I sat on my knees and watched the blood, swirl and twirl, I felt relaxed. Watching my blood flow away, felt like my anger, my pain and my guilt flowing away. I looked at my wrists, the deep incision would not go unnoticed, and I was starting to feel weak. I'm not an idiot, I know that I need to bandage up, or I'll die. So I reach for the handle and pull it down. Consequently it pulls me up and I stand shakily. I steadily get out of the shower, and before stumbling over to the cabinet, I take a last look into the bath, and the blood stream rushing away. I cover my wrist with my hand, and use the injured one to find a bandage. Getting blood on the bathroom floor would be like suicide, Bakura is a messy person, but he's very…proper, when it comes to bathrooms. He doesn't particularly use it, or anything in it, which is disgusting, but because I do, any mess is mine, and he says I shouldn't mess things up. Illogical. But I abide by his rules and keep the bathroom clean, I wonder if its for when we have guests…so that they don't expect he messed it up. Whatever. It stays clean, and blood is annoying to clean up. So, I reach into the cabinet, my arm burning horrifically. I clench my teeth, hold my breath and bear it. I am not weak. I root through the boxes and shelves and finally find a roll of bandage, and a few safety pins and surgical tape. Great. We have some; I haven't used it all up. Carefully, I steady myself to the floor, where I sit and bind my wounds. I feel better already. Maybe I should have used antiseptic. Its too late now, I'll survive. Carefully, I reach for the towel. I love towels. I don't know why, I just do. I love how fluffy and pure and clean they look. I smile to myself at one of my simple comforts and dry myself off. I wrap the towel around my waist and pick up my clothes and dump them in the laundry. That blood is going to take along time to come off. I sigh, no point fretting, it has to be done. Slowly I walk to my bedroom, and touch the cold brass doorknob, turning it left, I enter my room. I flick the switch by the door and saunter over to the bed. I feel woozy. I let myself drop onto the cotton sheets. I tip my head back and feel the mellow sunset cast upon me. The deep orange light highlights my pale blue walls purple. Evening, my favourite time of the day. The world is full of shadows, full of mystery. I glance around my room. The digital alarm clock upon the bedside dresser, the engraved bedposts, ancient hieroglyphics, of course. I roll over onto my stomach, feeling my feet lift from the trodden down carpet. I reach out and touch the bedpost. I run my fingertips gently over the markings. Bakura wrote this for me. He did it when I first wrote the bed.

Flashback

"What's that?"

"It's a bed frame, Bakura."

"…bed frame?"

"Yes, you put something soft in this gap here, a mattress, and you sleep on it."

"Oh, I know what it is. The rich people in my time had them. The bed post. We all had beds. Yours is a little plain isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where's all the writing, the text, the stories, theories, legends and quotes?"

"What do you mean, Bakura? This is what it should look like."

"Don't be stupid. It looks pathetic. Pass me a knife. Right…this here, says your name. …this…says where you are from…this…bit…here…talks about your personality, it says your weak, but have a strong will inside. This…part…here…is about the millennium ring…and this…this, is my name. Afieka, the stealer of souls and king of thieves."

"Bakura, that's your name, Afieka?"

"Yes. I am only called Bakura, as I am associated with you, as you are my reincarnation."

"But I cant be, your soul still lives."

"As does my blood line. …and this part here…says that."

End Flashback.

Afieka. Stealer of souls. King of thieves. He stole my heart; I'm in love with a criminal…a relative. But we can't be related. Atem's father killed Bakura's entire town when Bakura was 6, maybe we are alike, coincidental. I'm not the reincarnation; otherwise, I would be him. I would be a …murderer. My hand touched the wood. I am weak, but I have a strong will inside. A strong will, determination. I suppose it's true, I'll do anything to receive Bakura's love. I need to get dressed. I let my head fall to the bed and I wait a few moments before rolling of the bed to my feet. Slowly I walk over to the built in wardrobe. I fling the doors open, and look for something to cover my arm. I find a long sleeved, polo-neck blue jumper. It will do. I take out some slacks and boxers from the drawer and dress myself. I go over to the mirror, run my fingers through my hair and exit my room. I get half way down the stairs, when I hear a string of curse words from Bakura. Crap. He's found the new toaster…3…2…1…

"BAKURA!!!" seen as I can't see my yami becoming schizophrenic, I figure out that was my name. I close my eyes for a second before running into the kitchen to see what he's done now. I come in, to find Bakura in the corner, against the wall, practically hugging it, staring at the new toaster. I knew it. I'm in love with an evil, sadomasochist, pyromaniac, toaster fearing thief. He's very unique. I look Bakura in the eyes, hiding my amusement, with a soft, comforting glare.

"What's wrong, Bakura?" I ask as sweetly as I can manage. He looks at me evilly and points at the toaster.

"THAT.THING.CAME.BACK.FROM.THE.SHADOW.REALM!" He's actually shaking.

"Bakura, it's a toaster. It will not hurt you purposely or directly. It will not foil your plans to rule the world, and it most defiantly will not steal the millennium items before you do." He looks at me unsure.

"But it…" here we go.

"It will not eat Malik's cat before you either."

"Are you sure?" IT'S A GOD DAMNED TOASTER, OF COURSE I AM SURE.

"Yes, Bakura, I am sure, the toaster has no evil intentions."

"Good." Slowly he shuffles out of the corner. "Meat." How polite.

"Yes, I'll cook it now."

"No, you won't. I ate it raw. You'll have to buy some." …one of Bakura's flaws, when he raids the fridge, he doesn't cook anything. He makes a huge mess and he will not stop eating until he falls asleep once he's tasted blood. I look around the kitchen. The white floor tiles are covered in meat stains. The cabinets and cupboards have messy finger-prints along them and…the new toaster has a knife mark in it. Where's the knife? I look over at Bakura, who's taken a knife of the table, and is now chewing and sucking on it intently. There's the knife. He looks so innocent when he does that. How anyone sucking a knife can look innocent is beyond me, but he manages it very well. I smile to myself and leave to the hallway to get my coat, to yet again buy 20kg of meat to last us until morning. I pick up the keys and wallet of the kitchen table and proceed to the door.

NF: this chapter was a little different and less mellow sorry. I had to bring the toaster thing in. IT'S A KNOWN FACT lol. Bakura hates toasters.