Hi! I'm back with a new chapter of ' To Save Myself'. Disclaimer: I own nothing!

True Or False?

The wheelchair sqeaked across the floor as Yami was wheeled in to a private waiting room. Inside a man and a woman, both brunette and both dressed in suits waited for him. Joey parked his chair and came around to guesture to the pair. " Yami, this is Detectives Tristian Taylor and Anzu Mazaki." Yami nodded once and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He shot the cops an accusing stare and smirked at them.

" Yeah. I've seen them around." Like outside of his room whenever Atemu's parents weren't pestering him. " My prison guards." An awkward silence fell over the group and Tristian cleared his throat feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

" The security measures are for your own comfort, Yami." Tristian said, his voice stiff. The teen snorted in disbelief and rolled his eyes at them both. Anzu stepped forward and looked down at him almost pleadingly. Oh, so was this good cop/bad cop? So this was how it worked...

" Yami, who cut you? Thats all we want to know." Yami hesitated. How could he even begin to tell them when even HE didn't understand? Tristian shoved his hands in to his pockets and stepped up beside Anzu.

" Look, kid. Once he finds out you're alive he's going to come after you. Now we've done everything we can to keep this out of the press but...it's bound to get out sooner or later." Yami arched a regal brow and leaned back in his chair.

" So you're going to use me as bait unless I cooperate. Is that what you're saying?" He asked cooly. Anzu sighed and knelt down so she could look directly in to his eyes.

" Yami, help us. Please. You saw the pictures of Miho. Whoever cut her cut you. You can't deny that." Joey sat down in one of the chairs and pulled out that recorder he loved so much. With a press of a button the tape began.

" Yami, what do ya remember of da past few weeks?" He asked. Yami half-laughed at the irony and shrugged.

" Everything." The psychaiatrist's eyebrows lifted in surprise. The cops stepped away and took their seats across from the young man.

" Everythi'n. Dat's...unusual."

" Yami, who did this to you?" Detective Mazaki asked gently. Yami shrugged.

" I don't know." Anzu shook her head in confusion. If he remebered everything then how could he not know?

" Were you blindfolded?"

" You were locked up?" Tristian supplied. Yami sook his head. Anzu smiled reassuringly to the boy.

" It's okay if it doesen't make sense to you. We'll put the pieces together." Well, if it would grant him some quiet. Yami knew unless he gave them something no one was going to leave him alone. Yami sighed and propped his elbow on the chair so he could rest his head against his hand. A weary guesture.

"...Okay, so I got this new job. Night shift." Now it looked like they might be getting somewhere. Detective Mazaki leaned forward and laced her hands together as Tristian regarded the young man seriously.

" What kind of job, Yami?" She asked. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, searching for the right way to open up about his...career.

" A host...at a genleman's club. Professional exotic dancer." No. This kid was seriously not trying to tell them he was a stripper. But Detective Taylor saw no lie in his eye, no shifting of the body, or fidgeting. Not even tenseness-all classic signs of someone telling a lie. The kid was completely calm. In fact the only thing that seemed to bother Yami/Atemu was the subject. Yami didn't like talking about " Work." It wasn't that he enjoyed it. Not one bit. But due to his upbringing, if one could call it that, it was all he knew. And he was very good at pleasing his customers.

He stared back calmly at the man who might be his next employer, scrutinizing his ID card. He had been taught long ago that no matter how nervous you were, or how bad things got you never show emotion. Don't let anyone have the pleasure of knowing your true self. Let them see only what you want them to see. " So, do I get the job or what?" The employer, a tall man with bronze skin, taut muscles and wild spikey blonde hair regarded his with a faint smirk. Dressed in a purple leather top that only came halfway down his chest, and tight black leather pants on his legs he was a sight to see. Gold armbands glittered in the dim light on his biceps. He looked like he could be the star of the show as oppose to the one running it. He handed Yami back his ID and leaned back againt the wall and crossed his arms.

