This is the "point and laugh" ending.
I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!. But I do have 8 shirts with Yami on them. And a pillowcase. And a plastic cup.
-x-o-x-
As the doctor proceeded with her questioning, Ryou only grew more and more nervous. He began rubbing his left arm absently, when suddenly his hand moved over a slight rise in the skin. Glancing down, he saw a single long, thick white line drawn neatly across his upper arm. The boy grimaced, remembering how he'd gotten it...
"Mr. Bakura?"
Ryou looked up, shocked from his moment's reverie. "Oh. Sorry." A pink tinge crept onto his cheeks. "I was just..." He rubbed his hand over the scar again.
Dr. Buchanan noticed. "Pretty nasty scar you've got there." Suddenly she grabbed his wrist and looked closely at his left forearm. "You aren't a cutter, are you, Mr. Bakura?"
Ryou's eyes bugged. "What!"
"Because cutters can't donate here. They aren't exactly infamous for sanitizing their blades..." She was looking very closely at his forearm now.
"I'm not a cutter!" Ryou all but screamed, yanking his arm from her grip, going very red in the face.
To his surprise, the doctor all but smirked at him. "I believe you, Mr. Bakura. Yourwrists show no signs of injury. So what happened to your arm?"
"I... I was mugged," Ryou muttered, still a very bright shade of red.
Nodding, Dr. Buchanan scribbled a little note down on her pad. "Alright, Mr. Bakura... Well, I think that's all the questions. Are you ready?"
Ryou swallowed heavily. Nodded. He didn't trust his voice at the moment.
"Okay... Hold out your arm." The boy obeyed, and the doctor wrapped a rubber tourniquet about his upper arm, cleaned the crook of his elbow with a cotton ball. It was cold, and Ryou shivered a little. "You may want to look away for this..." But Ryou couldn't look away, not as the very sharp needle moved slowly closer to his arm...
Without warning, Ryou's hand shot up and smacked the side of the doctor's, sending the needle flying through the air, then spinning across the floor. "I'm sorry—" he choked out, terrified, "I can't—!" Then next instant the tourniquet was up in the air, Ryou was hurriedly yanking on his trenchcoat, the door was open—
"Sir, what about the blood—?"
"Maybe next year!"
-x-o-x-
Aww, poor child. -pets-
Note: The authoress HATES needles. She lives in fear of getting shots or needing blood work done.
Review?