Chapter 7: Regrets or The Ramblings of a Sick Mind.

It wasn't normal for it to feel like this. He had always hated that stupid little fuck Ishtar – hadn't he? He had always despised the weakness that had emanated from that sickly innocent teen, right?

If that was the case… then why was Marik suffering? Why did it hurt so fucking much that Malik had turned tail and fled? It had been inevitable, the young Egyptian could never have survived more of the torture Marik had put him through, so it was only right that he had run away with people he truly loved, with people who made him happy.

And why had Marik hurt him so much in the first place? Looking back on his actions, said yami seethed in both anger and, surprisingly, what appeared to be self-loathing, or maybe just confusion. It was because Ishtar had been weak, and easy prey… but no, there had to be something deeper than that, something that made Marik want to hurt him…

The answer was back in the beginning of the yami's existence. It was hard enough to show compassion when you were made entirely out of someone else's anger and hatred anyway, but it had been made harder when Marik had attempted to make peace with his host and had murdered Malik's father. In retrospect, perhaps that had been a mistake.

But no one seemed to understand. No one knew how hard it was to cope. Every fucking day of every fucking month, when he looked out of the window, Marik would see parents with their kids, something that made him want to kill or brutally maim someone in frustration, and the nearest thing had usually been Malik. It was true, there were people in the world whose parents had died, but there was no one else who knew what it was like to just… not have parents. To just suddenly exist because someone harboured so much hatred that it could not fit all in one soul. That was depressing.

Except Marik hated to show a weakness, and depression over something that was so, in his opinion, trivial was just stupid. So he had barriered himself off from others and just let his frustration show, venting it upon whoever happened to be closest at the time, whether it be the Pharaoh or Malik, both were just as convenient.

And yet… now that Malik had gone, it was like there was a void, in the house, even within the spiky-haired yami's body… that little Malik was with two other people and apparently happy with them as well. What made matters worse was that Marik had no idea why he was feeling this way.

If only… there were so many things to say 'if only' to… if only Malik hadn't given up, if only Marik hadn't pushed him so far, if only he'd been kept on a short leash, if only he could have heard those three words spoken to him instead of those white-haired slags.

Marik shook his head. Why was he thinking things like that? He didn't want or need Malik to act so fucking sappy as to croon all over him. That was for weaklings and idiots, like that dolt Bakura and his stupid hikari. Those two… those two bastards! If it hadn't been for those two fucking bastards, Malik would still be here…

Shit. Every single thought seemed to lead back to Malik. And why? Because everywhere Marik turned in his ramshackle abode he saw remnants, whether it be blood smears on the wall to torn clothes, leather outfits to shackles, everything seemed to remind him of his departed hikari.

"Fuck it all, Marik, you're making it sound like he's died!" The yami yelled irately at himself, punching the wall. Hmm, self-conversing had never been a good thing and Marik knew it; neither had punching hapless inanimate objects. And what was worse was that it didn't make him feel an ounce better.

Gods… why had Ryou and Bakura poked their noses in? Why had they stolen Malik away from him? Why had Malik agreed to go?

That last one was simple; Malik had been too abused to stay.

Marik cried out in frustration, punching the wall again. Why, why was he suffering when it wasn't his fault? He was six years old, a child in the world of men, made out of someone else's hatred and still learning new emotions all the time, without any parental figure to guide him. He had made a mistake, albeit on a huge scale – would this mistake, this rift between him and his hikari last the rest of their existence?

As loath as he was to admit it, Marik suspected he might already know why he was hurting so damn much at his hikari's flight, and the thought didn't make him feel any better. Though it was a perfect excuse as to why he had victimised Malik so much. But why, why did Malik have to leave, why did those sweet three words fall from his lips to Bakura and Ryou instead of to his own yami? Marik again vented his confusion on the wall, unaware of hot tears trickling down his cheeks.

Why had he never been able to tell Malik that he loved him?

Malik, on the other hand, was ecstatic that he had left Marik's house for good, not even minding the restricting collar, as it was a small price to pay for his freedom. Unaware that his yami was crying in need for him, the young Egyptian was curled up in Bakura's arms, watching television while Ryou was at school.

Bakura had decided to take a day off shoplifting, which he had admitted to be his chosen profession, and had stayed home to make sure that Malik was healing from his wounds all right. Ryou had insisted that he was ok and had gone to school limping slightly, though Malik had bandaged his leg so the Briton had an excuse that was not quite as embarrassing as 'I was almost raped and then fucked my two boyfriends on the same day…'

Malik himself wasn't too worse for the wear – he didn't even limp as he walked around, merely giving the tiniest of winces every now and again. He had even requested going for a walk with Bakura, to which the answer was yes – just not now, because Bakura couldn't be arsed.

