Toxic Love, a yu-gi-oh fanfic

Toxic Love: This is the newest form of therapy from these battered and weary fingers. I have not fully adapted to my new form of stress release (meditation is only good for so long) and so this was born in about three hours of intensive writing. I had an image in my head, of Ryou face down, with Baku-chan's knife gleaming in his back (disturbing, innit?) and it was what inspired this, coupled with the song, "torn".

So, without further delay: Toxic Love.

Ever since the first time I saw him, I was hooked. I respected him in the first few glimpses, someone stronger, better than myself. Before I could even ask him what his name was, ask him where he came from, what he was...He looked at me. He looked at me with such disdain, a loathing that seemingly followed me wherever I went.

It was the look of my father, the look of my peers. The look of the teachers after having met me for more than ten minutes.

Why was I so unliked?

"Who are you, slave?"

I look at him, head cocked to the side, wondering why he would call me a slave.

I wasn't ready for the hit, not able to take the force like I should have. I fell to the side, smacking the floor with a resounding thud. I could feel it in my bones, the deep bruising ache and agony.

Such was life.

"I'm no slave..." I started. I wish I could go back and smack myself. Well, before he did it for me, anyways.

"You are my slave now, mine and no one else's, got that, slave?"

I looked him in the eye, tried to gather the nerve to defy him, to defy the harshness of every person I'd ever met, ever loved. He saw me, saw through me to the core of my being, and he laughed as he kicked me in the chest, lungs exploding with the force of the kick. I felt the ache grow, the pitiless face he showed. I could feel the manic glee in my heart, the feelings I knew had to be his.

I never questioned it, never questioned how he came to be, how I had such a link with him.

It just was, like so much of me just... was.

That night, he showed me what it was to cry. To cry so hard that you can feel the sobs ripping your soul into shreds. Bone-deep, heart-wrenching sobs.

And no one came for me.

I stopped crying after that. He would hit me, kick me, spurn me.

He would laugh at me as I wept silently at the force of his hatred. But I would not make a noise, wouldn't give him yet another reason to hurt me.

Not that he needed one of course.

I remember once, soon after he came to me, I asked him a question. One of only a few I ever asked him.

"Do you have a heart, Demon?"

Oh, how I was beaten for that one. And all I wanted to know was if he felt anything as he pounded my pathetic self into the floor.

Maybe he didn't like my name for him. He never told me what to call him. His words were "Don't ever talk to me, you idiot slave."

I wonder if he gets lonely, like me?

So, as I sit here in class, staring at the board, barely paying attention, I reflect on that which has brought me here. So many mistakes, so much to account or. It's no wonder he's been sent to punish me. So much to make up for...

"Bakura-san, are you quite finished daydreaming? If you would please join the rest of the class, and of course, myself after school for detention."

I meekly nodded my head, knowing what would come from directly addressing someone above me. The teacher seemed to take this sign as acceptance, which really it was, but he seemed to enjoy my submission. I felt a smile in my heart. I could make someone happy.

That happiness was cruelly ripped from me as I heard the growl deep in my head, my soul vibrating with the sound, the feel of his hatred.

Please no...

I never wanted him to think I enjoyed school. And really, I didn't, but it was my only chance to escape him. To live for a few precious hours every day. And now it would be taken from me.

I looked at the teacher, frowning in disgust at me.

I deserved it. I deserved to be taken from my pleasure. It was only right.

So much to atone for...

I waited until all the others had left. I watched them as they talked and smiled, speaking of the things they would do on the weekend, things they would see.

I sighed inside, knowing that I had to make up for so much, and that I would never be allowed the simple pleasure of friends or even acquaintances.

He made sure of that. He would take over my body, make them all hate me, just as it should be.

It didn't stop me from longing for someone to break the cycle of endless pain and punishments. But it would never be, so why dream of what you can never have? It only brings heartache and more pain in the end.

The teacher looked at me, a disapproving air about him.

"Bakura-san, You need to pay attention in class. It is unacceptable to day dream and ignore the class. You need to be punished for this, and I can't think of the best way to get it through your head."

I could have told him to save his breath, that I was to be punished again at home, and wouldn't be returning to school. I would have to stay home for some time, until He got sick of seeing me there, before father wondered why the school holiday was so long.

I would be put into a new school, far from this one.

That's how it had been for years.

"I think I know. Go shut the door. Lock it."

I faintly trembled. This sounded like a bad punishment. I was to be beaten, I knew it. Not a sound escaped, so as not to enrage him further. I did as I was told, hands unsteady as I locked the door, pulling myself into the place I always went when He was punishing me.

