A/N: I should not give myself unofficial deadlines. They don't usually work out well. I was hoping to have this chapter up yesterday, but that didn't happen. There was a local fair plus I preordered a book (it feels like Christmas getting a book in the mail ^_^). But the chapter is up now, so enjoy the big chapter ahead!
Oh, 100 views in 24 hours and two views: thanks so much guys!
Chapter 8: Discovery
In the two months, Bakura attended school, his psychology class had moved from theories that could mean something, but are never absolute, to how these theories worked with fucked up people—unnecessarily confusing bullshit. As Bakura referred to it. Last week, the teacher spent the classes lecturing on a disorder where people would hear voices in their heads. Part of him wanted to question the credibility of the scientists. After all, he had once been a disembodied voice talking to Ryou.
The complacent part of him took notes, while scratching at his arm, alternatively checking his pants pocket to ensure the card was still there. Bakura poised his pen at the top of the lined paper, acting the part of a studious senior. He prepared to write a jumble of information on autopilot, whilst zoning out.
"Today, we will be covering the serious topic of eating disorders." The teacher wrote the words "eating disorder" on the blackboard. Bakura stifled a yawn. He saw Joey concentrating and taking notes, along with Kaiba. Huh. Neither usually paid much attention to their school work. Hell, Kaiba attended school on his own schedule, usually missing his first two classes, and Joey maintained his perfect attendance for physical education.
With a suppressed sigh and illegible scribbles jotted down, Bakura let his attention drift. He thought about Ryou and his mystery illness. Often he heard him vomiting—on a fairly regular basis it seemed. He hoped it wasn't contagious; he did not want to deal with any human weaknesses, like diseases. That, Bakura thought with heavy disgust, was expected in his continually proven human body. He jammed a fingernail into his arm, under the shirt and jacket sleeves, slowly inching up his arm and gritted his teeth against the pain.
"-vomiting, laxative abuse, exercise, or fasting." Bakura dropped his hand from the scratch he had made. His ears pricked at the teacher's words. He blinked.
"Usually a bulimic individual will binge, eat, large quantities of food, before the purging behavior. This amount of food is more than what a non-bulimic individual consumes in the same period of time..." Bakura stopped listening. What the teacher said had nothing to do with Ryou; his illness was not that.
Bakura focused on the lecture once more, near the end of the lecture, when both Kaiba and Joey asked the teacher questions. He squinted at them as they spoke individually, curious about their sudden interest.
"What are the physical symptoms of anorexia, again?" Joey asked.
The teacher also seemed surprised by Joey's sudden enthusiasm as she said, "I hope this is for research, Joey?" Her tone suggested her suspicions regarding Joey showing any attention in the classroom.
"Of course, miss."
"And, perhaps, you could write this down, the first time?" She paused, "Symptoms of anorexia nervosa include." the teacher flexed her fingers in time with each symptom; her other hand gestured to the chalkboard where the symptom had initially been written, only now, were erased and covered with more recent instruction. "Thinness, emaciation, an anorectic needs to weigh 85% or less of their appropriate weight, lanugo, which is growth of downy fur-like hair on their body, blue fingernails and toenails due to poor circulation, loss of a menstrual cycle in females..."
Bakura watched Joey write down the teacher's reply in his notes. When the teacher finished answering his question, Kaiba raised his hand again. The hell? Bakura listened to Kaiba's question on the best treatment options for an individual with an eating disorder. Bakura tugged the corners of his mouth up at the teacher's eventual confusion. She first recommended therapy or inpatient treatment. After a back-and-forth question and answer session with Kaiba, she admitted to having little knowledge in the treatment for eating disorder patients.
Bakura still didn't care as the information resonated with him like, say, the mental illnesses she had lectured about in previous classes. He brushed a hand over his pocket as the lesson ended for a ten minute break. Hand still pressed to his pocket, above the card, Bakura started when he saw the looming figures of Joey and Kaiba at his desk. He stared at them in stony silence.
Joey spoke first. "Is Ryou eating?"
