AN: Hi guys. Still updating all the chapters I have finished in one go! Sorry if it seems a bit choppy. I originally wanted to cut it off with the ending of Bakura's past, but it seemed too short and you guys deserve a longer chapter. =)
Anyway, enjoy.
Borderline
"A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burdened with like weight or pain,
As much or more we ourselves complain."
-William Shakespeare
06 ; Why Don't You Just Drop Dead?
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!, and this storyline is absolutely, positively fictional. I mean no offense to anyone.
Bakura is lying on his bedroom floor again, his ear pressed to the ground, trying to hear through the wood. Finally, he picks up some of Kyle's shouting,
"Why is it always about him, huh? Why? Why is that freakin' psycho always coming first?"
"Because of the fact he is a freakin' psycho!" his mother shouts back, and Bakura is not surprised that he doesn't feel a stab of pain or anger at that comment.
He hasn't been feeling much lately.
He calls it "apathetic". Yugi calls it "uncaring". Either way, Bakura's having trouble feeling.
When Yami kissed him that night and he kissed Yami back and Kyle walked in on the two Bakura didn't feel regret. In fact, he felt proud and pleased with himself that he succeeded in getting his brother angry. He didn't like Kyle; making Kyle upset made him happy.
When Yami completely brushed him off and blamed him as soon as Bakura's mom walked in and she and Kyle starting shouting at Yami about the situation, Bakura didn't feel hurt. In fact, he just started hating Yami. Now, months later, Bakura can't even remember what he found even remotely attractive about him.
He wasn't really anything special; just an attractive guy with crazy hair. He looked a lot like his brother, Yugi, which Bakura found a bit disturbing when he really thought about it, because Yugi was his best friend.
Bakura sometimes wonders if he really is crazy.
He thinks maybe he does cause more trouble than he's worth, sometimes. Sometimes. Most of the time he loves the thrill and the reactions of all the things he causes and doesn't give a second thought to how it might be affecting others.
But now it's apparently gotten so bad that they're going to send him off. To a place called Rockford Psychiatric Hospital.
And God knows Bakura's never going to let that happen. He'll die before he's shipped off to some loony bin and looses his freedom.
He sits up to a cross-legged position and looks down at the items arranged neatly in front of him. In the darkness of the room, with only shadows of the full moon's light and the light from the hallway streaming through the crack at the bottom of his door can he barely see the neatly, five-in-a-row arranged, light blue Aspirin pills. The almost-empty bottle of vodka sits next to them.
Bakura twists his lips.
He gulps.
He never liked taking Aspirin. The taste of the medication made him sick. It tasted so…chemical-ly, artificial. It was too easy to know that you were stuffing your bloodstream up with drugs that would dull your senses and make life easier for you. Bakura didn't like that. He didn't like not taking things as they were. If Bakura was going to live, he was going to live. There wasn't going to be any "dulling" of his experiences or feelings.
That's why he thinks he likes the idea that he might be crazy. Crazy lets him live without blinders on. Lets him see the world the way it should be seen. How things really are. Lets him say what no one else would say but what everyone absolutely knows is true.
One.
Bakura pops the blue pill into his mouth, cringing at the nasty taste. He moves it to the far back of his mouth with his tongue; he's going to need a lot of room.
Two Three. Four.
Bakura plops the pills in his mouth one by one, taking them to his lips from their neatly arranged rows one by one. One by one.
As the pills go in, Bakura thinks.
On ten the first thing that comes to mind is Yugi.
Yugi is Bakura's only friend. Yugi is sweet, charming, but more devious than he looks. Only with Bakura is he ever truly the little rebel inside of him.
Bakura thinks that Yugi's probably the thing he'll miss the most, and he was the one thing that might have kept him from doing this.
But then he remembers the looks Yugi gives him sometimes. The looks of disbelief, disappointment, horror, pity.
And Bakura's angry.
Bakura also knows that Yugi has a bunch of other friends because Yugi is nice and friendly and normal.
He won't be missed, Bakura knows. Yugi will get over Bakura in less than a year, more than likely.
Twenty-five.
Forget Kyle and his mother.
They're two pretentious, horrible hypocrites Bakura wants nothing to do with and never cared about.
Thirty.
His dad. Sure, he knew his dad had problems. He knew his dad probably needed Bakura there more than he let on, but then Bakura remembers all the shouts of "worthless" and "if I never kept that kid…" and Bakura knows his dad doesn't matter and won't miss him, either.
He's running out of room in his mouth, so he stops on forty.
Forty chemical-tasting, light blue, Aspirin tablets are stuffed in his mouth.
