Disclaimer: Do I look like someone who owns YGO? I don't think so.

A/N: Well, here's the next installment of LPFR. And hey, if you like this fic, then you should like my other one called 'The Gift', ya I know, shameless self-promo, but what can ya do? Anyways, enjoy the fic.

Like Petals From a Rose

Chapter Two

A Dangerous First Impression

As usual, I didn't get up until nearly noon, only allowing me to go to two classes, if I even survived them without going psycho on someone's ass. I groaned as I threw back the covers and crawled out of bed, getting ready before slamming the door as I left my apartment.

Memories of last night, and the hundreds of nights before plagued me like an endless droning voice in my ear, making my skin crawl. I hated my life - really fucking hated it, and yet I had trapped myself. Stomping down the stairs I threw the doors open into the crowded streets.

Every once and awhile I would look at someone's face and see a part of myself in their eyes, and it would make me wonder what their life was like, if it was as shitty as mine.

The same look that I had seen in Yami Moto's when I stepped out of the car.

It was driving me mad wondering what the little rich boy could have gone through to make his eyes have the same deadened, hollow looks as mine. What could he know about waking up constantly hungry and angry at the world for your own mistakes.

Hell, the bastard had everything he wanted. I hadn't seen his house, but I knew that it was the only one on the damn block. Hell, my entire apartment probably wasn't even the size of his bathroom. And still, he had that look that almost brought him on the same level as me, except that we were two completely different worlds that seemed light-years apart from each other.

Sighing I climbed the stairs of the school's front steps, making my way to my locker without even having to look where I was going. Grabbing the stuff I needed for my next class, plus my poetry binder, I stuffed my bag back into the small space and left, slamming the small door shut.

I walked down the halls, hearing the whispers and the taunts, but not caring. I hardly cared anymore, I was going numb inside, and to be honest, it scared the shit out of me. I walked into art class, amazed that I was on time for once in my life and sat down in the last row in the corner - my signature spot. If that spot wasn't taken, then I wasn't in class.

The teacher walked in and I looked up, actually wanting to pay attention to this class. I was the only class that I excelled at, and enjoyed. I listened as he told us our assignment that was due in two weeks. It was just a simple painting on anything you wanted done in a Japanese style.

A small smile graced my lips. This was going to be so easy seeing as my favorite style of art was Japanese. Taking out a sheet of paper and a pencil I started the basic sketch of what was going to be my project. I was determined to put what was left of my fragile heart into it, so that I might remember it forever.

Yes, I used the word fragile in a sentence relating to me. My heart broke a little more each day, even if it was walled in hate, the world went through the walls as if they weren't even there. I'm not even sure if they truly are or if I want them to be there.

I was scared underneath it all, scared that I was going to be a whore on the streets forever. It already seemed that I had been. I closed my eyes, trying vainly to block all the men I had served, all the men that had used me and thrown me away like the slut I was.

And most of all Tom. At the memory of his face, I snapped, clenching my fists and snapping the pencil that was in my grasp clean in half. I opened my eyes only to see all eyes on me, and I took a moment before I realized why. Looking down at my hand I saw the wooden pencil sticking out my palm, crimson fluid pouring from my hand.

"Miss. Tate, you may go to the bathroom to clean that up. Try to be more careful in the future." I said nothing, standing up with the wood still embedded in my palm.

Why didn't I feel it?

I should have felt it, my hand should be throbbing in pain, but it felt as if there was nothing at all. If anything, I felt a dark pleasure from it, the same dark satisfaction that rippled through me each time I cut myself.

I shuddered as I entered the bathroom and ran my hand under the tap, cleaning the wound with warm water that felt good against I prepared to remove the offending object. With blinking I pulled it out my skin as easily as ripping a piece of paper.

A red stream of my own warm blood stemmed over my hand and washed away into the sink, turning a pale shade before disappearing as if it had never been. I wished my life were like that, able to just be erased from this earth without leaving any scar at all.

Wrapping a piece of cloth from my pants around it I walked out of the bathroom and back to class. On my way back to my seat I was faced with questioning stares, but I ignored them. They knew nothing about me, and I wasn't about to tell them anything.

It was easier if no-one knew about me, my fears, my pain, my crimson tears. I vowed that no-one would ever know what happened in the bathroom and in the back seats of men's cars. No-one would know what went on in the dark recesses of my mind, the screams that haunted me in the darkness.

No-one.

The bell rang and I left class without a backwards glance, hurrying to my locker to grab my things. When I opened the door, a piece of paper fell to the floor. Knowing what it was I reluctantly picked it up and opened, letting my aqua eyes scan over the writing.

Be in front of the school at 3:30 slut.

Narrowing my eyes I crumpled the note in my palm before throwing it onto the ground in frustration. Well at least this wasn't as bad as most, which had detailed descriptions of what they wanted to do to me and visa-versa. Throwing the door shut I closed my eyes, resting my head against the smooth metal.

