Putting Holes in Happiness, a yu-gi-oh fanfic

Author's Note: Wow…I hate putting notes in. But anyway…this is relatively dark compared to what I normally do, but I'm wicked proud of how it turned out. I hope you like it! The lyrics used in this story are from "Putting Holes in Happiness" by Marilyn Manson. That's like, my favorite song. Read and leave reviews if you like, no pressure if you don't want to. It's kinda sad…at parts. The other character at the beginning isn't really any character from anything…but she's sort of like Audrina from V.C. Andrew's book My Sweet Audrina. Seriously, not her though. I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!, I don't own Marilyn Manson's song, I don't own aforementioned book either. I DO own this story. So enjoy it. I'll shut up now. (:

The sky was blonde like her, it was a day to take the child out back and shoot it. I could've buried all my dead up in her cemetery head. She had dirty word witchcraft I was in the deep end of her skin. Then, it seemed like a one car wreck but I knew it was a horrid tragedy. Ways to make the tiny satisfaction disappear.

Bakura stood in the cemetery just minutes passed midnight and gazed out among the vast hills and dips of the final resting ground. The mausoleum to his left was unseen. His eyes were unfocussed as he allowed the wind to blow his white hair back from his face. He was lost in a memory of that night. It had been nearly a year, but it seemed like just yesterday…

"What are you doing, Audrina?" Bakura asked in a soft voice as he walked into the dark room. The curtains were drawn and it was just minutes passed midnight. The blonde sat at the table in the center of the dining room with a candle glowing in front of her face.

"Close the door. You're letting in the light," she whispered. Baffled, Bakura stepped in and closed the door.

"Audrina, what are you doing?" He asked again with more force. Audrina closed her eyes and began to hum, her fingers tracing patterns absently in the dust on the top of the generally unused table. Bakura stared at the pattern that was forming. He looked back up at Audrina.

"You're doing it again. I thought we talked about this. It has to come to a stop."

Beautiful blue eyes shot open and focused sharply on the white haired man before her.

"You can't deny me my religion, Bakura. I've said nothing about your thieving ways. I've done nothing to change you. If you're so content on trying to change me, let's make a little deal." At this, Audrina stood and made her way across the room, dress of black velvet and deep red lace billowing around her as she walked. A drawer was opened and an object safely concealed in a brown paper wrapping and tied with a piece of maroon ribbon was removed. Audrina walked softly on bare feet across the floor to the man.

"I love you as you are." She whispered as she had on many occasions before this. The truth was that Bakura had tried to love her for what she was, he just hadn't been able to get past his secret hatred for the young girl. Because of her, his family had disowned him. That was back when he thought he'd wanted her. That was back when her dark magic practices had been a welcome wonder to him. He couldn't bring himself to love her. He couldn't get past the true hate of what she was.

The brown package was placed in his hand and, though it was small, it held more weight than it appeared to at first glance. Bakura looked at it.

"I will go over there, and I will take a seat. If you win, I will become just what you want me to be. If I win…" She trailed off and watched the change in Bakura's face as unwrapped the object. The pistol glinted in his hand as the light from the tiny candle hit it. He looked up at her, face paler than it had been. "You're a thief. If you lose…well, it's just another thing you've stolen. What's one more life taken compared to the millions you've ruined with your plunders?" Her voice was chilling and it held so much truth. What did it matter? "Go ahead, Bakura…spin it." Bakura did as she said and, without another moment's hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

The sound resonated in his ears and it seemed to dull all other sounds as the powder filled the air with smoke and the scent of sulfur. He wondered absently if his hearing was forever lost. He watched her slump as the bullet hit and a smirk rose on her pink lips. As she fell to the side in a heap, a faint splattering of deep red was visible on the wall, on the curtain, on the furniture surrounding. Bakura could only stare in disbelief. He had killed her.

Bakura backed into the table and gasped as the candle toppled to the floor along with a stack of pictures of the two of them, neither smiling in any of the captures. A soft blaze grew and the night ended with the house in flames. No one had found Bakura's body, but he'd been assumed dead. The flames never left his mind, especially the way her flesh looked in the light of the flickering flames as they soon engulfed that smirking face and made the skin melt as though it were plastic.

