It was morning, and I had to get up. It's just what you do in the morning,
get up, no matter how tired or in pain you are. You just roll off the bed
and put on some clothes before hurrying to school. That's what I did now,
despite my mental and physical protest. Maybe I wouldn't have, maybe I
would have defied the rules if a buzzard wasn't screaming in my ear, but
there it was, cold and heartless in its attempt to wake me up. I picked
the alarm clock up and slammed it against the wall - hard - smiling when I
heard it go silent as it slid to the floor, merely a bunch of scrap metal.
The clock's me and I'm Bakura, and no one can hurt me or wake me up when I
don't want to be woken if I'm Bakura.
I pulled on a new T-shirt and jacket, leaving my jeans that I'd worn yesterday when I passed out on, too tired or lazy to do much else.
Walking into the bathroom, clutching at my side as I did so, I limped through the hall, my right leg numb for some reason. I passed my parents' room nosily, but only got a loud 'SHUT UP.' They had to know that I'm in pain, what with my grunts of effort, and yet they didn't care. They never cared and probably would never care, even if I died. No one would. Why was I even trying to get a little sympathy?
Like always, I took some pills for my pain and bandaged my stomach tightly with strips of cloth I kept under the sink. It never helped, there is no reason that it would, but I did it anyway because *I* cared, and if I didn't, Bakura would do it for me, which is never pleasant.
It's my job to keep his vessel in tip-top shape, after all.
With that unpleasant thought lingering in my mind, I shouldered my backpack and walked out the door, one hand pressed against my gut and the other holding the strap of my pack. It was raining slightly, a light drizzle that couldn't have gotten me drenched even if all the water was focused solely upon my head. Even so, I got the sharp feeling of needing a rain coat from Bakura. It's always strange when the abuser makes you wear a coat on rainy days and bandage up your sores after he beats you.
School sucked. Because I was late (Bakura made me go back and fetch a heavy coat), I had to stand in the hall holding two buckets of water, which I just frankly couldn't do. Pain was beating at my ribs, and my arm was still twitching from last night. People laughed at me for not being able to take even a minor punishment, calling me 'the British she-boy,' just like Bakura did. It made me cringe and feel like my heart was boiling. I wanted to scream at them and cry at the same time. The only thing that I could ever stand up to was my alarm clock, an *object* that isn't even worth standing up to.
My day continued like this, people laughing when I couldn't run in P.E, or watching me with pity in their eyes when I was sent out of the class room because I hadn't done last night's homework. I felt like a failure, and immature she-boy who can't do anything. It occurred to me that I should be afraid of taking such remarks from people who didn't even know me so seriously, but I was craving affection, craving love, and it cut deep that I was getting just the opposite.
At the house where I lived, I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing and feeling nothing. Eventually Bakura took over and went to a Club or something out of sheer boredom, meeting people who had to do with his plans or whatever, and when he got bored he retreated, leaving me alone and confused in the arms of a strange woman. He made me kiss her once, and then ignored me. Why would he do that unless he felt I needed to get out more? And why would he care if I needed to? I ended the kiss, not feeling anything but a tad of embarrassment and shame for her before I left the red and purple bar room with crazy dancers and ear- splitting music. It was hard to find the door, and by the time I finally did, a feeling of being trapped in a stuffy cage was increasing at an alarming rate.
But I didn't go home. I just slid down the wall and onto the sidewalk tiredly, like an old man who has seen many things and been through numerous traumas. The truth was, I didn't want to go back, ever. And that thought scared me more than anything. I knew that rationalizing that I couldn't just leave everything behind wouldn't help because, truthfully, there is nothing that I or my Yami would ever miss. 'Home' is just a word that I can use freely, but I'll probably never feel.
"Need a puff?" I started at the gravely voice at my side. It sounded lame and dead, as did the woman staring at me through dark, half-closed eyelids looked.
I just stared at her, willing myself to say no. But if I had no where to go and no one to miss me, why shouldn't I? My eyes slid to the cigarette- like object she was holding in her tattooed hands, unsure. That wasn't good. That thing had death and jail written all over it.
It shamed me, but the last thought was rather appealing.
I shook my head at her, even as I extended my hand. She took the drug out of her hand and put it in my own palm, smiling and nodding approvingly. "Da way da go, homie." I stared at her. Suddenly this didn't seem so appealing. Truly, deep down, I didn't want to end up like her, alone and weak, completely poor with everything against me and my life down the drain. But thinking about it, I realized that I was already like that.
