Hi there, I want to thank everyone that's reviewed my fics! I'm really flattered!
This is my version of Ryous past, it doesn't include any other characters from the series except his family, Bakura (OOC, I want a happy end ::sweatdrop::) and possibly Malik (hikari).
It's my first many chaptered fic, I imagine it will be about 5 chapters long (but I go to boarding school so I can only really update on weekends, sorry!)
It's pretty angsty, but once I include Bakura it'll get a little fluffier. :3
Rated for mild language and possibly other stuff. Hey, I dunno!
Disclaimer: I don't own YuGiOh and I don't particuarly want to. Can you imagine the paperwork??
-- My Deteriorating Sanity
"Oi, Ryou, stop doing that. It's pissing me off." hissed the boy sitting behind Ryou, which was followed by a sharp kick behind his shin.
"Oh, uh.. sorry." he stammered in reply, followed by a smile and a rub of his head.
Without realising it, Ryou had been tapping out the drumbeat to the song 'Girlscout' - by one of his favourite bands, Jack Off Jill - on the edge of his desk.
He was aware that it was irritating to the rest of the class, but he just couldn't supress this need for the lesson to end, for the school day to end, for him to get home, to his drum kit.
Besides, how was he supposed to concentrate on the lesson anyway?
The stuff this imbecile of a student teacher was attempting to teach was way above Yr 10 level.
"For fucks sake..." Ryou thought to himself, "Why should we look up to these so called authority figures when they're so damn stupid?!"
He nibbled on his lower lip and resisted a growl of frustration, defiance, and pure anger.
They were all so below him.
These were the feelings Ryou let only his drum kit see, and when he couldn't drum them out they built up and made him stressed, snappy and on edge.
The smallest thing could send him into a flurry of rage.
He just hated the world. It wasn't his fault.
But this was why Ryou needed his drums; he could show them his anger and it never confused or hurt them, they just took it.
Ryou supposed they understood him.
Or not.
It wasn't as if it mattered.
But drumming wasn't just Ryous therapy, it was his art.
When Amane died, Ryou was on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Whenever anger took over him he would just break things.
Pencils, glasses, the occasional plate, whatever took his fancy.
Eventually, when Ryou was eight years old, his father grew tired of accepting Ryous behaviour, and took him to see a therapist.
She was a nice woman, Ryou remembered.
Mixed race, big hips, really bouncy brown hair and a lovely caring smile.
Still, Ryou could never bring himself to speak to her - it just didn't feel right.
He didn't even know this woman, she was a total stranger, why should he tell her his feelings?
He didn't know at the time, but how Ryou felt was patronised.
"Anything this time?" his father would ask at the end of every session,
"No - not yet." she would always reply, followed by a smile overflowing with hope.
Ryous father would then heave out a sigh and avoid Ryous eye.
Of course Ryou felt guilty, but he refused to accept it as his own fault.
Once, when Ryous father was due to pick him up, the therapist struck up a conversation with her silent client.
"Ryou?" she asked.
Ryou locked his own cold, coffee brown eyes with her patchy, moss green ones, as a tight lipped, sarcastic way of communicating something like
"Yes, you have my precious attention, now what are you going to do with it?"
She continued to speak,
"Ryou, I have a client that's a little bit older than you, who also used to be angry, but he uses music to let it out. So when he's angry he has a little go on his guitar. Would you be interested in taking up an instrument?"
Ryou couldn't supress the interest that then graced his angelic features.
"You'd like that then, eh? What instrument then? Trumpet, guitar, flute, drums - "
"Drums... sound good."
That was the first time Ryou ever spoke to her.
She grinned and wrinkled her honey brown nose,
"Okay then, I'll have a little word with your Dad."
And sure enough, a month later Ryou had his own drum kit, and as he sat on the cushioned stool and clutched the sleek new drum sticks, he could feel a great anticipation well up inside of him.
He never had any drum lessons, he taught himself, and he was brilliant - a real natural.
He could go wild on the drums, there were no consequnces.
No emotions except his own, dangerous and weak and needy and fulfilled and tragic and stupid and dirty and pure.
So, from the age of ten, he continued to depend on his drumkit for release of his ugly emotions, and although it didn't exactly fill the constant emptiness he held inside, when he played the drums it distracted him from that cruel feeling: need.
After all, Ryou didn't have many of the things he needed, but when he played the drums all that he could ever want.
Ryou gritted his teeth and stared desperately at the clock.
"Just half an hour..." he thought.
All he ever looked forward to was releasing the anger that built up inside of him when he couldn't release it.
A vicious cycle.
"Just half an hour til it starts again..."
It's not that great yet, but Bakura will be introduced next chapter!
Please R&R, I'll probably upload the next chappie next week (maybe... ::sweatdrop::)
