"Why are you doing this to me, Murphy!?" Nila yelled across her two bedroom, one bathroom apartment. Sigmund stood frozen in the middle of the tiny kitchen next to a livid Murphy Jenkins. A few seconds later a loud crash came from the main bedroom - the sound of a glass-to-wall collision. "Damn it Nila!" Murphy spat as he pushed himself up onto the kitchen counter. "Get her out here before I come in there and drag you both out!" There was silence for a moment more and Murphy sat angrily - his knuckles paling as he clenched his meaty fists - while his best friend, Sigmund Isaiah stood timidly against the refrigerator and eyed the floor so as not to have to witness the scene. Nila re-entered, there were a series of small bright red cuts on her hands,and behind came a little girl who looked exactly like her but had hair like Murphy's- soft chocolatey-brown in large, wafting curls. She was clutching a tattered teddy bear against her chest and, just like Sigmund, she dared not lift her gaze from the ground beneath her.
"Bye Nila," Sigmund said softly as he walked out of the apartment following Murphy who was now holding the sobbing little girl. "Rot in hell, Sig!" she cried as she slammed the door after them.
"What did I tell you about talking to her, man?" Murphy muttered bitterly as they braved the creaking elevator.
"I... I can't help it... I'm sorry Murphy. Ms Nila is-"
"Don't call her that," Murphy blurted out. "Don't even say her name if that can be helped... The kid will forget her easier that way... Maybe I will too." Sigmund made no response and looked down at 'the kid'- her eyes were fixed glassily to those of her teddy bear.
"She's not eating, Sigmund..." Murphy called from the basement in Sigmund's one-storey house where he had been temporarily living. The wooden stairs from the main house creaked and spewed dust under the weight of Sigmund's feet as he walked down with a pudding cup and teaspoon in his left hand. "Here," he said tiredly and thrust it at the girl who sat, terrified, in Murphy's scathing glare. She slowly peeled back the lid of the pudding cup and began eating. "How did you do that?" Murphy whispered in astonishment. "Pudding was the first thing I tried!"
"Murph is mean," the little voice unexpectedly responded. The two men stared down at her as she looked up at them - her big dark eyes were wide and innocent. Murphy bent down slowly, rested on his haunches and placed his hands on his knees before asking, "What did you say, baby girl?"
"Murph is mean," she replied- a little more loudly this time.
"And who told you that?"
"Momma."
Murphy raised his eyebrows and stood up sharply. He grabbed his leather jacket from a nearby chair and shrugged it on hastily and began to make his way up the stairs. "Look after her!" he shouted back at Sigmund.
"Where you goin'?" Sigmund called after him.
"I'm going to kill the cocaine whore that made my daughter hate me!"
Murphy stood beside his sleeping daughter, snugly tucked up in an old blanket on the nearly-broken couch in the basement. He ran his tongue over his teeth and tapped his foot softly but impatiently as he waited for Sigmund. A few moments later, Sigmund returned to the basement with Murphy's leather jacket. "The blood?" Murphy whispered - not taking his eyes off of his daughter.
"Gone," Sigmund mumbled. Murphy nodded and sighed, circling the room. He stopped suddenly and bit his lip. "What is it?" Sigmund asked. "I need to talk a walk," Murphy replied.
So they sat in the early hours of the morning on a bench in a park around the corner from Sigmund's house. Murphy with his cigarettes and Sigmund with his giant tuna melt. "Worth it?" Sigmund asked bitterly. Murphy frowned and glared at Sigmund. "Every bullet," he hissed.
"How many?" Sigmund enquired carefully.
"One for every day of my life that she killed me on the inside."
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