And without further ado, I made like Dopey from Snow White and joined the club of idiots.
A/N: REVOEW It was morning, and I had to get up. It's just what you do in the morning, get up, no matter how tired or in pain you are. You just roll off the bed and put on some clothes before hurrying to school. That's what I did now, despite my mental and physical protest. Maybe I wouldn't have, maybe I would have defied the rules if a buzzard wasn't screaming in my ear, but there it was, cold and heartless in its attempt to wake me up. I picked the alarm clock up and slammed it against the wall - hard - smiling when I heard it go silent as it slid to the floor, merely a bunch of scrap metal. The clock's me and I'm Bakura, and no one can hurt me or wake me up when I don't want to be woken if I'm Bakura.
I pulled on a new T-shirt and jacket, leaving my jeans that I'd worn yesterday when I passed out on, too tired or lazy to do much else.
Walking into the bathroom, clutching at my side as I did so, I limped through the hall, my right leg numb for some reason. I passed my parents' room nosily, but only got a loud 'SHUT UP.' They had to know that I'm in pain, what with my grunts of effort, and yet they didn't care. They never cared and probably would never care, even if I died. No one would. Why was I even trying to get a little sympathy?
Like always, I took some pills for my pain and bandaged my stomach tightly with strips of cloth I kept under the sink. It never helped, there is no reason that it would, but I did it anyway because *I* cared, and if I didn't, Bakura would do it for me, which is never pleasant.
It's my job to keep his vessel in tip-top shape, after all.
With that unpleasant thought lingering in my mind, I shouldered my backpack and walked out the door, one hand pressed against my gut and the other holding the strap of my pack. It was raining slightly, a light drizzle that couldn't have gotten me drenched even if all the water was focused solely upon my head. Even so, I got the sharp feeling of needing a rain coat from Bakura. It's always strange when the abuser makes you wear a coat on rainy days and bandage up your sores after he beats you.
School sucked. Because I was late (Bakura made me go back and fetch a heavy coat), I had to stand in the hall holding two buckets of water, which I just frankly couldn't do. Pain was beating at my ribs, and my arm was still twitching from last night. People laughed at me for not being able to take even a minor punishment, calling me 'the British she-boy,' just like Bakura did. It made me cringe and feel like my heart was boiling. I wanted to scream at them and cry at the same time. The only thing that I could ever stand up to was my alarm clock, an *object* that isn't even worth standing up to.
My day continued like this, people laughing when I couldn't run in P.E, or watching me with pity in their eyes when I was sent out of the class room because I hadn't done last night's homework. I felt like a failure, and immature she-boy who can't do anything. It occurred to me that I should be afraid of taking such remarks from people who didn't even know me so seriously, but I was craving affection, craving love, and it cut deep that I was getting just the opposite.
At the house where I lived, I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing and feeling nothing. Eventually Bakura took over and went to a Club or something out of sheer boredom, meeting people who had to do with his plans or whatever, and when he got bored he retreated, leaving me alone and confused in the arms of a strange woman. He made me kiss her once, and then ignored me. Why would he do that unless he felt I needed to get out more? And why would he care if I needed to? I ended the kiss, not feeling anything but a tad of embarrassment and shame for her before I left the red and purple bar room with crazy dancers and ear- splitting music. It was hard to find the door, and by the time I finally did, a feeling of being trapped in a stuffy cage was increasing at an alarming rate.
But I didn't go home. I just slid down the wall and onto the sidewalk tiredly, like an old man who has seen many things and been through numerous traumas. The truth was, I didn't want to go back, ever. And that thought scared me more than anything. I knew that rationalizing that I couldn't just leave everything behind wouldn't help because, truthfully, there is nothing that I or my Yami would ever miss. 'Home' is just a word that I can use freely, but I'll probably never feel.
"Need a puff?" I started at the gravely voice at my side. It sounded lame and dead, as did the woman staring at me through dark, half-closed eyelids looked.
I just stared at her, willing myself to say no. But if I had no where to go and no one to miss me, why shouldn't I? My eyes slid to the cigarette- like object she was holding in her tattooed hands, unsure. That wasn't good. That thing had death and jail written all over it.
It shamed me, but the last thought was rather appealing.
