"I don't even know who you are anymore."
"What are you talking about," Bakura spat. He refused to even look at the shadowy figure standing mockingly just in his periphery.
"You're certainly not me. I can say that much. But who you are, now, that's a mystery, ain't it?"
Bakura clenched his jaw. "Shut up."
"No." The figure was grinning. A kind of Cheshire Cat grin that split his face in half. His arms folded across a bare chest as he walked carefully, silently over to the chair on which Bakura was sitting. "You need the reality check."
The pale man scowled, still averting his eyes. "I need nothing from the likes of you."
The other threw his head back and laughed a booming laugh, a laugh that resonated around the shadowy space. "That's a good joke, mate. Nice t' know you've got a twisted sense of humor."
Bakura's hand curled into a fist. "Look. Leave me alone. I just wanted to think."
"Bullshit." The figure stood directly in front of Bakura, weight on one foot and grin glinting in the source-less light. "Look at me."
"No." Bakura's eyes shut. He shifted in his chair, turning his head away from the tan figure standing before him.
"Listen, jackass. You need to take a good, hard look at me."
He was right. And Bakura hated him for it. "…." Eyes reluctantly opened, though he continued staring off to the right rather than look at him.
Though this was quickly remedied. The Thief grabbed Bakura by the jaw, forcing his head up to look at him. He bent down, putting their faces inches apart, letting the twin pairs of scarlet eyes burn into each other. "Do you see me?"
Bakura's lip curled with malice. "I don't want to."
"I know you don't." The Thief laughed. "But you've got to. You're a lie, Bakura." He forcefully shoved the other back in his chair, standing again. A scarlet coat materialized around his shoulders, dropping down almost to his ankles. Gold pieces suddenly shone on his fingers, wrists, ankles, and around his neck. "I'm truth."
Glowering, the pale man stood violently enough to knock the chair backwards, evaporating into the vaporous smoke curling around their feet. "Liar." He stood hunched over, hands curled into fists and held at chest level – though for what, he did not know.
The Thief merely laughed again. "For such an old man, you're still so childish." He shook his head, pityingly. "You refuse to see what is right in front of you. I'm at the height of our glory, it would seem. You, the failure, the unfulfilled promise, the waste of immortality." He sneered, his arms thrown out wide, as if showcasing himself. "In your five thousand years, you've forgotten who we are meant to be. What is it you do all day. Sit at a desk, typing documents, choking food down your throat as you wait to go home to your woman, fuck her, and sleep? Day in and day out."
Bakura's eyes narrowed.
"It is, isn't it. Where's your purpose? Your drive? Your passion? It's gone. The thing that made us is gone." The Thief's arms dropped, crossing across his chest again. "If you're not me, who are you?"
Growling, Bakura took a step towards the man. "I am me. I'm better than you. Wiser. I've been to hell and back. Over. And Over. And Over. I've become the very worst of humanity. I've become a parasitic demon. I've stomped out the idiocies of you and grown. I've become the game master rather than a pawn of The Dark One. I've fused with The Dark One and come out alive! I'm Bakura, Ra Damnit!" His voice increased in volume as he went on, until he all but shouted the last phrase. Scarlet eyes burned with intensity behind thick lashes and white bangs, glaring and locked on the muscular man in front of him. The muscular man who was unphased. Rather, he laughed.
"HAHAH! But all of that accounts for shit!" He laughed, shaking his head at Bakura. "You lost. The Pharaoh came out on top. And rather than ignite with a fury, you found a woman. You're engaged, aren't you? Pah! Pathetic. The real you would never do something so asinine. You've lost your sense of self."
Out of nowhere, a hand slapped itself hard across Bakura's face, twisting him to the side. Just as suddenly, it fisted his shirt, lifting him off the ground and once again at eyelevel with The Thief. Bakura gasped and struggled, furious. "Put me the fuck down!"