Bakura pauses.
He stares at a shadow of a leaf on the wall.
Bakura's bored.
Bored with life.
There's not much left to do, really. There's not much to live for except more than likely getting thrown into an insane asylum or dealing with unfixable, stressful family problems or living with people that don't really love him.
So Bakura picks up the cool glass vodka bottle, pops open the lid, lets the sick but familiar smell hit him, and then he puts it up to his lips and dips his head back.
The liquid flows down his throat and he gags.
It's burning; it burns and makes him want to throw up and the pills are getting stuck in his throat and he can't really breathe and his pulse is quickening.
But finally, the fortieth pill is forced down his throat as he takes one last gulp of the alcohol and he lets the bottle fall from his lips and hands. It craHes to the carpet, but it's such a short distance and it's made of such a thick glass that it doesn't shatter.
Bakura's slightly disappointed at that.
He would have enjoyed the shrill sound of glass breaking to mingle with the sick sounds of his relatives downstairs fighting and he would have loved to get a few slices from glass shards on his hands and knees before he dies.
But he just sits and waits.
He's not sure how long Death will take to come, but he's sure that it'll take at least fifteen minutes. So he taps his fingers idly to some unknown beat on his kneecap and is quiet.
But the worst thing with the waiting is that he's left with the absolutely repulsive, noisome taste of vodka in his mouth.
It's horrendous.
He has no idea why his father loves it so much, but even more than that, he can't figure out why his father loves it more than his only child.
Finally things start getting blurry.
Bakura's stomach churns.
Bakura's heart pounds.
Bakura's head aches.
Bakura starts shaking.
"I'm getting him, all right? God!
Kyle's voice echoes from outside the hallway and Bakura feels a quick rush of excitement. Or panic. He's not sure which.
The door opens, light spills in, too much light, and Bakura shrinks back.
Kyle stands there, his body shadowed by the hallway light behind him, hand on the doorknob. He's staring at Bakura with a look Bakura can't (or doesn't feel like) reading.
"Come downstairs," he orders.
Bakura stares at Kyle; then he falls over sideways.
"Bakura, seriously."
Bakura doesn't move; he can't really move, because now his muscles feel like jelly.
"…Bakura? Come on, this isn't funny."
Bakura hears Kyle walking over, and then he feels his half-brother's presence hovering over him and he knows Kyle spots the ten Aspirin tablets still neatly arranged and the empty liquor bottle on the ground because he cries,
"Oh my God, you idiot!"
Then Kyle's footsteps rush to the doorway.
"Mom, call 911!" he hollers in a horrified voice.
Bakura doesn't remember anymore after that point, because he figures he finally passed out, but he does remember, for a split second, before his stomach gave one last heave and his head one last throb, thinking that his family's gonna have a hard time figuring this one out.
But then he remembers the note he left under the Aspirin bottle next to his leg. It will explain everything. He remembers what he wrote; what he wrote in his fluid, surprising cursive.
I had a headache.
Bakura never, ever wants to get his stomach pumped again.
The unnatural sloshing together of stomach tissue made him want to gag more than the vodka even did (and that's saying something).
And of course, having the tube stuck down his throat wasn't too pleasant, either.
But Bakura thinks the worst part was definitely when Yugi, his mom and dad, Kyle, and the hospital psychiatrist walked into his room, crowding around his bedside, everyone's faces housing a different emotion.
Yugi's violet eyes were puffy; he had been crying.
His dad was staring down at him stone-coldly; he thought his son was an idiot for doing this, no doubt.
His mother had her lips pursed together in distaste; She really thought he was crazy now.
Kyle was glaring at him; poor Kyle. Bakura was getting all his attention, now.
Bakura had let a lot of people down.
He tried. He really did. But no regret came.
Then there was the psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist wasn't looking at Bakura; He was looking at a clipboard.
Then she spoke, and what she said Bakura already anticipated coming out of her mouth.
"Bakura, you're going to Rockford."
Ryou gets out of bed somewhat reluctantly.
The only reason he really even gets up is because the sun's really shining through the blinds now and hurting his eyes even when he closes them.
And, also, he doesn't want to feel lazy.
For some reason, whenever Ryou sits still for more than fifteen minutes and doesn't fall asleep he feels lazy and imperfect and thinks that he's wasting away his life just sitting and/or lying there when he could be doing so much.
He knows thinking that's irrational. He knows it's not true. But he still thinks it. He still feels it.
And that's what really matters, right?
