Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Carry Me Home ❯ My Home ( Chapter 1 )

Welcome to all of my old and new reviewers! This story is a side story to my stories. This is how Seto and Joey met and fell in love.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yugioh, just Aria and Aten are mine.

WARNINGS: INCEST! YAOI! ALCOHOLISM! NONCONSENSUAL INCESTUAL YAOI SCENES!!! SETO X JOEY LEMONS! SOME BDSM AND USE OF SEX TOYS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

My Home

It was the same routine every day for the past two years. I woke up locked in my room. My skin, my hair, my clothes, my bedsheets all smelled of Jack Daniels from my father's breath and the cheap perfumes of the ten-cent whores he brought home on a regular basis.

But of all the whores he enjoyed, I was the cheapest whore he could find. As it happens, I'm also the whore that he has held onto for the longest time. Am I proud of it? No. But, there was a gentleness to him sometimes. He loved me, but his love was killing me inside.

So, after knocking on my door begging for my father to unlock the door to my room, I showered. Oh yes….the shower felt good. It prepared me for another day of school, life on the streets, and finally for my return home to be used by my father again for his enjoyment.

Then came school. Yugi and my friends would never know there was anything wrong with me. I hid my bruises just as well as Ryou. Now there's a guy I feel bad for! His yami is always giving him the shitty end of the stick. He limped up to his locker. He said he pulled his leg in gym class the day before. Bullshit. Ryou was always a sucky liar!

I'm the Prince of Bullshit. I lie to my friends all the time that I felt good and that everything at home was fine. When I look pale from a long night of being pounded into the mattress, I just tell them I have a cold. It works all the time.

Yugi, bless his heart, never digs his nose into my business. Tristan and Otogi invite me over for some video games almost every Saturday. Between Tristan's addiction to coffee and Otogi's addiction to cappuccino, I'm always wide awake when I leave Otogi's home. Tristan is dating my sister, Serenity, but I know it won't last.

Ryou has his own problems. I try not to intrude on him. I'd rather have my spleen dug out with a dull, rusty spoon than speak to Anzu. I'd rather dive into a swimming pool naked filled with razor blades than think of her.

If I am the Prince of Bullshit, Kaiba is the King of Bullshit! The Supreme Master of the Art of Bullshit! Yes, Kaiba made Bullshit into an Art. He walks around thinking he's better than everyone else. He thinks because he's a rich-boy, that he can buy his grades! 'Oh, look at me! I have a silly multi-million dollar company to run!' He believes because he's so rich and powerful that he is immune to everything bad around him.

Hmm…Conceited Rich-Boy!

But, if he is so conceited, why do I look at him every time he passes by me? Well, it would make sense that I'm attracted to him. He's like my father. He's dominating. Imposing. Powerful. Strong. That has to be the only reason I look at him while I'm changing my books for my next class.

So, I go through the course of the school day. Yugi and Ryou are planning a movie night on Friday night. Pizza! Soda! Pretzels! Bloody, scary movie! Hell, yeah! They said they would love for me to come over. I would have to leave their house early. My father wanted me home every night in case he wanted to "borrow" me for the night, as he called it.

Ryou was the last to leave. He really didn't want to go home. I walked him home, though and he seemed perfectly content that I talked to him about the new cards we were looking at in Yugi's Game Shop. He shivered when he reached his house and he gave me a hug before returning into his house.

Poor guy.

I know how it feels to dread going home. It was my goal everyday to go home last minute. I was safer living on the streets. Actually, I live in an alley. I have a little place set up for myself. I live under a balcony and I always keep a trashcan in the alleyway. In it, I keep my blanket and some crackers for food. I removed the blanket from the trashcan and cuddled up in it under the balcony. I grabbed my crackers and grabbed my own bottle of Jack Daniels. If I get myself drunk enough, I can go home and my father can use me any way he wishes.

I grabbed a tattered cross-stitch that my mother made when I was two years old. The colors have faded now, mostly due to my father using it as a coaster for his beer. I looked at it as I wrapped the blanket around me in the cold alley.

The cross-stitch read: 'Home Is Where The Heart Is."

My mother sewed a large pink heart into the white cloth. The stitching is ruined now by beer stains……..and my tears.

NO. Home is not where the heart is. Home is where the sex is. Home is where the hurt is.

That is what it should read.

The heart should be broken in two….blood stains should shroud the heart with a crimson wound.

'Home is where the hurt is.'

If I get drunk enough, I won't have to feel anything.

After all….my feelings don't mean shit. I have to attend to his feelings. I'm not entitled to my own feelings, so I'll drown them in the bottom of a bottle.

The police sirens speed pass the alley. They're still looking for me. I had to steal the crackers to eat. I was arrested before for underage drinking and when the cops returned me to my home, my father didn't stop pounding me into the bed all day. I spent all day tied to the bed at twelve years old, my father using me all day as his personal pleasure toy.

Please don't find me here again. I don't want to go back to my father for underage drinking!

I wrap myself tighter in the blanket and cuddle closer to the corner. I'm happy in my corner, hidden in the alley.

My father can't find me here.

Nobody can find me here.

I'm invisible.

This is my world! The trash-lined alley is my kingdom! The rats are my loyal subjects and my pets. The cockroaches are my loyal minions.

In this alley, I am king.

In this alley, I am protected.

In this alley, I am safe….until I am forced to leave the safety of my alley and venture off to my house, a battlefield.

My house is a battlefield, and I am always left the bleeding, crying casualty.

My watch reads 9:00. It's almost time for my father to come into my room to enjoy me again. I don't want to go home, but what choice do I have?

I fold my blanket and put my crackers back into the trashcan. I walk home with my schoolbooks on my back.

I enter the house and my father wraps his arms around me lovingly. Tonight Jack wasn't keeping him company. Tonight was a new bottle of Gin. Variety is the spice of life, no?

My father removes my backpack from me and removes my jacket.

My father pulls me into a Gin-flavored kiss. "I missed you today, Joseph. Your daddy wants to show you how much he missed you."

My father unbuttoned my shirt, planting tiny kisses around the base of my neck.

I hate this. This is wrong. Disgusting. Evil. Demented.

Our sick, twisted ballet continued as it did every night…….