"What?" Bakura placed his elbows on his desk, resting his head in his palms, bored.
"Idiot," Kaiba said to Joey, then to Bakura, "What he means, we think Ryou might have relapsed."
"Huh?"
"Relapsed into his eating disorder," Kaiba explained. Bakura shot him a look meant to convey: I don't know or care what the fuck you're talking about. Kaiba slammed his hands on Bakura's desk. The action made his shirt sleeves slip past his wrists. He immediately dropped his arms on the desk, pulling his left sleeve down over his hand. "Do you pay attention in class at all?" Kaiba snarled.
"And that's why my question made more sense," Joey exclaimed.
Kaiba snorted, "Yes that explains the blank look you got."
"Shuttup Kaiba!" Joey yelled, glaring at Kaiba. "Why do you even care?" He pressed his index finger into Kaiba's chest.
Bakura snorted when Kaiba grabbed the blonds' wrist in the next second and wrenched him so hard, he nearly tripped over himself. "What is this? A contest?" He stalked off to the opposite side of the room, to his desk.
Joey's watched Kaiba walk away with an ugly sneer, before questioning Bakura again. "Does Ryou eat?"
"Yeah," Bakura said. Of course Ryou ate. He always said he did. Besides he had to be eating something to be puking his guts. He didn't care enough to voice these obvious facts to Joey.
…
Yami, Yugi, Tea, Joey, Tristan, Marik, Ryou, and, even, Bakura sat under a large oak tree in the side courtyard during the lunch period. The location and arrangement of the makeshift group fast became a routine. Yugi, Yami, and Marik munched on their homemade bentos, courtesy of Mrs. Mouto;
Tea unpacked her own bento. "Aren't you hungry, Ryou?" She gestured at Ryou's water bottle. Ryou blushed as everyone turned towards him.
He toyed with the bottle, passing it from hand to hand. At Joey and Yami's intense gazes, he dropped his gaze to his lap. "I'm fine. I forgot to grab my lunch, is all."
Bakura glanced over at Ryou. He quirked an eyebrow. He wasn't aware Ryou had made himself a lunch, though he supposed he must have since Ryou had made him a lunch. As an afterthought, he speared a piece of omelet with a chopstick.
"Have some of mine," Joey offered. He held out a mushy, malformed rice ball.
"That's right, "Yugi said, he also held out his bento. "With all of us, there's more than enough to share."
Ryou shook his head, eyes still downcast, "I don't want to impose."
"You need to eat," Yami said. Bakura glared at the Pharaoh, who he sent him an ugly look, over Ryou's head. Of all people to give advice and share opinions.
"I'll eat when I get home. It's no big deal."
When Yami gave Bakura a pointed look, Bakura said, "If it shuts you all up, I'll make sure he eats. For fuck's sake." He rolled his eyes at the grateful thanks Tea gave him.
"Well, now that that's resolved," Marik said, "You're mom makes delicious bentos."
"Ever the peace maker, are you?" Bakura queried between mouthfuls of vegetables.
"Don't be uncouth, thief." Bakura smirked as the Pharaoh responded accordingly.
"I'm just trying to make conversation, Bakura," Marik said.
Bakura rolled his eyes. "The term whipped, comes to mind," he drawled.
"Bakura, please?" Ryou asked. Bakura blinked, taking in the annoyance emanating from the group. He swallowed back the strange feeling that welled up in his chest.
"If this happy shit pleases you, then," he offered as words of parting as he slammed his bento shut, arranging it back in the carrying bag. He stalked off.
As Bakura walked into the school building, he took the card out of his pocket. He stared at the image of the Change of Heart card. At one point, he had appreciated the irony of his and Ryou's situation. He had thought Ryou appreciated it too. The card didn't really hold any meaning for them anymore, but it served its purpose anyway.
He flipped the card upside side down, placing a finger at the opening of the card protector. He felt the blades shift downwards, poking his finger. He chewed at his lip. Should he use them now? He had cut himself with the piece of broken mirror a few times over the past month, but the shard had dulled with use. He wondered how a razor blade would feel on his skin. It would probably bleed more.
