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When he was a child, Murdoc received a plentiful of punishments for his unruliness. By fed-up teachers, by his own annoyed peers and even by his brother if Murdoc pushed his buttons hard enough.
Some of these punishments were just verbal abuse or bodily violence at worst, nothing at all he couldn’t handle, even at that age.
But there was one act of discipline he didn’t like, and of course who be better to give it than his own father.
Religion’s never been a big part in Murdoc’s life. Hell, the first time he set foot in a church, he ended up getting a nosebleed right then and there.
So obviously, he wasn’t welcomed on such holy ground.
His father was the same, Murdoc couldn’t recall once if he ever saw his old man practice such activities, unless you consider gambling and having long rendezvous with alcohol was some type of glorious worship.
Yet, when Murdoc got caught misbehaving during the times his father wasn’t overly drunk, the man would drag the boy by the arm into his room.
He remembered, how he would kneel by the bed with both hands forced into a prayer while his old man would watch him from a corner, just sitting on a cushioned chair and drinking a beer bottle or two.
One word he would say.
Confess.
Confess? Confess what? He had shit to confess, he didn’t do anything wrong, so why would he confess? That would be mad.
But the more Murdoc stood resilient in his silence, the longer he had to stay in that position, be it until evening or even to midnight, his father had plenty time to kill apparently.
Even so, patience could only be worn for some time.
His father’s voice would get louder and louder the longer Murdoc was quiet. His words horrid and sharp, and when the boy could hear the familiar sound of a leather belt being stretched in his father’s hold, that feeling of dread twisted in his stomach.
Better do it now, lad.
But Murdoc didn’t do anything wrong!
The first strike of the lash was numb on his back, but he didn’t know how far his father would go.
The old man asked him again.
Murdoc held his tongue.
Second strike.
Then a third.
A fourth.
Sixth, eighth, tenth…
It was stronger each time, and each time Murdoc thought if he could just hold on a little longer, it would all be over soon.
Over soon, over soon, over soon, over soon, over soon, over soon, over soon-
At some point, the pain had gotten too much, too unbearable.
In the end, Murdoc did confess and asked for forgiveness.
Confess what exactly? He didn’t fucking know. Asked forgiveness from who? He also had no idea and couldn’t give two more shits.
It was a miracle his old man could even make out what he was saying through his tears and broken cries.
Now if you ask him what’s the worse punishment he’s ever gotten as a brat, he would give you a different answer.
If you asked him what punishment he hated the most? He would laugh and had no choice but to say that one.
Yeah, that one.
Another cry rang out from the room, a mix between a bird’s broken sonnet and a dying possum.
And another as the whip came crashing down on soft skin.
“Come on Dentz, yer only making this harder for yourself.”
His poor singer was on his knees, posture slouching on the bedding as his hands weakly gripped the sheets.
“…You never fucking listen to me and that’s how you got yourself into these messes, stupid cunt.”
Murdoc whipped the belt again, this time on the latter’s calf.
“Proper. Prayer. Hands. Now.”
Heaving through his tears and snot, 2D shakily repositioned his hands, fingers intertwining with one another in obedience.
“Don’t you piss me off, ya?”
He could hear the boy’s wet sniffles as he nodded his head.
“Say it.”
“…”
Murdoc cracked the whip on his side.
“Say it!”
2D flinched violently.
“S-say what? Murdoc, I d-don’t know what you want me to say-”
“Don’t you dare talk back to me.”
Murdoc’s heart was aching, but he couldn’t stop.
“Just confess so we can get on with our miserable lives.”
“…confess what-”
2D gagged on his spit as pain unexpectedly bared on his skin.
“Stop it, Murdoc!! It hurts-”
“Confess, right now.”
Another lash, another cry.
“Confess.”
One more hit.
“Confess.”
One more hit.
“Confess.”
One more hit.
“AHHH! STOP IT, PLEASE!”
Murdoc’s hands paused, digits gripping onto the belt as his singer whipped his head towards him, face red with an ugly expression.
“CONFESS WHAT!? I-I didn’t do anything wrong! Why do you got to blame me for!?”
He said before breaking down again, sore eyes letting those salty tears cascade down his puffy cheeks.
If Murdoc was in any better mood, he would like to kiss them.
Instead, his hand moved on its own, harshly gripping the lad’s hair and forcing him to look up at the circular window.
“Didn’t do anything wrong? Didn’t do anything wrong? Everything you do is fucking wrong and you know that, you leech. I asked you for one thing, one bloody thing and you couldn’t do it for me even when it’s all yer damn good for.”
Once he saw how 2D’s cupped hands started to falter, his patience ran out.
“Confess, now.”
“…b-but-”
“Before I slap that fuckin’ mug of yours and tear your womb out, you better say it.”
“Mur-”
“SAY IT!”
“I’m sorry!”
Murdoc smacked him on the back of the head.
“Louder.”
“..s-sorry..”
Cracked of a whip, this time on his lower back.
“I can’t hear you.”
“I’m sorry…I’m sorry Murdoc! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”
At each pause, Murdoc would give a hit, stronger than the last.
He stopped when 2D passed out.
And he simply left.
“..quit it,”
Murdoc downed another bottle, his throat screaming from the burn.
“I said quit it, stop looking at me!”
He threw an empty bottle at the figure sitting on the chair in the far corner, its body intricate in shadows but eyes always visible.
Always.
“Don’t look at me I-”
A cry nearly escaped from his lips, but Murdoc quickly replaced it with a chuckle.
“That- that bitch fucking deserves it, the spoiled cunt. I was- was just..”
He froze, slowly looking up to find that shadow returning his glare.
Smiling.
“STOP LOOKING AT ME!”
He walked on over in a panic towards it.
“I’m not like you, I’m nothing like you. Yer nothing but a degenerate muck who likes to fuckin’ ruin other people’s lives, yer shit, yer dirt, YER FUCKING DEAD, WHY WON’T YOU STAY DEAD-”
“Sir?”
“…”
“Sir, there’s no one in that chair.”
Cyborg Noodle reminded from the side.
And wouldn’t you know it, she was right, the chair was empty, no one was there.
No one, was there.
2D slowly woke up, mind fuzzy and sight unfocused.
The air felt cool in his room, not too hot nor too cold.
He could see sun rays beaming through the ocean water. Huh, must be morning.
2D could feel himself drifting back to sleep, but something was preventing him from doing do.
There was this sound, bouncing off the walls, murmurs? Was he still sleeping? Dreaming?
Doubt he could fall asleep like this.
He tried to lift himself up, wincing before resting his head back on the pillow.
Was his torso wrapped with bandages? His arms and legs too, he thinks.
Now that his senses were becoming clearer, his room smelled like a mixture of ointments and he noticed how there was an IV drip attached to his arm.
That didn’t explain the subtle noises though.
Carefully lifting himself up again, his eyes widened as he found at the foot of the bed was Murdoc.
The man was kneeled down, his hands gently caressing and kissing the singer’s feet while mumbling to himself.
Mumbling to himself while tears flowed.
“…Murdoc?”
It was no use, no matter how many times 2D called out to him, the lost bassist wouldn’t respond.
He wouldn’t say anything except for the repetitions of two words under his breath.
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry
Luckily for Murdoc, his angel was more forgiving than his father would ever be.