Gorillaz Fanfic Part 5

This isn’t going to work. I knew that from the get-go. I can’t stay here. I have too many feelings for 2-D. And I can’t get attached. And I can’t live with Murdoc—I came here to escape my old life, not constantly be reminded of it. Well. Do I have anywhere else to go? Not really? Should I just move into an old abandoned house and not be seen? Could I sustain myself? Yes, I can. I’ll live as an outlaw. I don’t have another choice. I need to sneak out of the house. It’s late night, and I hope everyone is in bed. I see Noodle sleeping above me, and look at my wrist with guilt. We made friendship bracelets. Friends don’t just leave friends alone…. I have to say something. I take a slip of paper and scribble: Noodle: I’m leaving. I don’t know where I’m going yet, and I can’t live with 2-D and Murdoc. I’m so sorry. I would be intrusive to them. I’m so sorry. xxSemixx. I don’t know if it’s good enough. I don’t want to go. But I don’t have a choice. I grab my bag and slip out the door and downstairs.

            Murdoc is drunk, or hungover, or both, and I wasn’t thinking about that. Sitting on the barstool, alone. I have to get out. Maybe the back? Am I too loud?

            “Noodle?”

            I see Murdoc turn around and stare into the darkness.

            “No,” I whisper, “It’s just…me.”

            He sets down his drink on the bar. “What do you want?”

            “I’m just gonna, um, leave, if that’s okay…” I back towards the door in the dark now, groping for the handle. Next thing I know, I’m flat on my face, breathing in who-knows-what, probably on the floor with rats. Now I really have to go. My heartrate is up and I’m panicking. I’m going to die, this is it. I’m going to—

            “Where do you think you’re going?”

            It’s Murdoc, and I know I’m going to die. Maybe he abducts girls like me. Maybe Noodle isn’t here of her own free will—

            “I—” I start coughing on the dust as I reach for the door.

            “Where are you going?”

            “Away.” I snap as I try to pull the knob. Locked. From the inside. Great. How does he even do that?

            My heart is racing. It’s dark, and there’s no one to help me. I want to scream. Something is caught in my throat. I can’t breathe, I— “Let me go, Murdoc!”

            “You can’t go back.”

            “I can’t—Oh, no I can’t go back!” I have a friend. I don’t have anyone there. Nobody. Everyone just thought I was a freak—I don’t have any friends—I don’t belong anywhere.

            “Did you run away?”

            “Let’s not talk about me, okay?” I try to collect myself as I scrub off whatever grime is on my face.

            “Sorry. Rituals. And Russel doesn’t clean again.”

            “Rituals?”

            “Let’s not talk about that.”

            “Are you summoning demons in here?”

            “It’s complicated.”

            “Okay, can I just go now?”

            “Once you tell me you have a backup, sure.”

            “Umm…”

            I breathe. I take a step back. I remember what Rebekka told me. Just breathe.
“No, wait. I have rituals too. I count things—a lot.” It sounds stupid when I say it out loud. Exactly eight knobs on the dresser in the Fed Ex room. I counted them so many times, just to make sure one wasn’t missing. “I check to make sure I locked the door—exactly nine times. And more if I’m not sure.” It sounds so stupid out loud, it really does. “I remember talking about rituals with Rebekka. The school counselor. I had to see her instead of a real therapist because my dad is shit and didn’t listen.”

            “Do you want a drink?”

            “I’m sixteen.”

            “Did that ever stop anybody?”

            I’m hesitant, but I suppose it can’t hurt. Not that I really care anyway—

            “Have you never drunk before?”

            “Is it ‘drunk’? Or ‘drank’?” I ask. I know it’s a stupid question and it doesn’t matter. “Maybe. Once. By accident.”

            “Don’t be dumb.” He says reaching for the bottle. “This is some washed-out cheap stuff too. Tastes like shit. Don’t be dumb. You don’t want to end up like me.”

            Green and old and ugly? I wonder, laughing in my head. But then I think about it. “So, you’re going to admit you have a problem but not do anything about it?” They say admitting you have a problem is half the battle, but then again, people who don’t try to do anything, to get help—some of the worst people to be around.

            “I didn’t say I had a problem,” he retorts.

            “You said—don’t hurt me please.”