"Bakura, this is reality calling." The Thief grinned, shaking him. "Open your eyes and see how pathetic you've become. You're not this. You're not a husband earning an honest wage for his wife. You're a cold-blooded killer, thief, arsonist. I'm worth ten of you. Wake up, man up, and fix what you've fucked up."
And as The Thief laughed and threw Bakura down on the ground, he crashed back into his body.
..
Gasping, Bakura bolt upright in bed. A hand flew to his chest, feeling the heart racing inside of it, and then shakily descended to grasp the cold metal hanging from around his neck. "…."
He stared at it. All he had intended was to go to his soul room, meditate, relax. And his jackass former self was waiting for him. He often hallucinated such things when he was feeling lost in his life, feeling as though he didn't belong in his own world. An outsider looking in through foggy glass.
"…. Fuck."
Dropping the ring and rubbing his face, the thin, tired man stood, blindly walking across the carpet to the door standing ajar to his bathroom. He carefully closed the door behind him, and gripped the sink tightly as he lifted his head to look himself in the eyes in the mirror. "…." Red eyes. Burning. Hatred. … He had really begun to hate his eyes. His pale face. His long hair.
'You're a lie, Bakura.'
He scowled at himself, grip tightening on the sink. The ring glowed softly out of his line of sight as he inadvertently used its power, turning his eyes from blazing scarlet to softer lavender. As they had once been. "…Heh…Heheheh…"
That's more like it. But… This hair. It's far too long. Far too long. And before he knew what he was doing, the scissors were in his hands.
Chop. Chop. Chop.
The long, soft locks of white hair pooled around his feet, sliced off in uneven hunks. He stopped only when the hair just barely brushed his shoulders and framed his face in spike-like tendrils, just avoiding his eyes.
"HEH. HEHEH. Yes… That's it… But… One thing's missing…"
Lavender eyes now wild, they fell upon a discarded razor blade from his shaving kit. His lips twitched and pulled back from his teeth in a horrible sort of smirk as he picked it up delicately in his cold fingers, eyes returning to looking at himself. "…. I'm not myself, huh?" He raised the blade carefully, caressing his own cheek with it. "Failure…" The edge pressed to pale lips as he spoke the word. "Unfulfilled promises…" It grazed his cheek in the pattern, leaving a light pink line for him to trace. "Waste of immortality…" He breathed, face splitting into a Cheshire Cat grin. "Lost myself, have I? Maybe that's true… But I think I just found him."
And with that, the blade cut in just below his eye, carving a line straight down. "…. HAHAHAH!" He laughed, a laugh laced with pain and ecstasy. Two more harsh slices, and his work was complete. A beautifully macabre tribute to himself. A flesh masterpiece.
The razor fell from his trembling fingers and hit the floor in a small puddle of blood. The sticky red liquid poured from the gashes in his face, but rather than trying to stop it, Bakura merely laughed. And laughed loudly.
"HAHAHAHAHAH!"
Like a lunatic his laugh rang in the small bathroom, carrying through the apartment. He slumped against the bathroom wall, sliding down to sit, cut off locks of his hair and cascades of blood all around him. He continued to laugh.
It didn't take long for his fiancée to hear the crazed laughter and come rushing in. "Kura—"
She froze in the doorway as she took in the sight. The blood streaming from the right side of Bakura's face. His hair, gone, in chunks on the floor. And those eyes that looked up at her, lavender, not their usual crimson.
She didn't know what to say. Her eyes just raked across the scene, lips parting in disbelief. "….."
Bakura's laughs slowed to quiet chuckles, his shoulders shaking with them as his eyes lowered to the floor. "I'm me…" He grinned through the laughs. "I'm me…"
His future wife recovered enough to work mechanically, grabbing the always-ready first aid kit from the sink cabinet and start to tend to his bleeding face. "Oh, Kura… What have you done to yourself… Jesus…" She murmured quietly, his shoulders still shaking.
"I'm me again."