I shook my head at her, even as I extended my hand. She took the drug out of her hand and put it in my own palm, smiling and nodding approvingly. "Da way da go, homie." I stared at her. Suddenly this didn't seem so appealing. Truly, deep down, I didn't want to end up like her, alone and weak, completely poor with everything against me and my life down the drain. But thinking about it, I realized that I was already like that.
And without further ado, I made like Dopey from Snow White and joined the club of idiots.
A/N: REVIEW!!!! And tell me the truth. ;D
I pulled on a new T-shirt and jacket, leaving my jeans that I'd worn yesterday when I passed out on, too tired or lazy to do much else.
Walking into the bathroom, clutching at my side as I did so, I limped through the hall, my right leg numb for some reason. I passed my parents' room nosily, but only got a loud 'SHUT UP.' They had to know that I'm in pain, what with my grunts of effort, and yet they didn't care. They never cared and probably would never care, even if I died. No one would. Why was I even trying to get a little sympathy?
Like always, I took some pills for my pain and bandaged my stomach tightly with strips of cloth I kept under the sink. It never helped, there is no reason that it would, but I did it anyway because *I* cared, and if I didn't, Bakura would do it for me, which is never pleasant.
It's my job to keep his vessel in tip-top shape, after all.
With that unpleasant thought lingering in my mind, I shouldered my backpack and walked out the door, one hand pressed against my gut and the other holding the strap of my pack. It was raining slightly, a light drizzle that couldn't have gotten me drenched even if all the water was focused solely upon my head. Even so, I got the sharp feeling of needing a rain coat from Bakura. It's always strange when the abuser makes you wear a coat on rainy days and bandage up your sores after he beats you.
School sucked. Because I was late (Bakura made me go back and fetch a heavy coat), I had to stand in the hall holding two buckets of water, which I just frankly couldn't do. Pain was beating at my ribs, and my arm was still twitching from last night. People laughed at me for not being able to take even a minor punishment, calling me 'the British she-boy,' just like Bakura did. It made me cringe and feel like my heart was boiling. I wanted to scream at them and cry at the same time. The only thing that I could ever stand up to was my alarm clock, an *object* that isn't even worth standing up to.
My day continued like this, people laughing when I couldn't run in P.E, or watching me with pity in their eyes when I was sent out of the class room because I hadn't done last night's homework. I felt like a failure, and immature she-boy who can't do anything. It occurred to me that I should be afraid of taking such remarks from people who didn't even know me so seriously, but I was craving affection, craving love, and it cut deep that I was getting just the opposite.
At the house where I lived, I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing and feeling nothing. Eventually Bakura took over and went to a Club or something out of sheer boredom, meeting people who had to do with his plans or whatever, and when he got bored he retreated, leaving me alone and confused in the arms of a strange woman. He made me kiss her once, and then ignored me. Why would he do that unless he felt I needed to get out more? And why would he care if I needed to? I ended the kiss, not feeling anything but a tad of embarrassment and shame for her before I left the red and purple bar room with crazy dancers and ear- splitting music. It was hard to find the door, and by the time I finally did, a feeling of being trapped in a stuffy cage was increasing at an alarming rate.
But I didn't go home. I just slid down the wall and onto the sidewalk tiredly, like an old man who has seen many things and been through numerous traumas. The truth was, I didn't want to go back, ever. And that thought scared me more than anything. I knew that rationalizing that I couldn't just leave everything behind wouldn't help because, truthfully, there is nothing that I or my Yami would ever miss. 'Home' is just a word that I can use freely, but I'll probably never feel.
"Need a puff?" I started at the gravely voice at my side. It sounded lame and dead, as did the woman staring at me through dark, half-closed eyelids looked.
I just stared at her, willing myself to say no. But if I had no where to go and no one to miss me, why shouldn't I? My eyes slid to the cigarette- like object she was holding in her tattooed hands, unsure. That wasn't good. That thing had death and jail written all over it.
It shamed me, but the last thought was rather appealing.
I shook my head at her, even as I extended my hand. She took the drug out of her hand and put it in my own palm, smiling and nodding approvingly. "Da way da go, homie." I stared at her. Suddenly this didn't seem so appealing. Truly, deep down, I didn't want to end up like her, alone and weak, completely poor with everything against me and my life down the drain. But thinking about it, I realized that I was already like that.
And without further ado, I made like Dopey from Snow White and joined the club of idiots.
