Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! is not mine.
"RYOU BAKURA!" I hear his drunken screams. Actually, we both do. I watch you as you slowly open up your bedroom door, you're so reluctant. And scared.
"RYOU BAKURA, GET YOUR SORRY ASS DOWN HERE!" He screams again, thouroughly outraged. You open your door and skitter down the steps nervously.
"Y-yes?" You ask shakily. Fear glittering in your eyes, along with tears. You know what comes next.
The sound of a firm hand colliding with flesh. He slapped you. Again.
"Ryou Bakura, you didn't finish your chores, did you?" He asks, the smell of alchohol spews from his mouth.
You shake your head wearily, tears seeking their way down your smooth, pale cheeks. Better to tell the truth than lie, right?
I hate it when he slaps you.
I hate it.
He sneers hatefully at you, "Your mother wouldn't stand up to this at all!" He yells. That's all his tone sounds like, now, is a yell.
You seem to wince at the mention of your mother. You already blame yourself enough for her death.
"Get out of my sight," your father hisses, "No dinner for you tonight!" He resolves triumphantly.
Fearfully, wanting to escape any further wrath from your alchoholic father, though you can't bare to call him that, you run back to your room. You close the door and lock it. You suck in air; your room is your only safe havon. Still softly sobbing, you fall face-down onto your bed, breathing in the scent of cotton.
I can't stand it when you cry.
I wish I could reach out and touch your shoulder and tell you it would be okay. That you're not as alone as you think you are.
I want to.
But I can't.
Sniffling once more, you wipe the rest of your tears from your wide, chocolate brown eyes. You get up. I watch you. You slip into the chair by your desk and start to write on a piece of college-ruled notebook paper. After a couple of minutes, you put your pen down. Getting up, you take your knife (actually, it's Bakura's knife) out of your dresser drawer. You roll up your sleeve. Slowly, deliberately, you slice your skin. You wince. It doesn't hurt that much. It's scary to you.
Now, silently, I approach what you have just written, leaving you in the background. It reads:
"Dear Amane,
I wish you could show me what Heaven looks like. Just once. I hate it
down here. Sometimes, I wonder if it would be better just to end it all.
But I don't. You know why? Because of you. I know you wouldn't want me
just to end it. That wouldn't be what you wanted. I hope you're reading
this right now, up in Heaven. I really hope you are. You have no idea how
bad it is down here for me. But, guess what? I've been invited to this
place called 'Duelist Kingdom'. Sounds cool, huh? Well, I hope for the
best. I won't end it so fast, Amane. I won't."
You signed it in your best handwriting. A flowing script that read 'Your loving brother, Ryou Bakura'. I sit on the chair you had just been sitting on. And I cry.
I've read every single one of your letters to me.
Every single one.
Author's notes: yesh. I was slightly depressed when I wrote that. Ah well. Hope you enjoy it R&R, peoples. It's also my first fanfic. Sooo, go a little easy, please. Thanks!
-Okami