" Look, Kid. I don't care what you're real age is. Your ID says your 21? Then you're fucking 21." He jerked his thumb back to a closed door and smiled. " You got ten minutes to get ready. Your big audition starts then." He knew. Yami pocketed the forged ID, then adjusted his backpack and strode to the room to get ready. The time went by fast. Seconds were minutes and the lights hit the stage, washing everything blue, the poles on the stage glinting in the light as the music began. A slow, sultry beat made to make you move. Vertically or horizontally. The spotlights began shining on each individual star on the stage, still dim enough to cast faint shadows to play on their skin. To the right of the stage was a man with white hair and black eyes, leaning on the pole dressed in a pair of leggings made of chains. That was it. He shot the crowd with an almost twisted smile before he spun around on the pole and began dancing. Then the lights hit Yami.

His chest was bare, save for a small siver ring pierced in to his left nipple. On his legs were black lace pants with dragon patterns, the serpents coiling around his legs and one claw resting over his manhood, while his pale skin was visible through the netting. Knee-high black boots covered his feet, strapped with buckles by the inch. His crimson eyes had been outlined with eyeliner, making them stand out even more than usual. On each wrist was a broken silver handcuf, the chains a foot long each, causing one to wonder just what HAD he been chained to? The music picked up a beat and the men began to dance. Yami slid down the pole's lenth, his back against the metal. Then he slowly let go and crawled teasingly slow across the stage until he was almost face-to-face with the crowd. He lay down and rolled over, his eyes closing as he rolled his hips and tiled his head back, lips parted. As if initiating the beginnings of a sexual act with an invisible partner.

He sat up and crawled back on his hands until he found the pole again, then grasping it pulled himself up and swung around the pole. He grasped it above his head with one hand, and used the other to stroke the metal length as if it were his lover. Yami ground his hips against the pole in time with the music's beat, moving his torso in time with the melody-movements as fluid as a snake under musical hypnosis. His eyes took in everything without really seeing anything. But there was one thing he cared to notice. Something different from his norm.

" He could have been there...the first night I danced. I don't know. I remember seeing someone...off. He stood out. But it looked like he was trying not to. Funny how those types work, huh?"

At the back of the room, in a sea of blue, greys, greens, shadows and lust was a lone figure. A man by the look of 'em. He wore a black suit and a grey tie. Silk. The lights reflecting off the material told him that much. He had on a black fadora hat. And his face...was red. It was a cloth mask of some sort. It vaguely reminded Yami of one of those stupid stockings robbers wear over their faces thinking no one could see through them. But this was thicker. He really couldn't see the face underneath. And it was red. The only spot of red in the room. Yami kept his eyes on the stranger, and even though he couldn't see him he knew the red man was looking right back at him. Yami lifted himself up on the pole and flipped his body so that he was upside-down and closed his eyes again, letting one hand fall limply saying without words he was content there. Then with surprisingly quick reflexes he flipped himself off of the pole and landed in an almost feral crouch, letting his lips part in a small snarl as his eyes smoldered in to the crowd. The cheers and whistles began. He slowly stood and cast a glance to his rival, who was twisting and turning against the pole seductively. He had good moves. Inspiration hit and he slowly walked over to the other man.

The white-haired one glared his way-still keeping the seductive haze to his eyes-and then grabbed one of Yami's chains and pulled him forward with a hard jerk. He complied and came over. Smirking at his challenger he leaned forward and claimed his lips. The other was startled at first. Then catching on to the gimmic he opened his mouth and let Yami in, their toungues fighting as their hands roamed eachother, the albino's back pressed against the pole. They parted, they shoved eachother away and smirking Yami ran to his own pole, grasped it and swung all the way around. The cheers were much louder than they were before. He looked back to where the red man had been sitting before. He was gone.

