

It was hard not to smile at his obviousness. “No, I don’t have any plans.” 2D watched as Murdoc slowly looked up to meet his eyes, a nearly invisible smile on his lips.

“D’you want to uh, watch TV, or somthin’?”

The Second Session - Murdoc

“... I don’t know why I did it.”

His therapist--he knew her name, but he felt weird using it--waited for him to continue. “I didn’t buy the place with the intention of everythin’ going so wrong.”

“Then why did you buy Plastic Beach, Murdoc?”

The Satanist thought back through the haze of alcohol and mental instability. “Well, it was the furthest place on Earth from anywhere else. Figured I could get some peace and quiet, after the uh, incident with Noodle.”

She jotted a few things down, going over the thing’s he’d told her before. “But you made yourself a companion, and you brought Stuart there.”

“The Cyborg doesn’t count. It couldn’t even talk, really. And I don’t rightly know how 2D got there,” he admitted. “Maybe it was me who kidnapped him, maybe it wasn’t. If I did, I don’t know how or why.”

“How long did you spend alone on the island?” Murdoc had a feeling she was leading him somewhere.

“6 months,” he answered quietly. They’d been 6 of the worst month of his life. At first, he’d been fine on his own, hosting his radio show, sprucing up the island. But slowly, surely, the guilt over El Manyana had eaten away at his mind until there was nearly nothing left.

“That’s a very long time to be alone, Murdoc. It must have been hard.”

He was getting worked up. There was tension in his shoulder and a sort of tingling in his fingers that meant he was holding on to the arms of the chair too tightly. Small things he wouldn’t have noticed before his therapist started pointing them out. Knowing the signs made it easier for him to head off his panic and calm down.

“It was,” he said after a deep breath. “It was jus’ me and my thoughts. I think I went a little mad, to be honest.”

“You had been through a traumatic experience and were experiencing the symptoms of PTSD, Murdoc. Those things were out of your control.” Except they weren’t. He’d caused the whole El Manyana thing without a doubt. His signature was on all the preplanning paperwork for the shoot.

“It was me who put her on that blasted flying island. It was me who put her in danger in the first place.”

“Have you ever asked Noodle how she feels about it?” Murdoc thought back. There hadn’t really been any time after the raid on Plastic Beach, and then they’d split up again. When they all got together at Wobble Street he’d started isolating himself in his room and avoided talking to anyone.

“No. Probably never really apologized either.” She nodded and waited again. Murdoc knew she wanted him to say more.

“You could go visit her. 2D said that he and Russel go quite often.” She already knew he hadn’t been going to visit Noodle, and what had happened the last time he’d tried.

“You know why I can’t.”

Their session was nearly over, and unease was starting to set in. Every week at the end she’d give him something to work on, and report back with the next week. The first time, it had been breathing, the second had been letting 2D know how he was feeling. He had an idea of what this week's might be.

“Why don’t you try writing her a note, and having one of the other’s delivering it to her. I know Stuart said she’s recovered enough to be interacting with her cellphone again,” she suggested. Instantly he paled and began to sweat.

“I-I don’t know what I’d say…” he stuttered. His therapist nodded as if she’d expected his response.

“You don’t have to start off with the big stuff. Why not tell her about your day, or what you want to do when she comes home?”

It sounded impossibly terrifying. But he’d try. Maybe Stu could help him write it up, the idiot was always good with writing sappy shite.

“Fine. I’ll g-give it a go. No promises though,” he added as an afterthought. She smiled knowingly.

“Trying is all I ask Murdoc. It looks like our time is up, however. I’ll see you next week then.”

He left the session feeling strange. In some ways, he was hopeful that he might be able to repair his relationship with Noodle and begin to process of getting better--whatever that meant. But in other ways, he was nearly paralyzed with the fear that that was impossible. Murdoc could feel himself begin to shake as he left the office. Not even the cool air could snap him out of it.

Come get me

All he could think about was getting somewhere safe where he could break down in private. With shaky hands he lit a smoke and practically inhaled it. In just a few moments it was down to the filter and he pulled it from his lips, watching the cherry die. In a split second action, he ground the ember against his other wrist. The burning centred him.

“Murdoc!” The twangy voice of his singer startled him out of his daze. Murdoc immediately dropped the butt and tamped it out. 2D was smiling at him from the driver's side and Murdoc was infinitely grateful that the singer hadn’t seen what he’d just done. Pulling his sleeve over burn he stalked over to the passenger side and got in.

“You’re shakin’ Muds,” the other said. 2D put the car in park and pulled the handbrake, twisting to face the bassist. Murdoc clenched his teeth to prevent himself from snapping at the singer to just drive. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

If he started talking about it he knew he’d start crying. And he really didn’t feel like crying in a parking lot in the middle of London. “Can we jus'... go home?”

