I believe there's life after death, my sister is proof of that although I have not yet received a reply from the various letters I have sent her. I sometime hear whispers within my empty apartment, within my head.
The voice is rough and contempt yet I listen to him every time I seek comfort.
He reprimands my submissive behaviour calling me weak and useless, some may find his words callous but I know he cares. Why else would he tell me to stick up for myself?
Some nights I sense a presence ghosting behind me as I lie in bed; I thrive on the thought of him watching me. It allows me to believe that someone out there cares for me. His eyes are like a plain canvas, hollow and empty inside much like my soul.
I long ago promised that part of myself to him in return for companionship and he does not disappoint. Every blow he sends across my face sends a shoot of ecstasy through my body, every time he carves into me with his knife the feelings of loneliness dim to be replaced by pain. Pure white hot pain. And it's good to remain emotionless, to forever be numb.
After a particular emotionally damaging day in which my so called "friends" forgot it was my birthday I was walking home in the rain, the heavy winds gusting around my slight frame, forcefully brushing my white bangs into my eyes. I didn't bother wiping my hair away so I could see, if I happened to walk into a road and be broken by a speeding car. So be it.
Unfortunately that was not to be, maybe another day. I silently entered my home and walked up to my bedroom removing my wet clothes along the way. My damp hair hung loosely around my shoulders; I didn't bother drying it I walked towards my dresser pulled out a pair of loose black sweat pants and slipped them on remaining shirtless before walking towards my bedside dresser.
It was where I kept all the "instruments" you could say. A knife, thumb tacks corkscrews just odd household gadgets which could be used as a means for myself inflicted pain. Of course it wasn't technically self inflicted injuries. But what word is there for a spirit form that's supposedly the other half of your soul cutting you until you pass out from blood loss or from the overload of hazed filled pleasure it provides. Either way I didn't care. I don't know why I felt the need to hide my little sharp friends, it wasn't as if anyone was in the house to see them or how they were coasted in thick amounts of my coagulated blood.
I sensed the familiar ghostly presence behind me, a sinister smile spread across my thin peach coloured lips. His translucent hand brushed through my hair and travelled forward caressing my jaw before looping and tightening around my neck.
"What are we using today?" he asked in a conversational tone knowing full well I wasn't able to reply, not with his hand forcefully stopping air from entering my lungs. After several moments the hold around my throat finally relaxed although his hand remained close to my slender throat. I didn't reply just held up the corkscrew. I barely spoke these days, I wondered if my voice box had shrivelled up and died.
I lay down on my back upon my bed a crisp white towel beneath my body to soup up all the blood. Have you ever tried cleaning blood off of a mattress, it creates such a mess- one I'd rather not deal with.
The corkscrew was bronze the handle circular, just big enough for two of Bakura's fingers to fit through. He placed his fingers in the hole and wrapped his hand around the top of the corkscrew. "Hmm where to start." He contemplated whiles his eyes roamed over my body.
He seemed to enjoy our little sessions more than I sometimes. I stretched my arm out, loosely wrapping my fingers around his wrist before guiding his hand over to my forearm. He took the hint allowing me to fully relax my body before he gently brought the corkscrew down upon my forearm. To my utter grievance the object was blunt. I grit my teeth before ordering Bakura to find something sharper.
"My my were testy today aren't we?" he breathed against my cheek before jumping up from my bed and rummaging around in my bedside drawer, tossing things out every once in a while. He had no regard for my things what so ever.
"This looks fun." Bakura mumbled absently to himself, I closed my eyes as a nauseous feeling welled within my stomach. I needed some pain fast, my friends forgetting my birthday hurt what spited even more was that my own father seemed to have forgotten the day his only son was born.
My eyes burned with unshed tears, I gripped the sheets before speaking my voice sounding desperate to even my own ears. "Bakura hurry, please."
I breathed a sigh of relief as I felt a small pin prick of pain in my shoulder, I felt the immensely thin object slid further into my skin sending a short jolting sensation through it. I slowly blinked my eyes open and cast them down to get a look at the object in my shoulder. A Tack. Two minutes later my entire left arm was decorated lovingly with the multicoloured pins. Bakura seemed to pull a pair of pliers out of nowhere before he clasped the top of a tack within the pliers. He twisted the tack around and I could feel every second of it. The slow grinding of my flesh, the protesting of my stretched skin. My brittle flesh eventually broke; Bakura pulled the tack out forcefully a thin stream of blood following his hand.
I remained silent as he repeated the motions on the other tacks every now and then pinching the flimsy skin on my arms with the pliers until ugly bruises of black and purple appeared.
I was unaware of how long it had been since we'd started our little session. I remained silent except the involuntary whimper of pain that would pass from my lips. I stared blankly at the ceiling as Bakura continued to stab, restab and pinch me in areas where my bones were more protruded.
I hadn't realised Bakura had been trying to talk to me until I felt vibrating waves of pain resonate from my mid section. He just broke one of my ribs. I looked up to see Bakura glaring down at me the pliers clasped within both his hands, the blunt end just above my now damaged rib.
I intentionally sucked in long breathes feeling my broken rib protest meekly.
