Alright, fine! I'll write another chapter. Jeeze! You people sure are pushy.

So I decided to go ahead and write a second chapter for this story because so many of my reviewers wanted me to. So, here it is.

I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, but you already knew that, didn't you?

A Sharp Little Friend

Chapter 2

By SarcasticallyShy

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BE-

I glared blearily at my very loud and annoying alarm clock, wanting very badly to throw it against the wall. However, I was still very sleepy and it would wake up Bakura if I hit a very heavy object against the wall. So that notion was trampled as soon as it hatched.

Groggily, I slipped out of bed and grabbed a set of clothes, opened my door and headed into the bathroom. As I pulled off my shirt that I had worn yesterday (I hadn't taken it off when I went to bed the night before) I noticed that the cuts had bled throughout the night. I wouldn't have been surprised if there was blood on my bed where my arm had lain.

Ignoring it for the time being, and trying to suppress the erg to throw up, I slipped out of the rest of my clothes and turned on the shower. Once it was warm enough, I stepped in. I let the water wash over me, engulfing me, consuming me. My mind fogged over, my body relaxed and I just stood there under the water for who knows how long. I washed my hair, used soap (of course), cleaned up my cuts (taking pleasure in the sting it brought) and took a few more minutes to just stand in the onslaught of water.

Finally, after a half an hour, I emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed and in desperate need of food. So, listening to the grumblings of my stomach, I headed down stairs and into the kitchen where I proceeded to prepare some toast and a glass of orange juice. Sure, I cut my self, but that was now reason to not have a healthy beverage. Slowly, like water trickling through a barricade of rocks, the events of the previous night came back to me, and a new sense of dread filled my senses and made me shake slightly.

I remembered Bakura, what he found out, about my friend and my habit, his attack and his threat, which only just now started to sink in. I closed my eyes, willing the burning behind my eyes to go away as I realized I could no longer cut. That hit me hard, really hard.

But then it occurred to me: why did Bakura get mad at me for cutting my self? Wouldn't he have been happy that I was mutilating my self? That I was doing his job for him? I'd've thought he'd applaud me, though that wasn't such a good thing to get coming from my homicidal, sadistic, other self, now was it? I let out a deep sigh. I didn't think that dwelling on such questions would do any good and I felt a headache coming on anyway.

I cleaned up my plate and cup, which I couldn't remember drinking and eating out of, and gathered my things for school. After standing still and silent for few moments, I concluded that Bakura had stayed asleep throughout my morning routine. My backpack resting snuggly on my shoulder, I turned and headed toward the front door of my apartment.

Am I ever going to be right about anything!

Bakura stood, leaned up against the door, his arms crossed and his cold, cruel gazed fixed on me. Shivering slightly, I made my way cautiously over to him, keeping my head low and my eyes down, giving a submissive impression. This, I knew, would make my Yami more inclined to let me off easy, as opposed to walking tall and confident with my head up and eyes challenging. I wasn't stupid, not by a long shot.

The pale Yami grinned, in a sick, twisted way, his sharp canines poking out, and spoke in a mocking tone, "So, Yadonushi," lips curled back, "did you do anything . . . bloody this morning?"

I knew he was talking about cutting, and I knew that the best (and only) answer to give was no. But it still surprised me at how he was hounding me on such a small issue. However, this took me all of .54 seconds to think so I answered, "No."

"Good," nodded Bakura, and he vanished into the ring. It puzzled me for a moment as to why he would just take my word for it instead of checking like he did the night before. Then it occurred to me that he could tell if I was lying or not through our mind link, allowing him to know without having to ask. But then, he must have been to drunk last night to think of it instead of checking like he did.

"Then what was the point of asking me!"

Sorry if it's too short for you, but I'm still thinking about how I should approach the whole school thing. Ideas will be greatly accepted.

(Bows) Thank you.