Look, I never asked for this.

Ok, so I went out with him. What's the big problem here? I mean, yeah, I hated him at first, but then he kinda, y'know, grew on me, and...

Fine. Duke shouldn't have been anywhere near us in the first place.

I shouldn't have been anywhere near us in the first place. Hell, if I'd kept the sense that I got the hard way then I probably would have called the cops the moment he broke in through my bedroom through window. And I'd have screamed. But I didn't, which is why I'm even in this mess at the moment.

I wouldn't be in this shit if I'd never dated Duke, come to think of it.

Anyway. You're all probably thinking, is this bitch mad? Yes, I am. Crazy mad. But I guess that, to show you how I got this way, I'm gonna have to take some steps back. You wanna know what I'm talking about? Here are my shoes. Walk a mile in 'em, or rather, a lot of miles, because this all started way, way back, when I was in high school in a city called Domino, and just after having had my heart ripped outta my hopeful teenage chest and trampled into the cold, hard ground by a shithead called Duke Devlin...

Let's begin, shall we?

It was early on into the school year and I hated myself.

I sat at my desk at lunch, an origami zoo in front of me, and watched the popular kids from the corner of my eye. They all sat around in groups, laughing, chatting, and - in some rare and extreme cases - eating.

Nobody ever came near my desk except the guy who sat beside me. And once - the paper in my hands nearly ripped with the jolt of fury that made my fingers curl - The Jackass.

That lazy, lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch.

He was over in the corner at the back of the class, impressing yet more girls with his fancy party tricks - which, I noted, with a flash of satisfaction, had never ever worked on me - and flirting with everyone, including himself.

Man, I could even hear his fucking smooth voice all the way up here in the top-right corner. And the fangirls squealing when he did the least little thing. Cunts.

"Ohh, Duke, you're so cool!~"

"Please do another trick for us, Duke!~"

"Duke, would you like a cupcake? I baked them myself.~"

The small, paper square that I ripped out of my notebook and ripped with a ruler blurred in front of my staring eyes. I bit my lip to stop myself from growling in self-loathing, blinking angrily and folding another model to go with the collection in front of me. Not that it'd matter anyway; I always threw them into the bin after school, because why would I want to take something home that holds all of my memories of loneliness and hate and rage from the place where I was nothing more that a sad, gullible little nobody?

Yeah... as you've probably realised, I'm not exactly the purest-minded person on the planet here. But hey, I'm only human.

Human, stupid and forgettable.

I could the nearest conversation beside me change from talking about somebody beating someone else in a children's card game to a person. A specifically nasty person.

Not only was the subject change a rarity in itself, but the fact that they were talking about that white-haired, womanising prick -

"He's getting worse." A cute guy, his brother, sighed wearily. "It's almost as if he wants to pick fights with me about it. And he was home late last night."

The Blonde snorts. He's an annoying perv, but bearable. Mostly. "Isn't that normal for him anyway?" He mutters, dubiously. Cutie makes a tch noise.

"Only when he's found another one."

Queue sounds of worry - general tut-tuttings, exasperated murmurs and the like. I finished the final fold for the body, rolling my eyes. Since when has Bakura not had a victim? Curiouser and curiouser.

The bell rang, sounding the ten-minute alarm before classes were to begin again. The groups stayed together, slowly moving towards the doorway and the lockers, complaining of the class they had next, the fact that they hadn't managed to finish their lunch - well, I thought, serves you right for all the chatting you were doing about your fad diet, ya whore - and of other gossip which was vital to the greasing of the machine that is Social Life.

The guy beside me, next to the wall, grunted in disdain, closing the lid of his laptop with a sharp snap that sent my paper creations fluttering around the place, some to the floor, others remaining like mutilated soldiers on a battlefield - the screamless dead, I reminded myself, showing that the old book of poetry I'd found the other day wasn't going to waste - but somehow leaving the little bench and the person I'd just made intact. Funny, really, because he looks as if his shoulders are hunched, like he's lonely, too. I felt a pang of guilt, like, I dunno, maybe I should have made him a companion or something - but I sweep them all into my jumper instead, transporting them to their final resing place among everyone else's garbage.

After all - I sweep them off of me in short, jerky strokes - who'd want something that was made to be torn apart?

Don't look at me like that, I didn't know any better at the time. But I soon would.

That afternoon, in fact.

I always avoided the crush.

I couldn't help it. Nobody to go with, nothing much to go to, and besides, taking down my notes off'f the blackboard was far more important than rushing to the nearby GameStop to see if any new booster packs for that weird game that everyone except me plays.

Fine, I'll admit it: I'm a nerd. Academical success mattered more to me than Duel Monsters, which, might I add, I never have had the time or the money to play. So there.

I took down the final notes, looked over my work, ignored the completely-not-accidental jerk of The Jackass swinging his bag against my shoulder on his way out while he called out to another girl across the room - "Hey Anita, wanna grab a coffee with me, darling?" - waited for nearly everyone to disappear, then - and only then - did I close my pencilcase, gather my books and get up. Kaiba glared at me, pointedly shutting his laptop and putting it into his briefcase.

"Take your time about it, it's not like I don't have more important things to do than to wait for you to move," he growled, same as he did every day. In retaliation, I gave him the same flick of my ponytailed hair, carrying my books with me as I called back over my shoulder -

"If you wanna be outta here faster, Mister Busy, then why don't you sit on the outside?

- like I did every day. Yup, my life was just full of interesting surprises, I glumly told myself. It's not like something stranger than normal's gonna happen. Seriously.

Hah. Jinx.

The corridors were mercifully clear; only the odd straggler to be seen: people like me, with downcast eyes and strange habits and survival instincts that were always blaring.

Well. So I liked to think, anyway.

I moved past them, reaching my locker and tugging at the jammed door - courtesy of Duke, I thought sourly - and finally managing to open it far enough so that I could pull out my bag, my books and my turned-off phone, which I then revived,slipping it into my pocket. It's not like anybody would leave any messages on my phone, anyway - my servicing company excepted.

I was out of my own thoughts for long enough to notice the yellow post-it note stuck to my locker as I leaned on it to force it into submission, but waited until I'd actually shut the damned thing before pulling it off to look at it.

Oh dear. Another one.

"Duke," I muttered to myself, crumpling it up and slamming it into the bin beside the school door to the glorious outside - "When are you gonna learn that I'm not going back to you, you slimy little mudball?"

I stepped out and onto the long walk home.

My bag was heavy, as always. My thoughts had brightened up a bit, as they always did when I left school. I turned left and up the little side street that acted as a shortcut to my family's house as always, and I stopped to glance in the window of the cosy little restaurant that I'd been to once or twice, as always -

But what was not as always was the white-haired, ghost-skinned, arrogant, deceitful bastard who stared right back at me through the window, smiled, and made a "Come in" gesture to me - and then winked at me. I could feel my face burn.

I whipped my gaze away and very quickly stomped off, almost unable to hear the sound of my thought over the alarm bells clanging in my brain.

That absolute cunt! How the hell'd he even find the place!? It's so far off his way home that - that -

"Only when he's found another one."

"When he's found another one."

"He's found another one."

I had a terrible feeling that "Another one" was me.

An icy chill began to run in my veins until it was replaced by my normal sense of being: Resigned morbid cyniscism. I thought about it, then shrugged.

Well, balls.