Categories > Original > Drama
rigby has been alone for so long now.
ever since his best friend died around 10 years ago, rigby's always been alone. he used to make him feel sad, but now he's numb to it. not much seems to really matter anymore. he does just enough to get by, and then does nothing at all. it's been this way for so long, he can barely remember what things were like before this.
the professionals he has to see tell him he suffers from certain things, but he feels fine. part of him knows clinging onto a person for this long after they've died can't be normal, but he doesn't care. all he wants is to have mordecai back. it's not fair.
rigby realized some time ago how he truly felt about mordecai. it crashed down on him all at once when it finally hit him, several years after his best friend had already died, and then he knew there was no going back. he couldn't possibly ignore it.
he loved him. much more than as a friend, but it didn't matter. mordecai was dead.
rigby grabbed his pipe, preparing everything. once the pipe had been cleaned up and filled with weed, he put the right end to his mouth and lit things up with a swift, practiced movement. he took one hit, and then another, and several more after that.
weed from muscle man was one of the few things keeping him going. muscle man gave him some, sold him some occasionally, and when neither were an option - rigby would simply steal what he wanted. he didn't particularly care about the consequences.
he lays back in bed. reflects on things for a good while. he wonders what mordecai would even think of him now, or what mordecai would look like at 23. he remembers the last time he saw mordecai, or well, his body. at the funeral. he didn't feel anything. he stared for a couple of minutes and then didn't say anything the entire rest of time his family was there.
it was a bitch to get to the funeral. his dad had been an asshole about the whole thing, and ultimately, his mom just decided to go without him. a bunch of mordecai's family all showed up, and some of their classmates, or whatever, too.
he can barely remember it at this point. it's all so blurry, except for the memory of mordecai's body in the casket. it was like that image was burned into his retinas. he saw it every time he tried to go to sleep, or, well, do anything, really.
he wants to scream.
he sat up suddenly. he took a couple more hits, feeling his mind grow more and more intoxicated. now that's better.
he grabbed his phone, inputting the passcode. 0903. a reference to mordecai's birthday, september 3rd. pushing that aside, he clicked through, opening up his phone's gallery and going into a particular folder.
the folder was filled with pictures of benson. some were selfies they'd taken together, others were group pictures, though most of them were just pictures of benson alone. he scrolled through the dozens of photos and clicked on the picture that caught his eye as being the most appealing to him in the moment.
rigby dealt with what he needed to do, freeing up his main hand, which he slid down. oh. this was definitely not the greatest time to do this, but he ignored that thought.
it was quick and gross and honestly kind of painful, actually. he jerked it to pictures of his 20-years-older boss like he was gonna die the next day. when he came after about 7 minutes, he threw his head back and whined pitifully, getting no rush from it, and he came in his pants. ew.
rigby laid there for a moment, completely out of it... until he finally snapped back to reality. he cringed as he remembered everything, and he slowly sat up. he looked down at his phone (which had turned off automatically a couple of minutes ago) and then his pipe and lighter. he took a couple more hits before dragging himself out of bed. he picked out some clean clothes completely mindlessly, before sluggishly leaving for the bathroom.
he went about doing what he needed to do. he felt nothing as he did it. he looked at his reflection in the mirror, fogged up by the steam from the hot water - and he smiled, because like this, it felt like he was actually looking at what he was supposed to look like.
after taking one more look down at himself, just to make sure he looked alright, he stepped out into the hallway again.
and he walked straight past the door to his room, and continued down to benson's office.
rigby didn't know what he was doing at this point. it was... kind of weird to do this, right? after, well, you know. but he felt like he needed to see benson. the real benson, not some photo on his phone. not because he wanted to do anything weird, god no. but he just felt like he needed to do this.
he thought distantly about whether benson would even be in his office right now. rigby had finished up his work (with thomas, the intern) awhile ago at this point, but at this time of day, benson was usually still at the park. maybe not specifically in his office, but there was a big chance he was in there.
rigby let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding in, and anxiously, he placed his paw on the doorknob and twisted it open.
rigby cracked the door open a little, peaking inside. he saw benson sitting at his desk, and he flinched, instantly slamming the door shut. evidently, rigby hadn't done a good job of keeping who it was at the door unclear, as benson called out from the other side.