Before long the routine ended and both young men faced Marik, their skeptical superior. The Egyptian clapped his hands slowly, smirking at the pair with what one might say was pride. Yami knew it already. He got the job. " Inspirational. A truly incredible feast for the eyes gentlemen. Well done. So Bakura," He turned to the white-haired man who had played his partner on stage. " What say you to having young Yami here as a permenant piece of decor?" Bakura shrugged, one hand resting on his hip as he took a slow drag form a cig and letting the smoke out in one easy breath.

" I say he'd better not kiss me again unless he wants that tasty toungue bitten off next time." He shot Yami a warning glare to which he responded with a letcherous smirk.

" You know you liked it." The other proceeded to roll his eyes then exit the room. Yami and Marik talked briefly over his new schedule, he was handed his night's earnings then Yami walked back to the dressing room to change. It took less time to change out of his costume than it had to change in to it. Three minutes later he exited, back to waring a pair of grey jeans and a black hoodie, and he walked out of the establishment. The night air was cold, but not unbearably so. It was fall weather. He shoved his hands in to his pockets and kept walking. A click behind him. Yami whirled around to glare viciously at whomever was following him. He saw no one. But he knew he was not alone. He could feel invisible eyes on him, sense a presence nearby. No one would blame him for being afraid in that moment. However his fear was not so great as his irritation. His desire to get to the bus stop increased as his need for peace and quiet pulled at his tired mind. So he kept walking.

The streets were empty. Everything was quiet. A cricket's chirp here, the rustle of fall leaves there as they were tossed to and fro by the light wind playing the air. A car passed Yami by at a leisurely speed. The headlight's hit Yami, then the road...then a stranger standing near the road. Yami paused as the lights from the car flashed on the only other lone individual on the streets. It was that man. The red-mask fadora man. Was this the one following him? He frowned in irritation. What was this? He stomped forward ready to chew the bastard up and spit him in the gutter. No one was there. The sidewalk was empty. What the hell...? The uneasiness began to build in his chest tighter than before. But he kept his face calm. Shoving down his unwelcome discomfort he walked ahead to the bus stop. A singand le bench with a plastic awning and glass walls on either side. The glass had been grafittied and paint-splattered by God-knows-what creating an odd stained glass window look. The single street light overhead cast multicolored shadows on the white sidewalk.

Yami leaned against the wall, looking down the street for his ride. Another car zoomed by. Then another. Instinct told him to look behind him. Another may have said it was divine intervention. But Yami wasn't religious by any means. He turned his head...then stumbled back until his head lightly rapped the other wall. The fadora man was staring at him from the other side of the glass. And there was something in his hand. A rag? The bus crawled up the street, the headlights just as bright as the others. The glass shown brightly, the colors danced. And one gleaming eye caught by a thin trail of red paint stared at him. There was never a more welcoming sound than that of the bus doors hissing open. Yami turned and jogged to the doors, paid his fare then sat down hoping strongly the other man would not get on. The doors closed and he relaxed. As the bus pulled away Yami leaned towards the window, out of curiosity you could say. Was he still watching him?

No one was there.

" Everything about him was just...intense." A sigh, then a rub to his temple. " I never really got to see his face." Tristian Taylor leaned forward in his chair, confusion in his eyes.

" How do you know it was the same man from the club?" Yami shrugged and shook his head.

" I just knew."

" Was he tall? Thin? Stocky-what?" Anzu asked gently. Imploringly. Yami frowned in thought as he struggled to remember.

" He was wearing a red cloth mask and a black fadora hat. You know, like in the old mobster movies."

" Are you sure?" Tristian was stredded. What kind of crazed story was this kid trying to feed them? Yami tesned, sensing the other's thinning patience and disbelief. Instinctively Yami began going on the defensive side of his own temper.

" Look, I'm not sure about anything, okay!?" He snapped. Anzu's eyes darted between the two tense males then looked back to Yami.

" What about when he cut you? You didn't see his face then?" Yami gave Anzu a look one might give to a psychopath whom insisted they'd done the right thing.

" What part of " Mask" did you not get?!" The detective had reached the end of his patience. He slammed his hand down on the table and locked his angry brown eyes to equally indignant crimson.

