Pointless and cliched. Hint of Bakura/Ryou.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!.
"Pathetic," Bakura sneered as he watched a tear slide down Ryou's bruised cheek with narrowed eyes. "Baka Hikari. When will you ever learn?"
A deranged smile fixed upon his face, Bakura lifted his foot in the air and swung it at his hikari. Ryou squeezed his eyes shut as Bakura kicked him brutally in the chest. Winded and gasping for air, Ryou kept his eyes clamped shut tightly, fighting back a bout of tears. He remained motionless on the floor, flinching when he felt Bakura leaning over him.
"Never show weakness," he whispered dangerously. He delivered a final blow to Ryou's stomach and stormed off, saying, "That will conclude tonight's lesson."
Gingerly, Ryou picked himself up off the floor, a nauseous feeling overtaking him at the sight of all of the blood around him. He staggered to the bathroom, following the routine he did after every one of his yami's "lessons." Once inside, he peeked at his reflection in the mirror. As always, he looked dreadful; his hair was matted with dried blood, his lip was bloody and swollen, and a nasty black and blue bruise was forming over his left eye and cheek. Turning away from the mirror, Ryou began to undress, wincing as he peeled off his tattered, torn, and bloody clothing, disturbing his multiple cuts and bruises as he did so.
Tossing his mutilated clothes in the trash, Ryou stepped into the shower. He received a slight shock when the water first beat down on him, but he got used to it, like he always did, and soon the sharp, stabbing pains he felt all over his body dulled to a mere throbbing. Numbness. He was always numb.
Robotically, Ryou reached for the shampoo, squirted some into his hand, and washed his hair, scrubbing out the crusty blood and dirt, cleaning it back to its original pure, snow-white color.
//This wouldn't be happening if you weren't such a weakling, Hikari,// Bakura taunted through their mind link.
'Bakura just loves to rub salt in the wounds, doesn't he?' Ryou thought bitterly. Apparently Bakura heard him.
//I'm only telling you the truth. Look around you. You're all alone in this world. Your mother and sister are dead, your father is never home, and you're so-called friends don't care to bother with a pathetic mortal like you. But don't worry. You still have me, aibou,// he mocked.
Hot tears spilled from Ryou's eyes and streamed down his overly pale cheeks at his yami's words. Must he mock him with that word: aibou? Bakura knew how much Ryou longed for some sort of companion or close friend, and he used that knowledge to kick Ryou while he was down. Hearing his deepest fears confirmed by his other self made him feel (if possible) even more depressed. 'Why, though?' Ryou thought miserably. 'Why doesn't anyone care?'
Bakura's words were one hundred percent true. His sister and mother both died in a car accident when he was fairly young, leaving him alone with his father. Then his father began going on archaeological digs in Egypt and was rarely home to see his only son. He left Ryou alone for several months at a time, occasionally coming home randomly for short periods of time.
And then there was Yugi-tachi. Sure, they were friendly at school and talked to him every now and again, but lately Ryou had taken to notice that they never asked him to participate in activities outside of school with them. Never once did they ask him to go to the beach or arcade with them, though he knew these were activities they frequently partook in. They acted like he was part of the group, but Ryou knew better. In reality, they were farther away from him than his father in Egypt.
Ryou paused his fierce scrubbing for a moment to observe his shampoo bottle more closely. Through his blurred, tear-filled vision, he read in big, bold letters, "tear free."
Ryou blinked. Tear free? His shampoo was tear free? Then what was the salty liquid running down his face and mixing with the water pouring out from the shower head?
Nothing in Ryou's life was "tear free." Half of his life was spent being beaten up by Bakura during his lessons, which were supposedly given to him in order to toughen him up. The other half was spent cleaning up his wounds, attending school, and trying to fall asleep at night. Ryou lost track of how many times he cried himself to sleep and woke with red, swollen eyes and a dry throat.
Occasionally, Ryou sensed Bakura watching him on those nights, though even if he was really there and not a figment of his imagination, he never said a word of comfort; he just stood there, a blank look on his face. Ryou wondered if Bakura ever felt even the slightest bit guilty or remorseful about what he did to him, about what he put him through on a daily basis.
'Yeah, right,' Ryou snorted. 'Bakura doesn't care about anybody but himself. Never has, never will.'
Ryou rinsed his hair, the soapy water getting into his wide, chocolate brown eyes as the tears fell down faster and he choked out a small sob.
'If this shampoo is tear free, then why am I crying?'
Written by Hikari