"hey, uh, rigby! you can come in, you know! no need to do... whatever you were doing, just then."
rigby winces, and takes a moment to breath, properly pushing the door open after. he steps into benson's official, hoping his flustered expression isn't too obvious. "o-oh, sorry about that, man, just wasn't sure if you were in here, hehe." he sheepishly answered benson, not completely lying.
"oh." benson replies, with a little nod of his head. he's clearly accepting of that answer. "well, is there anything you need? it's not really common for you to approach me like this, i'm sure we're both well aware of that. though, like always, you get your job done, so it's not like i can complain." benson continued, his eyes flickering back down to the paperwork he was going over before rigby entered.
rigby hesitantly approached benson's desk, taking a seat in one of the chairs situated in front of it. rigby fiddled with his hands, bouncing one of his legs, and struggled for a moment to come up with anything to say.
benson didn't seem to think much of it. rigby figured he was probably used to it by now, or maybe even appreciated it in comparison to how certain other staff were. (i.e. muscle man.)
it didn't really help that rigby was pretty high... and well, everything else, of course. rigby bit his lip a little, struggling to not put his head in his hands in that moment. "i-i, um, i have something to say." is what rigby managed to get out. shit. that was already quite a bad way to start things.
benson paused what he was doing, his eyes shifting to look at rigby. shit, fuck.
he could visibly see benson contemplating what to say. it made rigby anxious. "well... you can go ahead and say it." benson began, adopting a proper posture compared to how he had been leaning over the desk to better look at the paperwork before. it made rigby more and more nervous.
"you don't have to worry with me, rigby. i know i can be hot-headed sometimes, but i can tell this is important and i'm not going to freak out. i mean, unless it is something to freak out over, like, i don't know, you summoning some kind of demon that wants to destroy the whole park or something." benson chuckled, unable to even genuinely imagine something like that.
"i-i, um..." rigby stutters, but ultimately what he goes onto says doesn't really matter.
whatever purpose this story was served is irrelevant now... the scene remains stagnate on the shot of the two together in benson's office, forever.
ever since his best friend died around 10 years ago, rigby's always been alone. he used to make him feel sad, but now he's numb to it. not much seems to really matter anymore. he does just enough to get by, and then does nothing at all. it's been this way for so long, he can barely remember what things were like before this.
the professionals he has to see tell him he suffers from certain things, but he feels fine. part of him knows clinging onto a person for this long after they've died can't be normal, but he doesn't care. all he wants is to have mordecai back. it's not fair.
rigby realized some time ago how he truly felt about mordecai. it crashed down on him all at once when it finally hit him, several years after his best friend had already died, and then he knew there was no going back. he couldn't possibly ignore it.
he loved him. much more than as a friend, but it didn't matter. mordecai was dead.
rigby grabbed his pipe, preparing everything. once the pipe had been cleaned up and filled with weed, he put the right end to his mouth and lit things up with a swift, practiced movement. he took one hit, and then another, and several more after that.
weed from muscle man was one of the few things keeping him going. muscle man gave him some, sold him some occasionally, and when neither were an option - rigby would simply steal what he wanted. he didn't particularly care about the consequences.
he lays back in bed. reflects on things for a good while. he wonders what mordecai would even think of him now, or what mordecai would look like at 23. he remembers the last time he saw mordecai, or well, his body. at the funeral. he didn't feel anything. he stared for a couple of minutes and then didn't say anything the entire rest of time his family was there.
it was a bitch to get to the funeral. his dad had been an asshole about the whole thing, and ultimately, his mom just decided to go without him. a bunch of mordecai's family all showed up, and some of their classmates, or whatever, too.
he can barely remember it at this point. it's all so blurry, except for the memory of mordecai's body in the casket. it was like that image was burned into his retinas. he saw it every time he tried to go to sleep, or, well, do anything, really.
he wants to scream.
he sat up suddenly. he took a couple more hits, feeling his mind grow more and more intoxicated. now that's better.
he grabbed his phone, inputting the passcode. 0903. a reference to mordecai's birthday, september 3rd. pushing that aside, he clicked through, opening up his phone's gallery and going into a particular folder.