" Look Atemu! He gave you drugs! To make you watch! You HAD to have seen something!"

" I don't lie! If I tell you I didn't see him, then I didn't fucking see him!" Detective Mazaki stood up and crossed her arms, staring down at the young man and speaking to him as if she were scolding her own child.

" Atemu, you have got to stop playing these games with us. We need to know the truth!" THEY?! THEY DID?! Yami scoffed and waved a dismissive hand disregarding them all.

" Oh, right it's all about you cunts! Well what about me?! You think I don't?! HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU FEEL?! FINGERS, HAND, LEG GONE! I PRACTICALLY FUCKING DIED! AND NOW I'M LOCKED UP IN THIS GODDAMN HOSPITAL LIKE SOME KIND OF PRISONER!"

" I think we've all had enough today." Dr. Wheeler stood up and clicked his oh so trusty tape recorder off. " Detectives...if I may have a word."

" Have several. The more you talk to them the less they talk to me." Yami snarled. Detective Taylor started for the boy, but a gentle hand from his partner stopped him. Shooting the teen one more stare he stormed out of the room, his partner and the doctor trailing behind him.

" So what are you saying, Doctor?" Tristain was leaning against a metal operating table, Anzu standing against the opposite wall with her hands folded behind her back. Joey Wheeler removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was seated in a wooden chair, straddling it backwards as his arms rested on the back. The psychologist sighed wearily.

" I don't know. It's usually easy ta find da' inconsistencies. Da holes in the fantasy. Even in da most extreme cases of post traumatic stress disorder you still get a measure of the original person." Detective Taylor shook his head.

" You know what, Doc? I think we're wasting out time. I think this kid's lying through his teeth."

" No, no. He ain't lyi'n. He's coveri'n. I think I got the answer."

" Please, Doctor." Anzu guestured with her hand, inviting the doctor to continue. " Do you think he's crazy?" Dr. Wheeler replaced his glasses. A humorless smile crossed his lips.

" Ain't we all on some level?" Tristian un-crossed his arms.

" Is there any truth to what he's told us? Is he telling the truth?" Joey regarded him for several seconds before answering him.

" Yes. Or at least he belives he's truthful. Now I already ran dis' theory by his parents. Now I'm gonna run it by you. I think " Yami" is Atemu's way of processing what's happened to him. It's uncommon, but not unheard of, of people developing dual personalities. When enough trauma is inflicted it is a fact one may go in to shock and block out the events entirely. In some cases, da victim gains self-induced amnesia. In rare cases, dey can come out with an alternate personality to help their minds deal with what's happened. " Atemu" is probably still too broken to come forward an' tell the whole story. From what we know he was a reserved, polite, highly intelligent and talented young man. Now he's " Yami" who is tough, argumentative, dismissive and defensive. He's telling da story as he knows it. For both of 'em. So, do I belive dis " Red man" exists? Yes. Do I belive he don't know who he is? Yes. As far as location I do believe he's holding dat information back."

The two detectives stared back at the doctor, processing everything he had told them. So if Yami was just another side of Atemu... " Okay, so he gets to a certain point in his story and stops talking. Why?" Tristian wondered aloud.

" Because he thinks no one's gonna believe 'em." Miss Mazaki looked down, her heart full of pity for the traumatized boy.

" I don't think even he believes it." How would anyone else? Already the rumors were swarming. And the press were not helping. No one knew who, or how...but someone leaked the information to the press. At home Aknam Sennen flipped through the channels on the television, trying to find some way to keep himself occupied until visiting hours reopened at the hospital. On the news station his blood ran cold as the last of the evening report reached his ears.

"...confirmed that nineteen year old Atemu Sennen has been found alive, and is currently being held at Domino General Hospital." Now everyone knew. Their friends. Their relatives. The killer.

" Oh, no."