2D shrugged. Murdoc focused on the way the seat felt against his back and how the heated air pumping from the dash was drying out his skin. It was hard to pull himself into the moment, to keep centred in the here and now instead of wallowing in the past. Memories of all the shitty things he had to make up for were piling up against his internal dam, nearly breaking through. Just as he felt himself slipping under the surface, 2D reached out and put his hand on Murdoc’s knee.

“We’ll be home soon,” he said with a reassuring smile. Murdoc covered the hand with his own and squeezed. He was here, he was with 2D, he was trying.

He was trying.

The Third Session - Murdoc

“--and I don’t bloody know what he expects! I told him! I told him to give me time and he--”

Murdoc was ranting as he paced back and forth in front of his therapist. He was completely incensed, beyond reason with anger and frustration. He did everything he was supposed to! The letter to Noodle took him hours to write--and tens of different version to get right--and that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that he had to give it to 2D to give to Noodle, then wait for a reply. The entire process had been nearly too much for the bassist, but he’d done it.

And that sodding idiot Stuart had the nerve to tell him he wasn’t trying hard enough. That he wasn’t making progress.

“I-I though’ I was doin’ everythin’ he wanted me to!” he shouted, grabbing his hair and tugging as he paced. His therapist had been quiet from the moment he stepped into the office, letting him scream and vent as much as he needed to. She knew he’d run out of steam eventually, Murdoc’s anger was shallow but fierce when I came to his partner.

“Murdoc, could you try some of those breathing exercises we’ve been practising?” she asked gently. Until she pointed it out he hadn’t realized that he was wheezing, his chest tight with stress. Focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, Murdoc took a deep breath in through his mouth, then exhaled.

“Thank you. Now, could you tell me what exactly, 2D said that made you feel like his?”

Murdoc was still angry, his fists clenched tight enough that his nails were biting into his palm. He took a few more seconds, then sat in the chair opposite. “He’s been at me all week. ‘Oh Murdoc, yer drinkin’ too much!’, and ‘oi Muds, yew neva’ tell me how yer doin’!’,” he said, doing an impression of 2D.

“But I have been tellin’ him how I’m feelin’!” he continued. By now he was curled forward on the edge of his chair, fingers knitted behind his neck.

“Did you tell him that you felt that way?” she asked. Somehow it always felt like she was one step ahead of him, leading him to his own conclusions.

“I tried, at first. I don’t think he believed me when I said I was ‘fine’. But I really was!” He really had been doing alright a few times this week. But every time he answered that way, 2D would frown a little, like he thought the bassist was lying.

“And I’ll admit,” he said slowly, “I have been drinkin’ about the same as I always have. But I wasn’t passed out in the livin’ room or nothin’. But there he was every time I took a drink, frownin’ and grumblin’.”

“Thank you for being honest about your alcohol consumption, Murdoc,” his therapist said as he caught his breath again. Every time he got going the anger and anxiety would ramp up again, strangling him. “Can you explain how 2D’s actions made you feel?”

A brief pause. “He made me feel… I felt ignored. A-and like he was treatin’ me like I’m some fragile fuckin--gah!”

He jumped up to his feet again, restarting his journey from wall to wall. “I don’t soddin’ need his pity. Pity never got me anywhere, didn’t put food on the table or stop all those peop--” There were tears running down his face now, without his permission. He wiped them angrily. This wasn’t the first time he’d cried during a session, but it never got less humiliating.

“I am t-tryin’, I am,” he said, his voice choked. “He makes me f-feel like I’m n-not doin’ well enough. Like I’m never enough.”

“Can you focus on that?” she cut in. “Focus on where that feeling is coming from?”

He tried, he really did. But there wasn’t just one specific cause. There had never been a point in his life where he didn’t feel inadequate, didn’t feel like he wasn’t meeting expectations. Whose expectations? Murdoc had no idea.  He overcompensated with a loud and abrasive personality to cover up the insecurities underneath. It was easy to see why, after years of struggling with these feelings, it’s been so easy for 2D’s concern to drive him to the breaking point.

And he knew 2D cared about him, he really did. He didn't think the poor sod had it in him to lie about something like that. But he was so scared that if he didn't meet 2D's expectations 100% of the time, the singer would realize what a waste of time being with someone like Murdoc was. Fuck, he realized, he'd done it again.

“I-I--” he stuttered, running a hand down his face. “Fuck. I-I have to apologize to Stu.”

“For what?”

Murdoc was already grabbing his coat and throwing it on. “I was blamin’ him for somethin’ that wasn’t all his fault, as usual.” He had a hand on the door when he turned back to his therapist, still sitting in her chair.

“Uh, same time next week?” he asked. She nodded with a  slight smile and waved him out. Murdoc left the session feeling like he’d had some sort of breakthrough, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.