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Ryou sat on his old brown sofa in the dimly lit room. The only source of light being given by what was left of the day. He watched the sun slowly set behind the city, with tears drying on his face. A cell phone held idly in his hand. In his loneliness he sought out his Father's number, wanting so much to have a conversation with him.

"Ryou, I'm busy. You know that," His Father's tone was irritated.

"Yes but-"

"Look, I'll call you back later, okay?"

"… Okay," He said with his heart growing heavy.

The line went silent without a goodbye. Ryou knew he wasn't going to call back. It wasn't the first time he'd said those words. And so he sat, silently crying in his shoddy apartment, alone.

He had, 'friends'. But they weren't people he felt he could talk to. Not anymore, at least. They had grown apart. They had bigger and better things going for them in their lives, and Ryou didn't want to bother them. He especially didn't want to give them a reason to look down on him.

He mutely stood, feeling strangely not himself. As if someone else held the controls of his body. But it wasn't anything like when he still had Bakura. Bakura was long gone, he knew that. But he smiled suddenly, realizing this was going to be easier if he convinced himself Bakura was making him do this. He slipped into his small bathroom and sat on the side of the tub. He lifted the razor that sat on the edge of the sink, and examined it carefully. What was it that he really wanted right here, right now?

He sat the razor back down and got up, making his way to his bedroom. He opened his desk and pulled out a pad of paper, and began to write. He wrote for a few minutes. When he was finished he scanned it before signing his name, tossing his pen across the room.

Ryou returned to the bathroom sitting on the edge of the tub once more. He lifted the razor, again examining it. It wasn't very old, he noted.

"Go ahead, Ryou. End it all," He heard his Yami's voice say.

He closed his eyes, drawing in his breath slowly, "I can hear you, Bakura." He said out loud, convincing himself it wasn't his imagination in the least.

"Once you do this, it's all over. You'll feel no more pain, and you won't be a burden to anyone."

Ryou smiled at the thought, "Will you be there on the other side?"

He imagined his laugh, "Oh, Ryou. Sure. Why not? I'll be right here. You always needed me to hold your hand, didn't you?"

Ryou's laugh was hollow, "Yeah. I guess I did."

"Well, don't make me wait forever, then."

Ryou nodded. He took a pair of tweezers out of the medicine cabinet and pried the blade from the razor. It snapped and fell to the floor, sliding under the toilet. He retrieved it, rinsing it in the sink in hot water.

"Yes, clean it well. Don't want you getting that last second infection," Bakura said sarcastically.

Ryou's shoulders shook slightly as he laughed quietly, "Yeah, sorry." He slid his thumb over the blades edge, feeling his skin split open beneath it. His hands shook, "It hurts."

"Of course it does."

"It hurts," His eyes welled.

"Ryou." He shut his eyes with a sniffle, imagining Bakura leaning close. He could see his ghostly visage so clearly, "Just take a deep breath, and cut while you exhale. I can't do it for you."

Ryou rubbed the tears from his eyes on the back of his arm, "Okay, Bakura." He took several deep breaths before pressing the corner of the blade at his palm. He took one final deep breath, before pushed down has hard as he could pulling the blade down the length of his wrist. He cried out through grit teeth, his brow suddenly glistening with sweat. Without looking, he did the same to the other wrist, this time letting out an agonizing cry.

"Quiet down, Ryou," Bakura growled, "This will be for nothing if someone calls the authorities on you."

Ryou hushed, the feeling of water trickling down his arms calming him. He held his wrists up before him, his sleeves now stained crimson, "That's it… it's all over now." Ryou smiled as new tears ran freely, "I'm done now?" He asked.

"Yes, Ryou. The hard part is over."

"I feel thirsty…"

"Just ignore it," Bakura sighed, "You'll never feel thirst again, soon. You'll never feel alone, or tired," Bakura's voice started to whisper as Ryou felt exhaustion seep into him, "and you'll never, ever, feel pain ever again."

Ryou managed a smile as he fell backwards into the tub, the shower curtain pulling down with him. But he only heard these things, "Thank you for being here with me, Bakura."

Only silence greeted him. Bakura was never really there. He felt the last fleeting feelings of pain and loneliness slip away as he closed his eyes to sleep for the last time.

Investigator Satoshi brought out the single piece of evidence they had in the new case. The suicide note. Wearing blue latex gloves he went over the words again.

"I have no desire to go on anymore. There never was a place for me here, was there? I was just dropped off and forgotten. I thought I had found friends, and meaning in my life. But with one fell swoop it was all taken away. Why can't I be needed here? Why can't I be special to you all? I hate you all. But it hurts unbearably, because I don't want to hate you. You don't deserve this hatred. So I'll take it with me. I'm sorry I wasn't what any of you had expected or wanted.

Before I do this, I wonder… how long will it take before any of you realize I'm gone?

I'm so sorry,

Ryou Bakura"

The investigator returned the letter to the plastic bag shaking his head. He walked over to the coroner, knowing he needed to ask him the typical questions. What medications the victim had been taking, cause of death, and the such. But the letter from the victim made him want to know, "Time of death?"

The coroner sighed sadly, "Not that long ago, actually. His liver is still very warm. Possibly six in the afternoon. Eight at the latest."

The investigator sighed heavily as well, "The poor boy. If he'd only known his friends were thinking of him tonight."

"Dare I ask what the story is on the case?" The coroner looked as though he were preparing himself to wince.

"We got a call saying this kid was dead. The call was made by a friend of his. And so many of his friends were gathered outside the apartment when we arrived, I don't know for sure who had made the call just yet." He rubbed his aching temples. He knew it was important for the report they know who made the call, "They were all just… so hysterical."

"If he had only known, indeed…"

I was in such a depressed/bad mood today, I got it out with this. Won't lie to you. Was inspired by another fanfiction writer whom I've been talking with lately. She writes some awesome dark fics. Her username is Zlae, check her stuff out!

In case you don't understand the liver comment; coroners measure the body heat of a corpse by sticking a thermometer in the liver. They use this method to judge how long a fresh corpse has been dead.