What was the purpose of dreaming? Yami remembered reading about some guy saying dreams were a part of one's subconscious. Where repressed thoughts were encountered in dream-form. He also remembered reading that dreams were actually visitations to or from alternate planes of reality. And then he also remebered hearing dreams were actually psychic connections to other people one might know from another lifetime. Okay...so what the fuck were his dreams? Yami really wanted to know. For the past several days he had the same dream: Where he stood ( Or sat) in front of a mirror and talked to himself. And himself talked back. Why? The him and the other him stared eachother down through the glass, but their reflections weren't the same so much anymore. Yami's dismemberments were bandaged with clean tourniquets and cloth. The other him's limbs weren't looking so good. It looked like someone had crudely bunched up some random bits of cloth and tied them down with chords of some kind. Blood leaked through the random fabrics staining them black and red.

" You don't look so good." Yami commented. The other him smiled kindly at him, which then turned in to a grimace as he adjusted his position on the floor to better suit their...condition. Both boys were sitting on the floor indian-style.

" But you do. I'm glad." He was glad?

" Why?" Yami asked suspiciously. The other him cocked his head and looked back at Yami curiously.

" Is it wrong to be? I would rather not have anyone share this pain. Or maybe you're a reflection of myself as I wish to be. No, that can't be it. If that were true then I would see me whole, at home and with my loved ones. But maybe you are another part of me-maybe the realist who sees himself as I will one day be if I am ever found. Will I be?"

" By all means take your time. Not like you have anyone but yourself to talk to here." Yami mumbled. To his surprise he heard himself chuckle and he looked back in to the mirror.

" I thought that's what you were."

" I am me. So are you."

" I believe you-or I have that backwards."

" Who are you really?" Yami asked, narrowing his eyes at himself. This was becoming too much of a hassle for him-them-they...fuck it. The him who may-or-may-not-be-him simply blinked back.

" Atemu. Isn't that our name?" He asked, confusion heavy in his eyes. A shake of the head.

" No. It's Yami." And then the conversation ended as " Atemu" suddenly vanished from the mirror. Only now no one was there. Weird... Somehow...Yami didn't know how. But somehow he knew Atemu had woken up, forced to leave their dream. The mirror's inky black surface flickered as an orange flame lit the glass. Then another. Suddenly Yami was in a dimly lit room, the walls flickering orange and red from the firelight coming from the fireplace. The red man slowly walked in to view, passing a shiny red something from knuckle to knuckle in his hand. It was a red dagger...made of glass? Already he knew what was coming. Yami went to stand up and cursed-or tried to. His mouth was gagged and his body was strapped down to metal. He struggled hard against his bonds but the belts were just too tight!

The knife came down, dragged lightly down his left arm. Then at the crevice where the arm bends the man pierced his skin, tauntingly digging it in deeper at a slow pace. The pain lanced him and he screamed in to the fabric. Yami's right hand came around to grasp at his wound and a sick wet splat reached his ears. A blink. He was back in the hospital. The moonlight filtered through the room...and blood soaked his arm. Before he could stop it a scream of fear ripped from his throat. Goddamn it why couldn't he stop screaming?! The lights blared on and Aknam Senned stared in horror as blood leaked from his son's arm to soak the sheets under him. " HELP! WE NEED HELP IN HERE!" The door banged open and Detectives Mazaki and Taylor ran in, both staggering to a stop when they caught the sight of Atemu. Aknam ran forward with a towel and pressed it to Atemu's arm.

" GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Yami punched the man directly in the chest and he staggered back. Anzu ran to his side and held a halting hand out to Mr. Sennen.

" Sir, you need to back away and let the doctor's help him!" Tristian was already in the hall, screaming for a doctor. Aknam shook his head and narrowed his eyes in anger at the female detective whom was supposed to be caring for his son.

" Someone broke in to my son's room and attacked him, and damn it I wanna know who it was!"

Done! Long chapter this time around, huh? so what do you think's going on? Next chapter: Therapy sessions, more weird dreams, and Yami finally meets Yugi! Please R&R and bless your happy happiness!