It would hurt less, if only in my dreams.

The teacher came up behind me as I pulled myself out of the place in my mind, hoping that he was just going to make me clean, make me do something. I wished, for the first time in a long while, that I wouldn't be punished. I knew I deserved it, but I wanted to beg him.

Please, please don't punish me. I'll be good. I swear.

I heard Him growl in my head, heard him laugh and tell me that I'd never be good enough. That was why he was here, to make sure I knew how unworthy of their love I was.

It was the truth. I was never worthy of love, never worthy of care.

I looked up at him, looming behind me, a smile on his face.

"Well, Bakura, let's do this, right?"

Not a sound came out as he proceeded with the punishment.

I walked out of the school, bag in hand, shoes untied. I stared at the sky, the perfectly blue sky, and felt a traitorous tear roll down my face.

I was so tired of being broken and torn, so desperately lonely.

But it was all I had, all I was. It was what I was meant to have, all I was meant to be. I would never escape this life until He deemed me worthy of it.

I never actually held the concept of hate within myself until that moment.

And, not as you might think, it was aimed at myself. I didn't understand why I couldn't be loved, why I had to be punished, so the only thing that made sense was that I must be hated by everyone. I must be hated by me.

I walked home, feeling the demon inside me pacing, awaiting his turn for the punishment.

I walked up to my house, never my home. Home is where the heart is, that's the saying. I have no heart, because He has no heart. I have no home.

I made it all the way to the door before the terror of what was to come engulfed me. I froze, making Him all the more angry. I bowed my head in submission, and I opened the door. I knew the moment I walked in that Father was gone. He wouldn't be back for days. Weeks if he was on a dig.

I felt, more than heard, the door shut, and His cruel laugh.

Tears trickled down my face before my eyes were closed and they stopped altogether.

He beat me, worse than I could remember in a long time. He hadn't used the blades in months, but all I could feel was the cold of the knife as it sunk to the hilt in my back, missing the organs, but slicing through the muscles.

It was why I could never hold anything properly anymore. Muscle is hard to heal, especially when it is torn in half.

I tried, but this time, I couldn't even cry to release the pain. Something stopped my voice, my tears. I thought that it might even be Him doing it, but he stopped for a moment, flipping me over and for a split second I swore I saw a hint of worry in those troubled dark eyes. If I did, it was gone in seconds, and I stared numbly at the man who held the bloody knives, the red that decorated his hands and face was me.

It made him happy for me to submit, to be silent as he ripped me open and tore out the imperfections.

At the same time though, he put more into me, more scars, more welts and pain. I would never come clean.

And the teacher...

I would never atone for that, never.

I felt a thrum of absolute pain, something far deeper than I had ever felt before. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember that perfect sky.

But all I could see was the cracked ceiling, and all I could feel was the torn, bitter ache in my body. All I was now was a fiery ache, one that would never again be what he once had the potential for.

I must have lost more blood than I thought, I was philosophizing on the merits of my blackened soul. It wasn't often that it happened, usually I just accepted the fact that I was bad, that I had killed the two people who had ever loved me, and I got on just fine.

Fine, I tell you.

But sometimes that seed of rebellion, the seed of righteousness would start to remind me that a beating was not a good punishment for being late, for coughing, for laughing.

Not paying attention was not a good enough excuse for rape...

I felt a part of me shudder, remembering violently what had just taken place, scarcely an hour ago. But He wouldn't care, so I should just accept it and move on.

I felt him growl again as I calmly lay there, waiting for him to leave before trying to move and to clean up the mass on the floor.

"What did he do?"

I looked up at Him blankly. What did who do?

I tried to ask, but nothing would come out of my parched throat, nothing would escape the blood-lined mouth, the broken and bleeding lips. I was silent as He seethed, picking apart my memories, reliving the hour, the punishment. I watched it all, detached, with a clinical air.

"He will pay for this."

I cringed a little, thinking He was talking about me, for being inattentive to Him. For being unable to tell him what happened.

He looked at me, on the floor, stripped and bleeding.

"You stay here, and clean up this mess."

I nodded, eyes averted from his, not wanting to see the burning hatred they held for me.

He had been gone an hour now, and I had just finished scrubbing the blood from the floor, and the walls. I limped over to the bathroom, not looking in the mirror, simply taking out the alcohol, and some bandages. I stripped off the shredded remains of my jeans before sitting in the tub and turning on the water to a slow drizzle. I took the washcloth I always kept in the tub and I held it under the frigid water. No use waiting for it to heat up, it would only make the alcohol burn more...

