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The smell of salty seawater mixed with cigarette smoke and alcohol filled the air. My footsteps were loud and clumsy as I fumbled down the stairs into the rickety basement I’d constructed just months before. As I descended I drained the bottle of vodka I was holding at a rapid pace. I didn’t care about the bitter taste on my tongue, I just needed to feel numb as soon as possible. I remember being fuming, but I don’t even recall why. The alcohol had made that night a blur in my memory, yet it was somehow also vivid. When I reached the bottom of the steps, I tried to open the rickety door, but it wouldn’t budge. I tried again and again, hearing muffled whimpers from inside. “Goddammit, 2D!” I exclaimed in frustration. Something was blocking the doorway. A chair, maybe, or a crate. “I’ll blow this door up with fuckin’ dynamite if I have to!” It was hard to get the words out, and my speech was slurred. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll-” I heard the scraping of a large object across the floor, and then tried the door again. It opened.
I stomped inside and saw a room filled with broken glass, stains, and loads of rubbish, a few crates, a plastic lawn chair, a window displaying a view of just under the sea, and a rusty bedframe with a mouldy mattress, underneath it a shaking, sobbing figure in the fetal position. “Get up, f*g,” I grunted as I gave him a half-assed kick in the skull. He slowly got up, still whimpering. 2D didn’t say a word. He just stared at me, and I remember thinking how cocky he was for daring to look me in the eyes. I yelled at him. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember his reply.
“Take me home, Murdoc, please,” he begged between sobs. I didn’t take it well.
I pressed my hand into his chest, then pushed with full force. He looked like a ragdoll as he fell. That sick feeling of joy filled me as I watched him bang his head on the wall as he descended, blood smearing against the wall. He landed on the bed and looked up at me with those eyes. Those giant, round black eyes that were so full of fear you couldn’t see past it. The eyes that haunt me. “You have no home! You belong to me,” I spat, and shattered my vodka bottle against the wall. 2D began to squirm and struggle, but I placed a hand on his neck, and he accepted his fate and settled down. I loosened my hand a little to make sure he could breathe. Without thinking I smashed the broken vodka bottle into his face. He screamed, but it didn’t stop me. I pulled the bottle back, and examined his face. It felt good, to see another man so wounded, knowing I’m the one who did that to him. There were a few bits of glass around his face, and blood oozed down his cheeks. Usually I would have stopped then, but not that night. I thrusted the bottle into his face again, digging in deeper, twisting it around. “This is home! This is home! This is home!” I repeated, over and over again, as I kept smashing the sharp glass into his face. He stopped screaming after the third or fourth time. Eventually, his body went limp.