Bakura could scarcely keep his eyes open, and that was just the way he liked it. He sat in the armchair in his living room with his knees drawn tightly up to his chest, cradling a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The lights were all on and the curtains were thrown wide, exposing the amber glowing city lights and the dark sky hovering over them. He did not need to glance at the clock to know that it was probably somewhere in the early morning, two or three perhaps. It did not matter. Once he got to this point it was all the same.
His eyes were glazed and unfocused, his mind swirling with too much useless information. He could hardly think straight anymore. Once he set his thoughts to a topic they could be millions of miles away from said topic in the span of six seconds if he let them go. Thinking was becoming steadily harder to do as the hours wore on, and he could feel a killer headache growing in the black recesses of his skull. Another all-nighter might just be the death of him, but he couldn't help but think that it would be a far preferable alternative to falling asleep.
He took an involuntary sip of his drink with a vacant eyed stare, not blinking when the steam flew into his earthy coloured eyes. Huge purple semi-circles seemed as though they were etched into his skin, and his eyelids sagged more and more every minute, threatening to close for good. Bakura forced himself to move, to pull the thin blanket closer around himself and shift a bit so he was a little less comfortable. Comfort meant relaxation, relaxation meant sleep, and sleep inevitably led to nightmares. Those same, threatening, lifelike, horrible nightmares meant that he had again fallen into his clutches.
He shivered, sending ripples across the surface of the rich liquid to lap against the sides of the earthenware mug. It had been like this since the day he had discovered his Millennium Ring was possessed. He would never forget that moment, that second in time, when he had discovered that he was almost indirectly responsible for the deaths of his closest friends; when the evil spirit of the Ring had used him to get to them. He understood that, rationally, it was not his fault. He could not have known of the curse his Item contained, he had no way of knowing the horrible things that it was prepared to do to the ones he cared about to get what it wanted. Rationally, he could justify that it was not his fault.
Guilt is rarely a rational emotion.
Every night since, Bakura had been plagued by unspeakable nightmares filled with sights and sometimes sounds that no one should ever be made to experience. He knew the spirit was angry with him. He knew it demanded vengeance. It didn't matter that the Ring was gone. It didn't matter that he'd stopped blacking out. He could feel the unholy weight upon his neck, and could sense the evil of the thing as clearly as if he wore it still. The spirit was angry, angry with him for what he had done, and it was seeking its revenge through his subconscious.
He had seen them die, one by one, a thousand times over, in increasingly creative and vile manners. He had felt their pain, heard them scream in complete agony, until he too finally woke screaming and sweating and gasping for breath through his tears.
After a week of this, his father stopped bursting into the room thinking that he was being murdered.
After another week, he gave him some potent sleeping pills to help with the nightmares. They were supposed to put him deep enough into darkness that his brain could not stir up any troubling thoughts. What they did was render him unable to wake from the torture that did not come from his own mind, and made him unable to scream when he did. When he finally he escaped that first night of hellish torture he promptly chucked the bottle out the window and vowed never to speak of his troubles again. His father considered the matter dealt with, and Bakura never told him otherwise. The last thing he wanted was some uncaring psychiatrist digging around in his skull, trying to unearth what he could not divulge, and that would be the logical next step to his night time 'adventures'.
The white light from the bulbs held an eerie tint to them now, now that the sun had gone down. The light bounced off of white-washed walls with a horror esque effect, like the stage was set for something terrible to happen. Bakura constantly felt as though something was watching him, that something was hiding just beyond his sight in a room that had no places to hide. It was a cruel paradox, and one that his mind could not sort through, as tired as it was. He was going to drive himself insane with such thoughts, he would not be surprised if he had started already, but he couldn't help it. This was a battle of wills, a test of inner strength, and after being stuck in a clinch for three nights in a row Bakura was beginning to lose his psychological edge. The demand for sleep was relentless, despite the pain that it held. The thought of soothing sleep was so tempting, it was almost too much to bear...
No! Stay awake. You've got to stay awake!
Bakura jolted, realizing not a second too soon that he had closed his eyes and leaned back without even noticing it. Another handful of seconds and the darkness would have claimed him then and there. He upset the mug when he jumped, spilling hot chocolate all over his legs. His reactionary time was much longer than normal, but his mind eventually registered the pain and he leapt up, trying to wipe the hot liquid from his skin.