Not to mention the fact he feels like he needs to get out into the ward and explore and socialize because the last thing he wants to do it get out there and find out that something exciting happened and that he missed it. Because then he'd feel lost and confused as everyone else chattered about it, and he feels awkward enough already without having missed some big newsflash being cooked up with all these psychos.
His feet sling over the side of his small bed and quickly touch the cool tile. He shivers.
Back at home, there's a big navy blue rug covering his wood floors so he doesn't have to deal with cold feet every morning. But here, in this place, it's all tiled, linoleum floor. There's no warm relief of rugs or carpets.
For the first time since he's arrived at Rockford, Ryou Bakura feels homesick.
But then, he remembers how his parents just dumped him here, completely inconsiderate of his feelings, and then he really isn't that homesick anymore.
Shrugging off his morning muses as quickly as he can, he awkwardly shuffles over to his suitcase and pulls out some clothes. He smiles to himself as he pulls the white shirt over his head and squeezes into some jeans. Then, he runs a hand through his hair to get it nice and smooth like he likes it and thinks he's probably going to need to cut or style it differently sooner or later.
Ryou steps out into the hallway and looks around.
A few guards or nurses or whatever they're called are down the hall talking. They don't notice Ryou standing in the doorway.
As far as Ryou can see, none of his fellow patients are around. Neither is Duke.
He starts walking down the corridor towards the far rooms.
Ryou ignores the voice in his head warning that "curiosity killed the cat", and decides he wants to see Bakura.
He knows Bakura's in seclusion because he remembers Bakura's howling and fighting because of Tommy ordering him to be put there. But Ryou's not sure why he actually wants to see him. It's not like he feels pity (far from that actually), but he just wants to know. He wants to know what they do to someone like Bakura. Someone as crazy and dangerous as Bakura.
And then, to be completely honest, Ryou is also curious to see what Bakura is like the morning after something like the insane escapade he threw last night.
The seclusion room's door is open once he arrives at the end of the hall.
Ryou doesn't walk fully in front of it, because then it'd be too easy for him to get caught. He just ducks behind the wall and peers around into the doorway, watching.
Duke is there.
Duke is kneeling on the ground in front of someone. Duke moves a bit, and then Ryou can finally see whom it is Duke is attending to.
Ryou never expected someone as seemingly heartless and psycho to make him feel anything but anger or fear. But as soon as he caught sight of Bakura, stick thin, ghost white, exhausted-looking Bakura, sitting on the ground pathetically, he gulped. He gulped and decided he would never, ever be like him.
Bakura's hair was tangled and messy and fell in front of his eyes limply. His entire frame was so ridiculously tiny that Ryou could safely conclude had never seen anything that skinny in his life. He looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks; the white hospital-type outfit he was wearing was hanging off of his shoulders and looked kind of like a parachute as it dangled off of him. His skin was a yellowish-white, and dark purple bags were under his eyes.
He looked like a cancer patient that had been undergoing chemo for a year and a half, which was not really what Ryou expected, truth be told.
And then, after scanning his body, there was the matter of his eyes.
They were dead.
The best adjective for them was just that: dead, lifeless, deceased, departed.
Gone.
Ryou could see they were a very pretty color, a dark red-brown sort of shade. They were big and almond-shaped, too.
But they were just gone. As beautiful as they appeared, they were gone.
Ryou also thought, though, that it was almost as if they had been alive. Like, at one time Bakura was living. Ryou could see that his eyes knew and witnessed a lot. A lot.
Too much.
His eyes had seen too much.
And because of that, Ryou figured, they were now like bottomless black holes that held no escape. Like a warning that if you got to know Bakura well enough, you'd be thrown into a violent storm of painful memories and impulsiveness that you could never quite get out of.
Ryou planned on never setting foot in that storm.
Duke suddenly reaches forward and wipes a cut on Bakura's cheek with a cotton ball, but Bakura pulls away and refuses to look at Duke again so Duke just kneels there a little more and says something to him before Bakura hesitates and nods weakly and Duke finally stands up. Then Duke turns around and starts to walk out.
Ryou ducks behind the wall and tries to look like he wasn't spying on them.
He hears the seclusion room door shut, and Duke sigh deeply before appearing. He spots Ryou, and a small but tired smile pops up on his face.
"Ryou," he starts as happily as he can. "Good morning."
The corner of Ryou's mouth turns up a little bit. "Yeah,"
Ryou discreetly peers around the wall again and looks.
There's only a small, rectangular window on the seclusion room door, and he surprises himself when he finds he's kind of annoyed that even with that small window, he can't see Bakura.
Revieeeews :D