He glanced at his uniform shirt, a white long sleeved polo. It probably wouldn't be a good thing to risk in school. He flipped the card right side up; the blades fell to the sealed bottom of the protector.
"What's with the card," Yami's voice brought Bakura back to reality.
"What the hell?" Bakura exclaimed, jumping back. He stuffed the card into his pocket. "Were you following me Pharaoh?"
Yami gave Bakura a queer look. "No, I was on my way to class. You were just standing there." Bakura's strange reaction prompted an honest answer.
"Whatever." Bakura turned away. His heart continued to pound erratically in his chest.
"Don't forget to make sure Bakura eats something, okay?" Yami called after him. Landlord eating. Right. Bakura ignored Yami, just as he ignored the niggling doubt that Joey and Kaiba's worry had been justified.
…
After school found Bakura preparing one of the few dishes he knew how to make: instant ramen. Ryou had just walked in the door. The niggling doubt he had felt earlier questioned Ryou's late arrival. Did Ryou arrive later than normal to avoid eating? He shook the thought out of his head. No problem; he had burnt the noodles in his first attempt anyway. Bakura added the packet of spices, just as Ryou slid off his shoes, and kneeled to place them in the rack.
"Sit down," he said as a way of greeting. "It's almost done."
Ryou watched Bakura pour the soup into two bowls. "I didn't think you would actually..." He trailed off, letting his school bag hit the floor. "Thank you Bakura, but I'm not—"
"Hungry?" Bakura snarled, an unexpected anger filling him, making his hands tremble as he set the steaming bowls on the kitchen table.
"I ate at Yugi's," Ryou offered. His voice came out thin and weak, as if expecting Bakura to respond with proof against his statement.
"Just eat it so the Pharaoh doesn't bitch me out." Bakura helped himself to a bowl, chewing noisily on the noodles. He missed the look of relief that shot through Ryou's eyes. Ryou sagged into the chair by the other bowl. He picked up his chopsticks and stared at the ramen, into the depths o the ball it seemed.
"It's not poisoned," Bakura announced. As if to prove his point, he swallowed a mass of noodles. Ryou took a small bite. Bakura smirked, pleased that he was right and that Joey and Kaiba were worried over nothing. He didn't allow himself to admit the release he felt as his own concern dissipated.
When Ryou finished, he placed his and Bakura's bowls in the sink. "Thanks for the ramen, Bakura. Since you cooked, I'll pick up," he offered.
Bakura shrugged. The kitchen was effectively trashed after his cooking attempts, so who was he to complain. He hauled himself to the television, propping his feet on the coffee table, an action which Ryou usually chided him against doing.
After a few minutes, when Ryou's reprimand did not come, Bakura glanced back at the kitchen. The bowls were still in the sink, and the counters still had empty wrappers and miscellaneous silverware piled high on them. Ryou wasn't anywhere in the kitchen.
The toilet door off to the side of the kitchen was closed and Bakura heard the sounds of running water. He cupped a hand around his ear. He narrowed his eyes as the sounds of muffled choking met his ears, a small sound just heard over the television. Plucking up the remote, in one absentminded motion, Bakura muted the inane show. What was he doing in there? Bakura pulled himself off the couch and silently walked to the toilet door on his tiptoes.
He placed both hands on the wall near the door, and leaned his head on the door. When the heaving gasps halted and the choking noises started up again, Bakura slid the door open before Ryou could react. Bakura saw Ryou hunched over the toilet, kneeling. His legs sprawled on the floor. One hand gripped the toilet bowl, the other halfway between the toilet and Ryou's mouth.
Bakura's nostrils filled with the acrid stench of vomit and salty pungent spice of ramen. He crinkled his nose. Half-digested curls of noodles dripped from Ryou's hovering hand to plop into the toilet bowl, floating with the rest of the lumps of sick. Bakura gulped back the bile that rose in his throat. He threw Ryou a venomous look, and left the room. He slid the door closed on autopilot and bolted to his room.