A little more awake now, he placed his mug in the sink and grabbed a cloth to mop up the spill. He bent to the floor to clean up his mess, and when he straightened again stars flashed before his eyes, making him feel dizzy and light-headed. He abruptly sat down with a groan before he collapsed.
Come on, you can do this. Just don't fall asleep. He instructed himself. It was extremely difficult to extract himself from the soft cushion, but he managed eventually, holding his head in his hands and forcing his legs to support him through sheer strength of will. It was almost painful to do, the only thing he wanted more than anything else was a reprieve. He just wanted to rest.
That seemed an impossible hope now.
Bakura sighed, miserable and scared. He shuffled his way to the bathroom to splash some ice water on his face in the hopes it would clear his head.
The squeak of the tap and the subsequent gush of water broke the silence that he had become so accustomed to. He glanced around nervously, fearing that the sudden noise might have disturbed... something. He shook his head a moment later at the ridiculous notion, and scrubbed his face heartily with both hands full of water. The shock of the cold faded quickly, fast becoming part of the numbing sensation that seemed to be taking over his whole body. He looked up into the mirror and almost didn't recognize himself. He was deathly pale, and his cheeks were a bit sunken, the skin stretched taut across his cheekbones. He tentatively reached up to touch his face, to reassure himself that he was still warm and living. His eyes were cold and bleak, registering little. It was a ghostly sight, and one that did very little to bolster his spirits.
As soon as he dried off he felt even worse than before, numb and weak. He was in no condition to wage another battle this night. His only hope would be to keep moving and keep thinking and not sit still for more than a moment.
It was then he noticed that his pants were soaked through with the now cooled hot chocolate. Bakura wished to change them, but it seemed a dangerous proposition considering his bed was in the same room as his dresser. He did not know if he could hold out against the temptation of his bed right there in front of him. But what choice did he have? He couldn't just walk around with stains on his clothes, what would people think?
Gripping the counter with both hands, he drilled one thought into his head until he was certain that he would not disobey it.
Get in, get out. Get in, get out. Don't stay for more than a moment.
He sat there for many moments; the only sound other than his harsh breathing was the hum of the light. Gradually, after his knuckles had whitened from lack of blood, he let go and promptly started toward his room, intending to be in and out so fast he wouldn't have time to consider it.
He flicked on the switch and started towards his dresser, changing quickly in a matter of seconds. He wadded his pants into a ball and chucked them into his hamper before reaching for the light once more. He paused just long enough to cast a backwards glance to make certain everything was where it should be.
Big mistake. His eyes roved of their own accord to his bed, which almost seemed to call to him in that second. Soft and gentle. So warm and inviting.
Bakura's head began to pound from the pressure, he felt beads of sweat begin to trickle down his back.
I must resist! He scolded himself, trying to scrounge up the willpower to fight his body's desires. I need to go!
But the choice was no longer his to make. He felt himself slipping, felt his control finally crumbling in the face of his fourth night without sleep. He couldn't do it.
He was no longer himself in those next few minutes. He acted solely on instinct, letting his body take over for him. The hand poised over the light switch went limp and slid down the wall, flicking the light off as it dragged to a swinging halt at his side. He could feel his eyes droop and his mouth fall open slightly in an expression that begged for rest. Every inch of his body exuded exhaustion, craved the much needed sleep. His mind tried to rebel against the logic, but he was so tired... Surely he could sneak a moment of shut-eye, nothing more. He would only rest his eyes, not let the nightmares find him...
Against all reason he found his feet shuffling towards the bed. He fell across it listlessly, not even bothering to get undressed. The small part of him still able to voice itself demanded that he rise and get away, but he could not find the strength. For all of his efforts, his eyes closed and he succumbed to sleep almost at once.
Well well, back again. Came the cold, merciless, humorless voice. You cannot hide from me, fool. Sooner or later, I will always find you. No matter where you go, no matter where you hide, I will always be there. A dark and mocking laugh once more filled his thoughts, shredding what little hope he had left.
Now then, let us discuss again the matter of your betrayal shall we? I have a whole host of new ideas for our games tonight...
Alone and hopeless, Bakura gave in to the ice cold whisperings of the demon in his thoughts and fell into the waiting arms of the nightmares once again. He died a thousand times in the space of a moment, he watched as his friends were slaughtered again and again and again. Sometimes he watched from the side, sometimes he died to save them, sometimes he was the killer. And through it all, the mocking laughter of the spirit filled his every thought, inescapable.
And he could not scream.