"What's the matter with you landlord?" He asked gruffly, briefly abandoning the pliers by throwing them to the mattress beside us.
I didn't answer just continued inhaling and stretching my body adding unnecessary strain on my ribs.
He narrowed his eyes at me their crimson tinge glowing dangerously. He clenched his fist and sharply jabbed my broken rib causing a small "oof" to spill from my lips before I laughed dryly. "Look at you, you pathetic mortal." He sneered at me.
I could tell he was curious about me the questions he wanted to ask practically burned in his eyes. "Answer me." He rumbled in that pressuring voice of his. I remained silent even as he back handed me harshly, this was exactly what I wanted. This pain, this humiliation this feeling of utter helplessness.
He shook his head before climbing upon me and straddling my waist. "You want this don't you? You're a sick individual landlord. I'm curious what would you do if I took your pain away? Hmm?" He smirked maliciously when he saw the fear in my eyes.
My emotions cause me more pain than any physical wound ever could.
He raised his left arm, his entire hand began glowing with a black and purple mist, his trusty shadow magic.
I struggled beneath him, he'd always been much stronger than me. How could something incorporeal be stronger than flesh and bone? His glowing hand neared me I struggled with new vigour before my frustration overcame me and I screamed aloud.
Bakura hated noise and I knew this, he growled before removing his hands from me his shadow magic dwindling down to nothing before he covered his ears with his hands.
I grasped the opportunity by throwing him off of me, jumping off the bed and retreating to my bathroom. My small puncture wounds began bleeding once again as a result of my abrupt movements.
I hadn't forgotten he could follow me anywhere; he is a part of me after all. His translucent form appeared before me looking not amused nor in the forgiving mood for my insolence.
I have to use all myself restraint not to smile or cackle exuberantly, he'd surely punish me now.
Instead he throws me a look of disgust grabs a towel from the rack beside him thrusts it into my face and leaves.
I stare vacantly at the space my other half was moments ago trying to figure out what went wrong. I flop down heavily on the toilet only to hiss in pain. My rib. Oh yeah. I gingerly run my hand over my abdomen where already the bruising has started. If Bakura manages to injure me to the point of discomfort he usually uses his shadow magic to heal my injuries or ease the pain at least. Don't get the wrong idea it's not a caring gesture nor one of compassion he simply does it so the "Pharaoh" and the others are unaware of his presence.
I remove what little clothing I have on and set to go about what Bakura silently ordered me to: Have a shower.
The scolding temperatures of the water wash away my blood and sting the freshly made cuts oh so slightly. Once I'm, done with my shower I moisturise and once again change into sweat pants white ones this time. I pause to look in the mirror and realise I've never looked so invisible.
I amble into my kitchen and pour myself some cereal, toast four slices of bread and cut up several pieces of fruit. I don't eat it, I don't feel hungry I simply throw all the foods contents into the garbage disposal and turn it on listening to the angry empty sound it causes as the food is churned and ripped until nothing remains except the odd scrap here and there.
After that ritual is performed I retire to bed for the night intending to get a good night's rest tomorrows Saturday and I have absolutely nothing to do, perhaps I'll look around the house for other sharp objects I can obtain since my corkscrew is no longer functioning.
I stand in the doorway of my room perplexed when I see Bakura lying on my bed in the exact same attire as me except he has the ability to not look effeminate if only the same could be said for me. His arms are crossed behind his head and one knee is raised.
"Are you going to stand there all night." He barks sarcastically, I only shake my head once again opting for a silent form of communication. I step towards the bed noticing with mild disinterest that he's removed the blood stained towel and put on fresh sheets.
I pull back the sheets and lie on my side. I wrap the covers right around me as my body scrounges for warmth. I want to ask Bakura why he's lying the way he is. Usually he'll stalk behind me and watch me with judging eyes as if one of my breaths were out of sync he'd surely murder me in cold blood.
He pushes himself up slightly removing his hands from the back of his head to shift down the bed until he's lying opposite me.
"Umm Bakura." My voice is deathly quiet and raspy. He only sends me an agitated look before lying flat on his back. One hand remains by his side whilst the other is bent at the elbow that hand reaching up to gently scratch at his hair.
His hand briefly travels under the sheets and reaches towards me; my breath hitches as I contemplate his intentions. I hear a dull buzzing sound before little shockwaves twist within my stomach. Bakura pulls his hand away from my abdomen and immediately I feel my body relax as my rib is now healed.
"Just go to sleep." He orders quietly, I attempt to do as he says however can't stop the cravings my body has to be closer to him, to be close to anyone - to feel that fleeting warmth you get every time someone holds you.
Subtly I shift closer to him; he doesn't say a word just quirks an eyebrow slightly before his breathing starts to relax. I remain awake for several hours, when I'm sure Bakura is no longer conscious I tentatively reach out and slip my hand into his own, and suddenly I don't feel so invisible.
(AN) I'm not sure where I want to go with this story yet, happy ending or not ? I know I want it to be an emotional slightly angsty piece what can I say I love me some angst. Reviews are always appreciated, hope you liked the first chapter.
Dolorous Doll x