the folder was filled with pictures of benson. some were selfies they'd taken together, others were group pictures, though most of them were just pictures of benson alone. he scrolled through the dozens of photos and clicked on the picture that caught his eye as being the most appealing to him in the moment.
rigby dealt with what he needed to do, freeing up his main hand, which he slid down. oh. this was definitely not the greatest time to do this, but he ignored that thought.
it was quick and gross and honestly kind of painful, actually. he jerked it to pictures of his 20-years-older boss like he was gonna die the next day. when he came after about 7 minutes, he threw his head back and whined pitifully, getting no rush from it, and he came in his pants. ew.
rigby laid there for a moment, completely out of it... until he finally snapped back to reality. he cringed as he remembered everything, and he slowly sat up. he looked down at his phone (which had turned off automatically a couple of minutes ago) and then his pipe and lighter. he took a couple more hits before dragging himself out of bed. he picked out some clean clothes completely mindlessly, before sluggishly leaving for the bathroom.
he went about doing what he needed to do. he felt nothing as he did it. he looked at his reflection in the mirror, fogged up by the steam from the hot water - and he smiled, because like this, it felt like he was actually looking at what he was supposed to look like.
after taking one more look down at himself, just to make sure he looked alright, he stepped out into the hallway again.
and he walked straight past the door to his room, and continued down to benson's office.
rigby didn't know what he was doing at this point. it was... kind of weird to do this, right? after, well, you know. but he felt like he needed to see benson. the real benson, not some photo on his phone. not because he wanted to do anything weird, god no. but he just felt like he needed to do this.
he thought distantly about whether benson would even be in his office right now. rigby had finished up his work (with thomas, the intern) awhile ago at this point, but at this time of day, benson was usually still at the park. maybe not specifically in his office, but there was a big chance he was in there.
rigby let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding in, and anxiously, he placed his paw on the doorknob and twisted it open.
rigby cracked the door open a little, peaking inside. he saw benson sitting at his desk, and he flinched, instantly slamming the door shut. evidently, rigby hadn't done a good job of keeping who it was at the door unclear, as benson called out from the other side.
"hey, uh, rigby! you can come in, you know! no need to do... whatever you were doing, just then."
rigby winces, and takes a moment to breath, properly pushing the door open after. he steps into benson's official, hoping his flustered expression isn't too obvious. "o-oh, sorry about that, man, just wasn't sure if you were in here, hehe." he sheepishly answered benson, not completely lying.
"oh." benson replies, with a little nod of his head. he's clearly accepting of that answer. "well, is there anything you need? it's not really common for you to approach me like this, i'm sure we're both well aware of that. though, like always, you get your job done, so it's not like i can complain." benson continued, his eyes flickering back down to the paperwork he was going over before rigby entered.
rigby hesitantly approached benson's desk, taking a seat in one of the chairs situated in front of it. rigby fiddled with his hands, bouncing one of his legs, and struggled for a moment to come up with anything to say.
benson didn't seem to think much of it. rigby figured he was probably used to it by now, or maybe even appreciated it in comparison to how certain other staff were. (i.e. muscle man.)
it didn't really help that rigby was pretty high... and well, everything else, of course. rigby bit his lip a little, struggling to not put his head in his hands in that moment. "i-i, um, i have something to say." is what rigby managed to get out. shit. that was already quite a bad way to start things.
benson paused what he was doing, his eyes shifting to look at rigby. shit, fuck.
he could visibly see benson contemplating what to say. it made rigby anxious. "well... you can go ahead and say it." benson began, adopting a proper posture compared to how he had been leaning over the desk to better look at the paperwork before. it made rigby more and more nervous.
"you don't have to worry with me, rigby. i know i can be hot-headed sometimes, but i can tell this is important and i'm not going to freak out. i mean, unless it is something to freak out over, like, i don't know, you summoning some kind of demon that wants to destroy the whole park or something." benson chuckled, unable to even genuinely imagine something like that.
"i-i, um..." rigby stutters, but ultimately what he goes onto says doesn't really matter.
whatever purpose this story was served is irrelevant now... the scene remains stagnate on the shot of the two together in benson's office, forever.
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