Blow out the candles on all my Frankensteins. At least my death wish will come true. You taste like Valentines and we cry, you're like a birthday. I should have picked the photograph. It lasted longer than you.

Bakura shuddered at the memory and glanced down at the grave. She'd essentially been cremated by him that night, but her father had demanded she be buried with the rest of the family in the family plot. He held the flower in his hand tightly, the thorns biting into his pale flesh. He thought about leaving the rose, but realized he'd never loved her to begin with. As he walked away, his blood droplets fell upon the stone, but the rose remained in his clenched fist.

He walked on in wondering silence, crumpling the rose in his hand and tossing it into the fresh snow. A faint crying could be heard as his feet carried him through the park. His eyes searched for the source of the crying, and the finally rested upon soft, flowing sandy hair. His eyes widened. The color of her hair. Bakura, despite what happened a year ago, felt a rising hatred that had been kept at bay since that night. He approached and the sound of sobs stopped altogether, the owner turning to face him. He was surprised as he was met by the gaze of a male and at the first sight of the lavender eyes, the hatred melted away. His bronze skin appeared to glow in the moonlight and the tears on his cheeks presented a soft glaze, making him look unreal and so vulnerable. Bakura felt weak in the knees and had no choice but to sit beside the teen on the bench.

"Are you alright?" Bakura asked in a concerned whisper. The boy held his attention like no one ever had. The boy looked at him with a sense of the world that was far beyond his years and experience.

"I just killed my father." Bakura's eyes widened as they rested on the beauty beside him. Lavender eyes closed and soft breaths floated from the rose petal lips.

Putting holes in happiness. We'll paint the future black if it needs any color. My death sentence is a story. Who'll be digging when you finally let me die? The romance of our assassination. If you're Bonnie I'll be your Clyde. But the grass is greener here and I can see all of your snakes. You wear your ruins well. Please run away with me to hell.

"I killed my girlfriend a year ago to the hour. Why did you do it?" Bakura asked in a whisper, totally unaware of the sentence before his inquiry, unaware of his admittance, unaware of anything but the feeling of captive attentiveness for this boy.

"My father raped my sister. My father raped me. I couldn't look at his face any more." Bakura felt his heart melt with sympathy as the tan boy spoke these words. I just need to wait until morning when they find him. I'll be behind bars in a matter of hours.

"No…" before the words had entered his mind, they'd left his lips. "I'm going to help you."

"Why would you want to help me?" he asked with guarded curiosity. He was unaccustomed to any one caring to help him, let alone caring to look at him. Bakura was drawn back to reality at the question and he asked himself the same thing. Why did he want to help this stranger that he'd shared so much with already?

"Because…we're one in the same. We're just alike and I'm tired of being alone. I want to help you because…once we're free…"

"What will happen once we're free?" The boy asked in a breathy whisper that sent shivers down Bakura's pale spine. He drew closer to the boy to give his answer, their faces close, each breath and every word could be felt on the other's lips.

"Once we're free, you're mine." Bakura could hardly believe his own words.

"It's a deal…" came the whispered reply. "I'm Marik."

"I'm Bakura," Bakura said, hiding the weakness he felt inside. These feelings…he'd never known them for another man. He felt as though he'd located completion, as though he'd found bliss, as though he wanted to give his life to this stranger…this Marik…and get his body in return. That's all he wanted. He wanted an equal, one that wouldn't run at his voice, one that wouldn't run at his name, one that wouldn't cringe from his touch. He'd thought himself to be plagued forever, unfit for another human's attention. He claimed the teen's lips in a kiss. Marik kissed back, apparently more used to this than the white haired nineteen-year-old before him. He put one hand to the back of his head, cradling his neck and pulling him closer all in one gesture. The other arm went to the elder's lap and found his hand, their fingers twining together. Bakura felt sparks at this perfection and had to fight back the need to push the boy onto the bench and climb on top. There would be plenty of time for that later. His free hand slid down Marik's chest, wanting to feel the muscles beneath move. Marik allowed the escape of a small moan, leaving his lips parted enough for an eager tongue to slip through. Bakura slid his exploring tongue between the soft lips. The wet cavern within felt so natural, so amazing and his taste was that of freedom and love. Bakura could simply not get enough. After a moment, he realized that their time had been dwindling as they shared a kiss meant for the gods and he pulled back just enough to speak to his partner in crime.