            “Why would I do that? You’re not threatening me. Then again, my very existence is hurting you.” Maybe it was supposed to be a joke, but I didn’t find it funny.

            “You said I don’t want to end up like you. With a drinking problem.” I want to disappear so much.

            “If you’re going to play psychic, sit over there.”

            “What?”

            “The medium’s chair. I have her over from time to time.”

            “Why are you mean to 2-D?” I ask.

            “Why do you care?”

            “I’m trying not to care. That’s why I’m leaving.”

            “You’re not leaving.”

            “Yes I am.”

            “I’m not letting you.”

            “That’s kidnapping.”

            He sighs. “Do you want to go back?”

            “This drink is disgusting.”

            “Told you. I’d down it anyway.”

            “Do you want to go back?”

            “No. I mean, sure, I guess. He can’t hold me down now that I’m sixteen. I’ll make friend goddammit. There’s a difference between being overprotective and being manipulative.”

            “There’s a difference to being—well, why don’t you just go then?!”

            “I wasn’t talking about you—I meant my ‘dad’. He’s not my real dad. I have no idea who was on that helicopter, but I will go to hell and find out.”

            “I can get you to hell.”

            “No, thanks, um, I didn’t mean that literally.” It’s not like I can be scared of something I don’t believe in. There is no Dog. “I just want to find out who I really am.”

            “Don’t get your hopes up. Your real family probably hates you even if they know who you are. Or they would hate you if they met you.”

            “Am I that hateable?”

            “No, I meant that they probably don’t care because—well don’t assume that they’d just take on a kid.”

            “I’m not a kid. I’m 16.” I’m big. I don’t feel like a kid. Especially next to Noodle I feel so big and ugly. “Also are you trying to tell me something?”

            “No. Well, yes. I’m telling you I knew my family and it didn’t matter because—”

            I want to say something or do something. I think about what I said earlier. It could always be worse. And some people shouldn’t have kids. Or exist. “I don’t care,” I say, “I’m still going to find them. Ask what happened in that crash. Ask why a three-year-old was in a helicopter.”

            “It’s likely they were trying to get rid of you and didn’t care about endangering a child—”

            “IF YOU WANT ME TO LEAVE, JUST SAY SO!” I was too loud, and I know it.

            “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that family is stupid.”

            “Umm….” I try to think as my head starts spinning. I really have to go. Maybe I’m drunk. Maybe I’m a lightweight. I wouldn’t know. I can’t think straight. “I’m sorry.” I say. “Did I wake anyone up?”

            “Russel sleeps through anything,” says Murdoc, opening another bottle.

            “No, thanks.”

            “What did you do now Murdoc?”

            I spin around, to see Noodle, still in her pajamas, standing in the doorway.

            “I’m sorry I woke you up,” I say, “He didn’t do anything. He just said my family was trying to get rid of me.”

            “Yeah,” says Noodle, “He says things like that. You’ll find them. It will be good.”

            “That’s what you’re supposed to say,” I whisper, “You’re my friend…”

            “Yeah?”

            “I’m—” I want to cry. Murdoc is making me doubt myself. Maybe they did want to get rid of me. Maybe I really don’t belong anywhere.

            “You don’t want to be friends anymore?”

            “That’s not what I said.” I feel bad for envying her. She’s too small. She needs to eat, or something. Is Russel stealing all the food? I want to say something. Murdoc needs to know. Why do I trust him? Why did I trust him with anything when he’s such a monster to 2-D? I—

            “Do you want a drink, Noodle?”

            “I’m good,” she says, “I don’t drink. I’m a lightweight. And you know that.”

            “He’s probably drunk,” I tell her.

            “I know that too.”

            “Do you have food?”

            “What?”

            “I wasn’t asking you, Murdoc?”

            “Do you want something?”

            “Goodness, no. It’s like 3 in the morning.” Actually, my weird-ass is starving, but I don’t say anything. I also feel too mixed-up inside to actually get anything down.       

            “So, Noodle?” I ask, “I meant you? Do they feed you?”

            Noodle turns away, stiffly. “I can feed myself, thank you very much.”

            “But you aren’t.”       

            “What?”

            “You think I haven’t noticed?”

            “You’ve been here like a day. You don’t know anything.”

            “Murdoc?” I don’t want to get her in trouble. I feel like I’m going to be sick. “Have you noticed?”