A/N: REVOEW It was morning, and I had to get up. It's just what you do in the morning, get up, no matter how tired or in pain you are. You just roll off the bed and put on some clothes before hurrying to school. That's what I did now, despite my mental and physical protest. Maybe I wouldn't have, maybe I would have defied the rules if a buzzard wasn't screaming in my ear, but there it was, cold and heartless in its attempt to wake me up. I picked the alarm clock up and slammed it against the wall - hard - smiling when I heard it go silent as it slid to the floor, merely a bunch of scrap metal. The clock's me and I'm Bakura, and no one can hurt me or wake me up when I don't want to be woken if I'm Bakura.
I pulled on a new T-shirt and jacket, leaving my jeans that I'd worn yesterday when I passed out on, too tired or lazy to do much else.
Walking into the bathroom, clutching at my side as I did so, I limped through the hall, my right leg numb for some reason. I passed my parents' room nosily, but only got a loud 'SHUT UP.' They had to know that I'm in pain, what with my grunts of effort, and yet they didn't care. They never cared and probably would never care, even if I died. No one would. Why was I even trying to get a little sympathy?
Like always, I took some pills for my pain and bandaged my stomach tightly with strips of cloth I kept under the sink. It never helped, there is no reason that it would, but I did it anyway because *I* cared, and if I didn't, Bakura would do it for me, which is never pleasant.
It's my job to keep his vessel in tip-top shape, after all.
With that unpleasant thought lingering in my mind, I shouldered my backpack and walked out the door, one hand pressed against my gut and the other holding the strap of my pack. It was raining slightly, a light drizzle that couldn't have gotten me drenched even if all the water was focused solely upon my head. Even so, I got the sharp feeling of needing a rain coat from Bakura. It's always strange when the abuser makes you wear a coat on rainy days and bandage up your sores after he beats you.
School sucked. Because I was late (Bakura made me go back and fetch a heavy coat), I had to stand in the hall holding two buckets of water, which I just frankly couldn't do. Pain was beating at my ribs, and my arm was still twitching from last night. People laughed at me for not being able to take even a minor punishment, calling me 'the British she-boy,' just like Bakura did. It made me cringe and feel like my heart was boiling. I wanted to scream at them and cry at the same time. The only thing that I could ever stand up to was my alarm clock, an *object* that isn't even worth standing up to.
My day continued like this, people laughing when I couldn't run in P.E, or watching me with pity in their eyes when I was sent out of the class room because I hadn't done last night's homework. I felt like a failure, and immature she-boy who can't do anything. It occurred to me that I should be afraid of taking such remarks from people who didn't even know me so seriously, but I was craving affection, craving love, and it cut deep that I was getting just the opposite.
At the house where I lived, I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing and feeling nothing. Eventually Bakura took over and went to a Club or something out of sheer boredom, meeting people who had to do with his plans or whatever, and when he got bored he retreated, leaving me alone and confused in the arms of a strange woman. He made me kiss her once, and then ignored me. Why would he do that unless he felt I needed to get out more? And why would he care if I needed to? I ended the kiss, not feeling anything but a tad of embarrassment and shame for her before I left the red and purple bar room with crazy dancers and ear- splitting music. It was hard to find the door, and by the time I finally did, a feeling of being trapped in a stuffy cage was increasing at an alarming rate.
But I didn't go home. I just slid down the wall and onto the sidewalk tiredly, like an old man who has seen many things and been through numerous traumas. The truth was, I didn't want to go back, ever. And that thought scared me more than anything. I knew that rationalizing that I couldn't just leave everything behind wouldn't help because, truthfully, there is nothing that I or my Yami would ever miss. 'Home' is just a word that I can use freely, but I'll probably never feel.
"Need a puff?" I started at the gravely voice at my side. It sounded lame and dead, as did the woman staring at me through dark, half-closed eyelids looked.
I just stared at her, willing myself to say no. But if I had no where to go and no one to miss me, why shouldn't I? My eyes slid to the cigarette- like object she was holding in her tattooed hands, unsure. That wasn't good. That thing had death and jail written all over it.
It shamed me, but the last thought was rather appealing.
I shook my head at her, even as I extended my hand. She took the drug out of her hand and put it in my own palm, smiling and nodding approvingly. "Da way da go, homie." I stared at her. Suddenly this didn't seem so appealing. Truly, deep down, I didn't want to end up like her, alone and weak, completely poor with everything against me and my life down the drain. But thinking about it, I realized that I was already like that.
And without further ado, I made like Dopey from Snow White and joined the club of idiots.
A/N: REVIEW!!!! And tell me the truth. ;D