"We must go now. This can continue later."

"Are you my boyfriend now?" Marik asked as though Bakura had never spoken.

"Yes…if you'll have me."

"Of course I will. I'll have you as a husband if we can find someone to marry us."

"All in good time, Baby. Tonight we must ensure that we have the time in the future. Take me to where your father is," Bakura said gently, standing hand in hand with his equal. Marik began to walk, leading Bakura down side streets in the dark and to his house. They stopped perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes later in the backyard of a rather large house. Marik and Bakura stood in silence as they stared up at it.

"Bakura?" Marik asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes Marik?"

"I love you."

Surprised, Bakura turned to look at the teen to his right. "How can you? We've only just met." Bakura was playing Devil's Advocate, his feelings the same as what Marik proclaimed his to be.

"You can't tell me that you don't feel my soul within yours. You can't tell me that we weren't meant to be. You can't say you don't love me." Marik said with such certainty. Bakura nodded.

"Yes. I love you too." The two looked at each other for a moment and then Bakura stepped forward, releasing the hand of Marik. Marik watched him move, fascinated by every movement of his body, the way his shoulder blades shifted under the material of the striped shirt.

Bakura looked at Marik who had joined his side just at that moment. A soft voice could be heard.

"Marik?" Marik turned to the voice and saw his sister had come around from the front of the house and was holding a lit candle. Bakura tensed at the sight of fire. He'd been thinking about letting the house burn, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it.

"Aishizu…I was just about to come in for the night."

"What are you doing outside?" She said, hand on hip, eyeing Bakura with distrust. Her and her brother had always been close. Marik knew full well that there could be no witnesses. No matter what. Marik placed a kiss upon Bakura's cheek and walked toward the house.

"Don't tell father that I snuck out." Bakura waited for Marik, anxious to see the outcome of this situation.

"Marik…"

"Please…I never told on you last fall when you snuck out…" Marik was in the house with her now and their voices were reduced to faint whispers. Marik lit a candle and sat it in the center of the kitchen table, noticing that there were photographs spread along the wooden surface. He saw his father. He saw his sister. He saw himself. "Hug me, won't you?" his sister approached and for a moment he faltered. He looked out the window as he pulled his sister against him and his eyes rested instantly upon his companion. His sister could never understand what he'd done. His sister could never understand why he'd done it. She could never accept him and he knew this. Bakura's skin seemed to glow in the light from the moon, making him look even more beautiful. From outside, Bakura could see his new lover looking out at him, face illuminated by the flickering candle, causing him to draw in a sharp breath. The cold air hurt his lungs on its way in.

"I love you, sister."

"I love you too, Marik. I would think you'd know that."

"Of course. Good bye."

"Good bye?"

Marik picked up a photograph on the table of the three of them and held it to the flame, watching as it set ablaze their faces and he threw it at his sister, hearing her shriek and cry out. He couldn't risk the only witness escaping, so he took a knife from the counter and lifted it above his head, bringing the handle down on her head and rendering her unconscious. He didn't dare cast a last look at her.

Back outside once more, Bakura could only stare as the house began to smoke, blaze and crackle. He didn't notice as Marik walked out safely, arms wrapping around his lover's waist.

"Can we go now, 'Kura?" Marik whispered softly in his ear. Bakura kissed Marik and then took his hand, leading him away swiftly. The house burned in the background as they walked on to their safety and their new future. Hand in hand, they left their past behind them. As they walked, Bakura saw a single rose growing in a bush out front of the remnants of his old home, just a few streets over from where Marik had lived. He picked it, not minding the thorns staining his hands with blood. The rose had finally found someone that deserved it. Bakura handed it to Marik, the rose lacking in beauty compared to the Egyptian.

With a smile, he took the rose and placed a kiss upon the lips that were now his. With eyes closed in bliss, neither saw the smoke that made the slowly lightening sky black.