Sorry, this chapter is really short. I'm going to post the next one right away to make up for it...

(I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh)

Warning: This chapter is pretty much all about cutting, so if that bothers you, you might want to skip this chapter.

*************Chapter 8 *************

After Seto and Mokuba had left, Yami lay in his room pondering the night's events. As much as he wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe Seto genuinely cared, he still felt as if it were too good to be true. He can't be serious, he agonized; there has to be a catch. He knew that no one was ever that nice out of the goodness of their own hearts, except for maybe Yugi. If he didn't want to humiliate him, he must want sex or money, or maybe he thought Yami could get him drugs. He had to want something. It was nice, though, to feel like someone didn't think he was pathetic and disgusting. He sighed heavily.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he chastised himself. He hated to admit it, but... he did find Seto sort of attractive... and if he really was serious about wanting to help Yami, then he truly did like him. The problem, of course, was that he couldn't know for sure that Seto wouldn't betray him, and he couldn't confess to the other boy about his feelings until he knew for sure that he could trust him. Why? Why did things have to be so confusing? Why couldn't Seto have just left him alone? And stupid him had left himself wide open to be hurt again... He never should have said anything to him. He should have just flat out denied everything to the very end. After all, he'd been just fine for the last eight years without anyone else knowing. Why would he need help now?

He couldn't fall asleep, with all these stupid thoughts racing through his head. He tried to distract himself with homework, struggling through twelve pages of The Importance of Being Earnest, but even Oscar Wilde, who he usually loved, could do nothing to calm his mind. After reading the same part three times and still not understanding what Cecily and Gwendolyn were talking about, he finally gave up, throwing his copy of the play against the wall in defeat.

"Fucking hell!" he exclaimed allowed, turning to glare at the clock, which read 1:30 am. He didn't particularly harbor any real resentment towards the clock itself, but rather what was inside the clock; what he hated so much, yet needed at the same time. "Goddammit," he muttered under his breath, but didn't stop himself from removing the clock from the wall. He turned it over and slipped off the back panel where the batteries were, revealing one of the many razorblades he had stashed around his room. Usually, no one really looked for them, but if Yugi noticed that Yami had been cutting, he would raid Yami's room, turning it upside down searching for his implements. On occasion, his mother would also go through his room, just to snoop, and she would confiscate anything that she considered "inappropriate." Her reasoning? If any of the partners (from her firm) saw her with her children, she didn't want either of them to give her associates any reason to doubt her. Needless to say, self-mutilation is not exactly indicative of perfect parenting skills. Although she had cleaned him out a few times, that couldn't really stop him. He was very... resourceful. Hell, some of his most prominent scars had been from paper clips, and nobody ever really considered paper clips to be threatening or dangerous. After replacing the clock on the wall, Yami studied his arms very carefully. He couldn't have them too close together, so that they overlapped, because that would look... sloppy. It was best if they were parallel, and similar in depth and size. After all, he still wanted them to look good, even if he was the only one to see and appreciate them. Yes, he'd heard a million times how "sick" it was, how "twisted" and "unhealthy," but he still loved the way his skin looked after he had worked on it. He didn't exactly enjoy the pain, but he certainly didn't mind it. It helped clear his thoughts, allowing him to slow down his mind when it was working entirely too fast and he couldn't handle the feeling that he had no control over his life. Even looking at the delicate mural etched into himself could calm him slightly, and it was even better if he was able to scratch or rub it, causing the blood to gently ooze.

Holding the blade pressed against his taut skin, he struggled. Even after so long of doing this, his self-preservation instincts still screamed against him, willing him to stay his hand. Although they were strong, that made the outcome just that much sweeter; his adrenaline would kick in just enough that he would feel happy and excited even as the tension was bled out. After holding a deep breath for a moment or two, he exhaled forcefully as he quickly slashed downward. His breath turned into a hiss; the pain still came as a shock every time. It was as though he had suddenly been immersed in cold water; the clearness and peace of mind was so immediate. He could feel his heart rate slow, and his shoulders and arms relaxed, making him more aware of just how tense his muscles had been. After two more strokes, his breathing had returned to normal and he felt as if he might be able to sleep. After he returned the blade to its hiding place and used a tissue to slow the blood flow, he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes in defeat.

"God, I'm so fucked up..."

A/N: Many apologies if you don't like reading about cutting... I like to write about it. I have problems. :P

soundofmadness223: I hope you appreciate the paperclip reference...

Thank you all for reviewing. I like hearing what you have to say about what I write, so if you have any suggestions or anything, please, review review review!!!

~alex~