Yet, after persistent pleading from Malik, Bakura relented and cheerfully took the Egyptian to the park.

"I'm so glad I met you…" Malik smiled brightly as he clung on to the thief's arm while they walked the almost deserted streets to the park. Odd, it was such a nice and sunny day. "I really love you."

"And I love you too, little Ishtar…" Bakura ruffled Malik's hair up, smiling when the blonde pouted and tried to fix it.

The white-haired yami paused as he thought about the route to the park – it took them past Malik's old home, that derelict slum that now only housed that stupid psychotic Marik. Damn, Bakura hated him, how arrogant he was to do that to poor Malik and laugh, and even to try it on Ryou!

Malik fell very silent as they walked past the house, which seemed to have an element of despair around it, shrouding it like a deep fog. Bakura wrapped his arms around the teen to shield him – it had only been a day since the other had walked out, after all, Marik was probably still sore, pride dented, and would probably try and attack.

And, just as Bakura predicted, Marik was coming out. The white haired one held Malik closer as the timid teen froze in fear – but that really didn't do any good to stop Marik, who could be very persistent when his mind was set.

Roughly grabbing Malik so as to hide his own confusing feelings, Marik brought the terrified teen closer to him, and, just as Bakura was about to attack him to protect Malik, he brought a calm hand off and undid the collar, letting Malik fall to the ground and walking off with it.

"Are you all right?" Bakura asked, kneeling by the mild Egyptian, his back to Marik. So it was only Malik who saw his yami bring the collar to his lips as he walked away back to the house, disappearing inside.

"He had a change of heart?" Malik asked, raising a hand to his throat as though to check that the collar was really gone.

"Bastard was probably just playing with you again." Bakura turned to glare back at the house before leading Malik away.

Marik was anything but playing. It wasn't fair – Malik had two boyfriends and he had none… but the way he had treated Malik wasn't fair either. Was this punishment?

The yami sat in his hikari's old room, staring at the bloodstained walls, the inside of the collar still pressed to his lips. Why did it hurt so much? He was a yami, they weren't supposed to feel pain or depression, and he was most definitely feeling both – though he had simply too much pride to speak with Malik and apologise, especially when that asshole Bakura was there. Bakura always seemed to be there.

In fact, Marik had to wait at least a week before he plucked up the courage to actually go out of the house, and this made him despair as well – he, of all people, was scared? But still…

He had headed to the supermarket, because he was low on pocky. And, though this was another thing he was loath to admit, he had cravings for it. Pocky and diet cola. Perhaps he should never have left that tomb…

Perhaps it was coincidental that he ran into the happy threesome in the supermarket. Perhaps it was the irony gods playing games with his life again (he was used to them doing that). After all, Malik was the one he had been trying to avoid, but once again that had been a fruitless objective.

Bakura had glared at him until he disappeared down another isle, the two hikaris behind his outstretched arms. Marik, though embarrassingly disheartened by this, watched them from a distance, waiting to catch Malik alone.

His chance came when both Ryou and Bakura went to look at clothes, leaving Malik picking up dairy produce. Marik walked quickly towards his hikari, roughly tugging him into a janitor's closet for privacy.

Malik was shaking so much with fear that the basket he was carrying was rattling against the wall of the closet. He was so surprised when Marik dug in his pocket and pressed something into his hand that he dropped the shopping all together.

"Here." The yami said curtly. "You left this at my house."

Then Marik calmly walked out of the closet as though nothing had happened, leaving Malik in the dingy light trying to work out what it was Marik had given him. If he had been holding his shopping when he figured it out, he would have dropped it again – Marik had given him the keys to the yami's motorbike!

A slow smile spread over Malik's face as he stepped out of the closet and caught a brief glimpse of his yami walking briskly away. He knew that, in his own special way, Marik was trying to apologise. Thinking about it, the hikari had never thought how his departure might affect Marik – and why should he? He had automatically assumed Marik would find someone else to torture. But… from what he had just seen, it appeared that for Marik torture appeared to be either showing or trying to hide affection. Poor Marik was undoubtedly so confused, having been made of someone else's overflowing hate and then to realise that he was in love…

Touched by the little gesture, Malik was brought back down to earth on seeing Bakura and Ryou returning.

The fact that Bakura hated Marik suddenly stung more than any whip.