Not that I expect anyone to remember the horrible original that's being rewritten here, but this is basically my first fic, Fallen, with a massive plot overhaul. I was also planning to reduce the angst by about 50%, but so far it's looking like that's not going to happen. (I did what I could, though I admittedly did not try very hard.)

P.S. Does anyone still remember me? Like, at all?

P.P.S. I'm extremely impressed that formatting is now preserved in the document editor. It's about time.

P.P.P.S. God god I'd forgotten about this stupid video game rating system.

DISCLAIMER THAT SHOULDN'T BE NECESSARY BUT SOMEHOW IS, GOOD GOD THAT'S SAD: I don't own Malik or Bakura. I do, however, own Caida, BODY AND SOUL.

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I don't remember what happened yesterday. I don't remember what I was doing, what I was wearing, what ungodly voices I was hearing, I don't remember if I had a yesterday at all, I don't remember fucking anything. Double entendre. If Caida were alive I'd take fifty points for that, but since she's not alive I don't suppose there's any point in thinking about it.

I don't remember what happened yesterday. I kissed her, I suppose, or let her kiss me; the distinction is already blurring in my mind, fragments of memories—her shy smile, her silky black hair, her pale oval face—blending together, losing their edges, slipping from my eyes and running down my cheeks. Not fair, not fair. Somebody else should've died—because Caida didn't deserve to die, but also because I didn't deserve to lose her, no more than I deserved to have her. I can't breathe, I can't speak, I can't think. I want to say something so that she knows it's not funny anymore—what was that safe word, again?—but words dart through my mind like fireflies, landing here, landing there, taking off again whenever I reach out for one. I have no words.

I don't remember what happened yesterday. Caida is slipping from my arms, from my mind; when she's gone, will I forget what she looked like? If I punched Bakura right in his grinning mouth, would it hurt less? Would I feel better, stop myself, control myself? Or just keep punching him, again and again and again until he became a bloody little spot on the ground. Caida is smiling at me now, a careless, blissful smile, and I want to shake her. How can she smile when I'm obviously so miserable? But her smile is not at me, I realize, but rather for me. She wants my love, my oath, heartfelt deathbed vows, but I have no words. I lean over her one last time as she lies shredded, drenched in blood, brush her hair out of her eyes, kiss her cheek.

Cherish, I whisper in her ear, or think I whisper. The safe word was her idea, but she doesn't seem to remember it. What I want to do is scream Stop, stop, I said stop, stop dying, but the words won't come. I should have killed Bakura when I had the chance.

You know she's not actually dead yet, Bakura says. Drama queen, you never handled these things well, to think you wanted to be Pharaoh, and I want to rip him to shreds. What can I say back, that he won't laugh at? Prick, bastard, heartless, godless sonofabitch? I have no words. I wish I had a gun.

You killed her, I say.

She killed herself. I'm sitting with my back to him, but in my mind's eye I can see that radamned grin stretching across his face, practically connecting his ears. She killed herself the minute she agreed to date me. She's only human, anyway. Why do you care?

Because she was mine! She left you, she chose me!

And I took her back. He's not hiding anything now, he's gloating. She was never anything more than another piece of property to him. And in a way he's right; it doesn't matter to anyone but me. I'm the only one who cares anymore, but I don't remember why, I don't remember what happened yesterday, I don't remember anything anymore.