He slammed the door closed, and sunk to the floor leaning against the door in a familiar position. He glanced at the dresser drawer where his glass shard was currently shoved under a mound of clothes. His breath quickened. He went to stand, but his legs refused to budge. He curled into himself more. Bakura felt the prickle of wet at his eyes, the worry from earlier blossomed into a tight ball in his chest. He bit at his lip, all considerations shoved aside.
He reached into his pocket for the slightly crinkled card. The protector prevented the card from receiving too much damage from being shoved into his pocket. He held the card upside down over his palm, letting one of the blades fall into his exposed palm. Bakura balanced the blade between thumb and forefinger as he used his hand to roll up his uniform sleeve. He glanced at his arm, which was littered with scratches in various stages of healing.
Even with his constant attempts to stall the healing, the most recent cuts from a few days ago didn't cause him much pain anymore. Pain was just what he needed right now. Anything to rip the image of Ryou covered in his own vomit, of Ryou making himself vomit, all, this, time, from his mind, anything to silence the here and now, anything to stop his mind cold. Now.
He breathed in a quivering breath, gasping through the pain, the anger, the shit in his chest welling, ready to implode outwards. Images of Ryou—through a sliver in the door of the bathroom, the yellow light flowed out, almost an aura to Ryou, every choking gag as Ryou thrust his hand between lips, between ragged breaths, knees planted to the floor, an arm curled around plastic as Ryou vomited up ramen—flashed through Bakura's thoughts, finally settling on the back of his tongue, making it hard to swallow away. Like the intensity wound tightly in his chest, everything compounded.
The blade cut into the skin near his wrist before he had to think about cutting himself. Blood beaded up, little bubbles of red. In his mind's eye, he could still witness the ever replaying events, the knowledgeable awareness of the past few months; he slashed again, less than a finger's width away, slightly higher up on his arm. He registered sharp pain. Bakura saw the skin split open, far deeper than he had ever cut before. Blood filled the slightly gaping cut in the shape of a stretched out eye.
He dropped his arm to his propped knees. The first cut trickled a small line of blood that dried crusty to the skin at the bottom of his wrist. Bakura watched with interest as the second, deeper cut seemed to drown under the amount of blood. It poured in a larger torrent to his palm, the blood got caught in the wrinkled lines of his palm. It doesn't hurt, Bakura thought as he rested his head against the door.
Bakura stared at the steadily dripping blood, red tracks snaking around his wrist and hand, memorized. It had hurt as he cut into his skin. The first cut had stung, much like a paper cut, while the second cut ached, like a deep throbbing pain. But it didn't hurt now. It didn't feel like anything at all. A slow, relaxed exhale, a soft sight: all he felt was the dripping of blood into his palm, like everything around him, all his thoughts were dripping away.
…
A/N:
Japanese television: it's not what most anime/manga fans think it is—you know, all anime, all the time. No, free television channels show mostly game shows and funny spoofs. It's meant for pure entertainment. Yes, they do have anime and dramas and news, but it's mostly silly skits.
Eating disorders in Japan: this was not an easy topic to research. Because Japan is a collective society, a group mentality preferred over an individual's, people with mental illnesses feel extra shame because they are not succeeding. I'm probably botching this explanation up. I don't want to use generalization, because that's too simplistic. Instead of worrying about yourself and your illness, you would be worried about how your illness affects your group (school/work/family).
If I could post outside urls, I would link you all to this photo slideshow that explains this are more eloquently than I could. I guess, basically eating disorders did (in 1998) and do exist in Japan, but they aren't talked about. In this fanfiction, I'm taking some liberties and approaching Ryou's eating disorder from a western view in some regards, but Ryou—even in the English dub—is a very self sacrificing person, so he'll portray an eastern perspective too.
I dunno. I'm mutilating this explanation. If you have any questions, review or PM me so I know what information you're confused on. Part of my problem is I don't know where to start with this information dump.
