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In the first months he came by very regularly, once or twice a week, always spent every second in their thirty-minute-visit to talk about anything that came up in his head. It was very reparative in prison, the same apes with less then a brain of one, waiting to be released just to get back for breaking the same laws, so every time 2D visited him, it was like heaven (or hell) opened its gate for Murdoc, and on days the visit room is empty, 2D sang for him the songs they wrote together last year. Back in Detroit, they said their love words so casually and often, just then that he realized how precious those words were.
But when 2D said the band is searching for a temporary bassist in his place so the new album can be released in time, he came by once every two weeks, and leaves a few minutes earlier, and was always talking about an American gangster with his beaten-up bass guitar. He did not care really, if it is beneficial to Gorillaz, then so be it. This guy seems to know his place in the band pretty well, the album will be in production soon, and it will hit the shelves in about two months.
“See you next week!” 2D hung up the phone and blew him a kiss, then dashed through the iron door on the other side of the room that was separated by a bullet-proof glass, it was the first day of the recording for Humility.
The week after he drop by in a tight white t-shirt and a pair of the shortest pants one can imagine.
“Ace was amazing! His bass playing style was so different from you, yet we can all sense the Gorillaz-ness in it!” He jumped right in Murdoc’s throat in excitement, not catching up to his outrageous question about how 2D showed up in jail in a booty-shorts! He felt his blood boiling, three weeks, three weeks and he heard from 2D was about that damned replacement.
“Fancy him that much? Have you spread your legs for him then?”
Murdoc asked through gritted teeth, he stared at 2D who was frozen, his bright smile fell, and his excited white eyes was drained to an empty black. He did not reply, his mouth was crooked, and his eyebrows knitted, waiting for an explanation.
But Murdoc does not “explain”, he was angry, and if there was no glass between them 2D would have lie on the floor with a bleeding nose. He tried opening his mouth as if to say something before Murdoc cut him, spitting on the floor. “Nothing else to talk about beside how good his dick is, D?”
His eyes widen, Murdoc can even see the dark red blood in his irises, expanding in disbelief and rage, the phone shook in his hands, he gritted his teeth and Murdoc suddenly remembered their days on Plastic Beach, when 2D was always look like that, fuming, irritated, always ready for a fight.
“…Mudz.”
Murdoc grinned.
“Sorry I can’t get outta here, love, can’t look at you dressing like a twink waiting for a fuck from that bloke, that’s good right? No one to complain, you can take as much of his dick as you like.”
“It was not my fault that you ended up in here!” The blue haired snapped, he knew 2D was quick to tear up, he bit his lower lip and squinted his eyes, trying to look less fragile and more intimidating.
He did not care, he just wanted to see 2D, broken and crying, he wanted him to be sorrowful that Murdoc is in here and he is out there, free to do whatever the fuck he wanted to.
“Go home and beg for him to get you off, don’t come here just to gossip about him. I don’t need to fucking hear about your little crush.”
2D was quick to tears. He cried, silent tears flowing down his cheeks, his chin and dripped on the phone. He did not need him, he does not need him, He does not need Ace and hell, he probably does not need Gorillaz. One thing for sure he probably will never need them after he got out of jail.
Far of sight, far of might, if their relationship was long over then so be it.
“…Did you only think of me like so?”
That was a month ago.
Murdoc was done missing him, or that was what he told himself. In his cell there was no music, no sight of blue, and no friendly smile with two front teeth missing, he did not miss his face at all.
There were no one beside him that came visit, no Noodle, no Russel, no one, so he just lied in his chamber, waiting to be called for meals, for bathroom breaks. He was only waiting for the bloody officer that put him in here, to called for him from behind the bars, and tell him he was innocent, after that he will go to the nearest reporter and let the media do its job, spreading the headlines “Murdoc Niccals was framed” to the public.
Not long after, someone eventually called him, but the officer led him to the old room separated into two by a bullet-proof glass, littered with fingerprints. A thug-looking man sat there, with pointy, big sunglasses that went up to his ears, his hollowed face and olive skin reminded him of his own darned father that Murdoc was bloody glad that he was dead.
Murdoc stood still for a while before hesitantly sitting down on the wooden chair, picking up the phone and see the gangster did the same, he smiled wickedly, sending unpleasant chills down his spine.
“You must be Murdoc, correct?”
His voice was raspy, the voice of a smoker and an alcoholic, his accent was hard to bear and left an annoying ring that made Murdoc clicked his tongue, not wanting to reply. He got a lot of rivals and enemy that want him to be miserable, maybe this is just one of them.
“Two months of replacement finally I got to meet you in real life.” He chuckled.
‘Ace? So, this is him?’
“…You want me to teach you how to tune a bass or what.” Murdoc glared at him with despise, but it did not seem like he was taken back. Ace leaned forward, took off his sunglasses and set it aside on the bench, his eyes were bloodshot as if he had not slept for years. Murdoc did not know his age but by the look he was sure that Ace has been through hell.
“I’m not looking for tips, I’m here to send a message.” The corner of his mouth quirked into a crooked grin and Murdoc felt his throat tighten. “You are the former band leader after all, I think you should know before the media does.”
Fuck the album, he does not care, he does not want to listen. Even if it got ten Grammys and got the number one spot on iTunes he does not give a shit. Murdoc stared at Ace, but it was like looking into a mirror, he looked disgusting and sly, despicable. He knitted his brows, trying to ignore his burning guts.
“Don’t come home early, 2D and I are dating.”
Silence.
“Last month he came home drunk, crawling into my arms crying over how much he missed you.” Ace chuckled at the other’s twitching eye. “I tried to comfort him, everyone knows how much he loved you.”
His blood was boiling and his ears were in piercing pain, he wish he was deaf.
“But you’re the only one that got no clue about it, don’t you?”
He bite down on the inside of his mouth, he tasted blood, his heart wanted to stop beating yet still pumping harshly against his chest at the same time, even breathing is hard, air seems to thicken.
“He’s smarter than you, knowing who is better for him.”
“MOTHERFUCKER!!”
Before he knew it, two guards already have him faced against the wall, on the floor were broken pieces of the wooden chair, his fists felt wet and aching , the bullet-proof glass has two cracks on it.
And Ace was gone.
The last time he cried was seven years ago, he cried in 2D’s embrace, beside a half-empty box of strawberries. The blue haired bloke ran his hand on his greasy hair and kissed his wrinkled, scarred forehead. “I’m here, I’m not leaving, I’m here.” He repeated, his skinny arms holding the shaken body that trembled with every sob.
And now he is lying in a separated cell, the ceiling got one light that never turns off, there is no window, no breeze, and no voices except for the ones in his head, insulting himself.
He cried, but there was no one left to pity him.