I washed the blood off as best I could, trying to avoid reopening the wounds. I wet my hair, hoping that there was no more of the clotted brownish red mess in the limp white strands.

The alcohol burned, deep into my skin I could feel it. I could feel it burning away the impurities in the wounds, the day's mistakes burned out of my skin. I rinsed off the excess, noting that I needed another bottle of the stuff before I bandaged the worst that I could reach.

I stood, dressed in the simple cotton pants and a button-up cotton shirt. I hoped that I wouldn't bleed on them, they were the last ones I had.

I heard the doorbell ring, and could only assume that the mailman had a package for my Father. No one sent me mail, so it had to be for Father.

I looked out the peephole at the doorstep. Yuugi stood there, looking as though he didn't want to be there.

I sighed, then pulled a smile out so that I could tell him to leave before He came back. I would be beaten for talking to him, but I would be beaten worse for letting him in.

I opened the door, hoping for an instant that Yuugi wouldn't notice the bruises, the smell of rubbing alcohol. I sighed, realizing that he would notice, invariably.

"Bakura-san! I had hoped you were home!"

The smaller boy smiled, and it was infectious. I felt my smile becoming a bit lighter, something it hadn't been in years.

"Motou-san, what are you doing here?"

My voice was a dull whisper, rusty from disuse.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course, sore throat."

I hoped again that he wouldn't notice.

"Umn, Bakura-san, well, do you mind if I come in? I need to talk to you..."

I cringed inwardly, I knew it wasn't going to be easy to get rid of him.

"Motou-san, not right now. Can't we talk at school on Monday? I'm not very well, and I need to see to my F-father, he's ill as well."

The longest sentence I'd spoken in months. I could tell he wasn't buying it, but he just sighed and looked off to the side.

"Bakura-san, Ryou, please. I can tell that there's something wrong. I just wanted to tell you that I know that bullies can be nasty and won't let you get away, but that you need to stand up to them at some point. Look, I've been there, and no one knows better than someone who has been though what you're going through now."

I couldn't help it. I let the foreign feeling just bubble up, a hysterical laugh just under the surface. I looked at him, eyes unknowingly blank.

"You have no idea what I've gone through. Please leave."

He looked ready to argue, but thought better of it.

"If you need to talk to someone... Or if you need to get away to someplace, I'm always here. You can come by the Game Shop and ask for me."

I nodded, the expected response, and shut the door quietly. I slowly slid to the floor, eyes gazing ahead into the darkness, back pressed against the wall beside the door. I wanted to cry, to mourn. Mourn what I didn't know, but what I did know was that I would never be able to escape, no matter what Yuugi said. It wasn't possible.

I didn't want to escape. I deserved every minute of this, every ounce of pain, of blood, sweat. Every tear I shed was a tithe to the coffers of my penance. But they would never be full.

I felt the door slam open as He came into the house, anger radiating off of him in waves. I didn't move. I didn't breathe.

"Ryou..."

Í could feel his eyes search, feel them fall on me.

I didn't care.

I deserved whatever he decided to give me. I could feel the blood soaking my shirt through the bandages on my back, pulled taught by my position. I had gripped my knees when I slid down to the floor, and now I hugged them in a death grip, one that hadn't lost it's intensity since it started.

I didn't move as he kneeled down to my level. I stared at him, eyes unblinking.

"Ryou, what happened while I was gone?"

He sounded so sincere.

I couldn't afford to believe it. I couldn't speak, so I let him search my memories, unresisting as he tore them apart, seething and growling.

"That little twerp, what's his idea?"

He looked off into the distance, seeming to plan and plot.

He smacked me before he stood up. It was my cue to stand.

I stayed on the ground, arms still wrapped tightly around my knees.

"Slave!"

He hissed it out, something he hadn't called me in a long time. I looked up at him, and I was surprised at his reaction. I expected to be hit for my insolence, expected to be punished for whatever I had done to anger him. I never expected to see him shudder, to look away. Was I so repulsive now?

My eyes drifted back ahead of me, staring unseeing into my heart, traveling my soul.

I found myself in my soul room, the one place He hadn't been in yet. But it wasn't a place of retreat, a place to go when I was so hurt and worn that I couldn't take the pain anymore.

It was the embodiment of that pain. The ceiling was that perfect blue, the perfect sky. Fluffy clouds and gentle sunlight streaming.

The picture of what I could never have.