When was it ever going to end? I asked myself, the same question I asked myself everyday when I was standing on the street at night, cold as hell in my miniskirt and skimpy top. Putting it behind me I went to next class, preying against all hope that whoever it was would back out.

The bell rang and I gathered my things, dumping my things at my locker and heading out to the front of the school where I would wait until 3:30 for whoever had left the note to show up, if he even did at all. Sometimes if I was lucky, they would back out, leaving me to at least some of my dignity.

Pulling out a cigarette I lit one and puffed on it while I waited.

Twenty minutes passed without sign of anyone, and I turned to leave when I saw someone approaching me. Sighing I turned to face them, watching with loathing as they drew nearer. It was a few moments before I could make out who it was, and what I saw made me gasp.

Yami Moto.

I threw on a seductive smile as he approached, looking a little nervous, making me almost want to laugh. How could he be nervous about sex. Fuck, every girl in the goddamned school wanted him to get in her pants.

"I didn't think that you would be the type to be into this." I said, trying to look sexy, but ended up just looking pissed off. He cocked his head to the side as if he didn't quite understand what I was talking about. "But the again I suppose you have the money for it."

"What are you-"

"If you want a little fun n' games it's twenty, you want the whole thing, it's fifty, now what the hell do you want, and you better answer fast because I'm not in the mood." I replied coolly, mildly annoyed by his naiveté. Was he a fucking grade 13 or what?

"I just came to-" A shout cut him off and I turned to see a boy about my age hanging out of his car window.

"Hurry up bitch, I don't have all day." I paled as I turned back to Yami who seemed to finally have got what I meant, he was looking at me with eyes that were asking a thousand questions. Questions that I didn't want to answer. Without speaking I turned and flew into the car, not daring to look out the window where I knew his crimson eyes would pierce through me.

I hardly paid attention as he instructed me, I knew the skill off by heart. What my mind was focused on was what I was going to say to him when I next saw him, which I sincerely hoped didn't happen. He had stumbled far too close to my truth without knowing it, and I had to make sure he didn't get any closer.

When it was over, I had him drop me off at a local convenience store where I bought a little bit of food that would hopefully last me until the next day before making my way home, if I could even call it that. It seemed more like a prison then a home.

I slammed the door and flopped down onto my bed that was so hard that I could feel the springs jab into my back when I tried to sleep, but hey, it was better then a floor.

I sat there, wondering how on Earth I could have made such a mistake. I should have let him speak first, but again my anger had nearly cost me everything. It was the same anger that had destroyed my life, and here it was, at it again.

Closing my eyes I breathed the smell of the incense that was burning in it's holder on the dresser. Sandalwood, I had always loved that smell, it was a comfort somehow, I guess maybe because it reminded of my friends house before I lost her in an accident.

I was only 12 when it happened, but I remembered the smell clearly. Her house had always smelled like that, her house........... the only place where I had truly been accepted.

I closed my eyes and tried to tap into the well of sorrow that I held for her, but found nothing but anger. It seemed that the fire inside had slowly burned her out of existence as well. It scared me, it really did. Everything inside me was being consumed by a darkness that I was unable to stop.

It was going to kill me sooner or later.

Maybe it already had.

Maybe that's why I was unable to feel pain, could barely eat even though my body screamed for it. Maybe my soul really was becoming a large mass of nothing. I was already a shell of what I once was....... why not a shell of life?

I stayed there like that, with all these questions that I didn't have answers for, nor understand until darkness fell and I forced myself out of my thoughts and into the reality of my job as I dressed. I knew it was going to be cold and I shivered at the thought.

As usual I sat there and waited, getting picked up and dropped off only to wait for the whole vicious circle to happen again. The last time, I was greeted my Trish and Leslie, and listened to them chatter, only pretending to listen to what they had to say, when in reality, I could care less.

No-one here was real, all the girls, had their illusions and their roles, acting like they were really themselves, but them and I both knew that I was a facade. And act.

"Girl, your fucking out of it today, what the hell happened?" Trish asked in her usual false cheery voice. I snapped out of my reverie to look at her and shrug.

"Just not into it tonight." I replied. I never was, whenever they did what they had to, I turned my body off, making it as numb as my soul.

"Well, I hope your at least faking it." Leslie added. "They hate it when you don't make it fun." I nodded absently, my attention focused on the approaching car. I didn't really pay attention to it as I absentmindedly made conversation with the two other girls.

In fact I hardly noticed the car until the driver pulled up.

"Do you any of you know anyone by the name of Sara?" I felt my blood run cold, my knees wanting to give from beneath me as I slowly turned around, my face draining in color as my gaze fixed on the driver.

Yami.

A/N:

I know, it was kinda mean to end it there, but what can I say, I thought it was a good place to stop. Neways, I'm actually quite pleased with how this fic is turning out, I just need a little reviewer input to keep me going HintHint Next chapter: Yami and 'Sara' have a little talk, but does he know who she really is? And if so, why is he there in the first place? All will be revealed when I decided to get off my lazy ass and update lol. Reviewing might help with that !