Stockholm Syndrome

10.

The next couple weeks were quiet.

Murdoc had been busy preparing the collaboration songs, and having something to do lately was keeping him from disturbing the peace. 2D wasn't acting very social either, either smoking somewhere in the house or out on the water. It was probably for the best that they needed some space, and I didn't particularly care if they left me alone considering there was a significantly less amount of arguing when everyone was busy. Murdoc had been showing signs of improvement as well, using a gentler tone with me when feeling upset, and even helping me with larger tasks when he was free.

Although being alone wasn't particularly ideal, I really did try my best to enjoy the quiet time I had⁠—it was refreshing to not be around the boys. The only time we'd all sit down together and conversate was at dinner. Murdoc had been making us all sit at the dining room table to eat our food, which in turn made things awkward as none of us had much to say. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel slightly comforted by it though; eating dinner with our dysfunctional family brought me a small amount of wholeness.

Tonight was no different.

Before I made dinner, I took another couple pills. While the boys hadn't noticed the few missing bottles in the past month, I was still paranoid they were onto me. The last few weeks had been easier for me, coasting my way through most of the days while I got things done. Everything was going well, and as long as I could keep this up, nothing was going to change.

Turning off the stove, I took a deep breath through my nose as I finished making the dinner. My mind was hazy, and I stared at the cabinet over the counter for a moment before remembering what exactly I was looking for. Plates. I had to remind myself, opening the cupboard slowly before I grabbed out three.

The quiet voices of the boys rang softly from the living room, snapping me out of my thoughts. I listened closely as I heard them discussing lyrics on the couch.

"Like factories?" 2D asked, "What the hell does that mean?"

"It's—ah, it's like, well—you wouldn't get it anyway. You just have to sing the bloody thing, I don't know why you're whingeing about my lyrics, mate."

"A song about someone's 'rhinestone eyes' is... a bit romantic for our style, don't ya' think? What's that got to do with factories anyways? You looking to bring back the industrial revolution or something?"

"It's a metaphor, 2D. Like I said before, this album's about the pollution in our oceans and cities, how corporations are convoluted and unjust, running our lives while ruining the bloody environment. The mere concept of Plastic Beach is a metaphor in itself, we've been over this. Ah, just—we'll talk about it later." Murdoc muttered with a sigh, clearly giving up on explaining it to the boy. "Less important matters aside, I'm ordering a shipment for later this week, do you need anything?"

"A gun to shoot myself, preferably." 2D replied in a nonchalant manner. "Especially after doing my head in with all this environmentalist talk."

"Oh, come off it, ya' twat. Juliet!" Murdoc called to me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Hm?" I hummed.

"Supplies coming this week. Does her Highness need anything?"

"Considering grey water likely runs through the tap, how about some water that's not contaminated with microorganisms and bacteria." I answered sarcastically, rolling my eyes. I added, "A one way ticket to New York City would work too."

To my surprise, he turned to his list and wrote it down.

"Tampons," I heard him mutter, "Diapers'll do, actually... And a pacifier."