The ground was carpet, carped that would never be cleaned of the brown stains, the color of rust dried and flaking. The bed in the middle was covered in dingy sheets, worn and tattered, once a beautiful blue they were now unrecognizable under the dirt and grime. The walls were a sick orange, dull and reflective of the pain in my heart. Orange representing the red of pain, mixed with the leftover yellow of sunny happiness. It was the reflection of the changes over the years, I was in autumn now, in the last stages of life. What should have been the golden years in my old age were now the red-orange of pain and slavery.

I sat on the bed and watched the perfect sky rolling above me. I felt the hopelessness of this life, of my situation.

And suddenly, I felt it, I heard it. I heard the riiiiping sound of my soul. The acceptance had taken over.

Bakura watched his other stare ahead, a sick feeling rising in his gut. He had pushed too far, had continued his sick pleasures and had broken the boy. The catalyst being the teacher...

Well, he wouldn't be troubling anyone again, anyways.

He felt his soul being called back into the ring, and he could feel the rift opening up in the soul room across the way.

He hurriedly pulled open his door, and ran to the other room. Self preservation told him that if he didn't stop this, they were going to end up in a mental ward, or dead.

"RYOU!"

No response, the ripping feeling was getting stronger.

"RYOU!"

I could hear him out there, but I was just so tired. He would punish me for not answering right away, but I just couldn't let him bother me. I was getting the peace I deserved.

He started to bang on the door, so hard that it shook in it's frame. But my will, what was left of it anyways, held fast.

"RYOU!" He called again, and I could hear the desperation in his voice. Could practically see the crazy glint in his eyes as he tried to break the door.

Then, just before the sky tore completely, and I was locked inside my mind forever, it stopped.

He stopped banging on the door, and I could hear him slide to the floor, not unlike myself just moments ago.

"Please Ryou. Open the damned door. Just let me in."

I shook, I wanted so badly for this to be true, for him to actually care. But I knew it was a lie, I knew that he would just hurt me when I opened the door.

I sighed, and I got up, walking to the door, my bare feet crunching the dried bloodstains on the floor.

"Why?"

The question startled me. I wondered where it came from, before realizing that I had said it.

"Because, Ryou. I don't want to die, and strangely enough, I don't want YOU to die either."

I laughed, a foreign sound in this desolate landscape. I could feel him cringe from the awful sound, and I laughed harder.

"Are you afraid of what you made, Demon?"

I didn't know where this strength came from, but it was there, enveloping me, giving me the will to fight.

"No... I never meant it to go that far. What he did, it was inexcusable! Why didn't you call me? I would have gladly disposed of him."

"I deserved it."

I could feel the subtle tomes of horror in his aura.

"What...? No one deserves-"

"No one deserves to be treated like dirt, beaten and broken day after day, year after year Demon! No one deserves to be hated and reviled without doing anything worthy of it! I only existed and they hated me! I killed them! And they rightfully hate me! I deserve every punishment you, and whoever else, will dole out!"

I collapsed sobbing to the floor. That had been all the fight I had left. There was nothing else left to hold me together.

"...I'm... I'm sorry, Ryou."

I laughed again, jeeringly. I knew that he would never say those words, least of all to me. It was a clever ruse to get me to cooperate.

I opened the door though, because I knew that while he would never have said those words, he had, and for that I could forgive him. Just a little.

A very little bit.

I saw him, sitting by the door, unwilling to come in. I saw the gentle stab of horror at his view of my soul room. It looked, smelled, ached of pain and sadness.

"How did you ever survive, Ryou? How did you hide this from me?"

I looked at him, blank and even.

"I never hid anything from you. You refused to see me for what I was."

This is the song that inspired me to write this... amazing flaming pile of... Well, anyways, this is what started it, coupled with a renewed fascination with all things Ryou-abuse centric. I swear, he saw what was in my head and went "Not again!". Needless to say he ran away screaming, and hid under the bed.

"Torn" By Natalie Imruglia

I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm
He came around
And he was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry

Well you couldn't be that man I adored
You don't seem to know
Or seem to care
What your heart is for
I don't know him anymore

There's nothin' where he used to lie
My conversation has run dry
That's what's going on
Nothings right
I'm torn

I'm all out of faith
This is how I feel
I'm cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed
Into something real
I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn
You're a little late
I'm already torn

So I guess the fortune tellers right
I should have seen just what was there and not some holy light
But you crawled beneath my veins
And now, I don't care
I have no luck
I don't miss it all that much
There's just so many things
That I can't touch
I'm torn

There's nothin' where he used to lie
My inspiration has run dry
That's what's going on
Nothing's right
I'm torn
Chorus