Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Someday ❯ If only, if only... ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: Ok, I know I should be working on “All I Ever Had” but this idea just popped into my head while I was doing chores, and it's been nagging at me ever since. If I don't get it out, I think I'll go nutso Lol. So, here's my little one-shot. I'll update my main fic as soon as I can. Hope you enjoy this!

 

Disclaimer: Stiiill not the owner of Yu-Gi-Oh. -sigh-

 

Did you ever notice how long time feels when you're frightened and alone? How your senses are heightened, and the darkness that envelops you feels almost physical?

I do.

I'm sitting here on my bed, huddled in the farthest corner from the door, watching said door carefully and hoping that it won't swing open any time soon.

A sudden icy breeze causes me to pull my thin, ragged blanket tighter around my shivering frame and stare disconsolately at the window.

The glass pane is shattered, jagged, broken fragments standing in the cracked frame, grinning, deadly teeth. I shiver again as the memory of how the window got that way spreads across my thoughts.

(“Please stop,” I begged, wrapping my arms around my head for protection. “P-please, no m-more, I beg you…”

He laughed, taking a long swig from the vodka bottle clenched in his right fist, before kicking me again hard in my already horribly bruised side.

I screamed as I felt something crack, and he instantly reached down, grabbing my shirt collar and dragging me to my feet, our noses practically touching. I could see the contempt in his angry eyes, his fury at me darkening them from a warm melted chocolate to obsidian.

“Stop being so weak,” he hissed, his snowy white hair falling forward into his face. He shook me harshly, and I bit back a sob at the pain.

“You are so incredibly fucking weak,” he growled, dropping me back to the floor, his handsome face contorted with rage.

He raised the vodka bottle again to his lips, his eyes narrowing at finding it empty.

“Go get me another bottle,” he said menacingly, brandishing the bottle at me like a knife. He's well acquainted with knives and other such sharp items, having used them on me with regularity. I quiver at the thought of his favorite dagger, the implement of so much of my pain and torture.

I took a deep, fear-filled breath and looked up, looking into the face so very much like my own.

“G-gomen nasai, m-master,” I whispered. “T-there is n-no more.”

His eyes grew wide with furious, drunken rage. “Fuck!” he roared, flinging the empty bottle across the room.

It hit the small window, shattering it. Glass sprayed across the room, some striking my cowering body, causing tiny rivulets of blood to snake down my pale skin.

A small smile spread across his face as he knelt down next to me. He ran a gentle finger down my cheek, and I looked up at him in confusion, surprised at the almost kind motion.

His smile grew wider at the look on my face as he ran the same finger over one of the small wounds on my arm, my blood staining his skin red. I shivered in revulsion and closed my eyes as he lifted the finger to his mouth, gently licking my blood off the digit.

“Open your eyes, aibou,” he sneered, and, like always, I obeyed his command.

My brown eyes widened with fear as I stared at the long shard of glass he now held between his fingertips. A psychotic smile spread across his face, as I grasped his thoughts.

“Please,” I whispered in absolute terror. “Please, no.”

He laughed evilly, and whipped the shard across my upper arm. I gasped in pin as the skin split, a red tattoo marking the spot.

He spoke 14 words, punctuating each one with a slash somewhere on my body.

“The next time I tell you to get me something, you will obey. Understood?”

Silent tears trickled down my face as my nerves sizzled in agony. Lowering my head, I prayed he was finished torturing me.

“Yes, my master,” I murmured almost inaudibly. “Yes, I understand. I - I'm sorry.”

He stood, flinging the red-stained glass shard across the room, where it shattered against the wall.

“Good,” he said simply, standing and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

I slowly pulled myself onto my bed, blood coursing down my body in rivers. Thankfully, none of the wounds were life threatening, and after bandaging them with my first aid kit, I curled into a small ball and closed my eyes. Tears spilled from behind my ebony lashes, dripping gently off the curve of my cheek.

“I hate him,” I whispered to the darkness, before falling into a restless slumber. “I wish he never had the power of the Ring.”)

I cringe at the memory, and then leap in actual fear as I hear the front door open and then slam downstairs. The blood drains from my face and my body begins to tremble as I hear him climbing the stairs, his steps awkward and clumsy, signifying that he's been out drinking.

Which can only mean one thing.

My bedroom door flies open with a resounding crash, and he's there, silhouetted in the doorway, a drunken, lustful leer on his face. My hands brush the ring of gold that hangs around my neck, and I clutch it tightly in fear.

It is because of this small thing, this Millennium Ring, that my life is the way it is. Although we both are technically in possession of it, the Ring has chosen to endow him with its power, rather than me, and I suffer because of it. Despite his slender frame and almost gentle appearance, there is great power running through him, and he knows it.

And he knows that I know it.

I whimper softly and pull my knees tighter to my chest as he stumbles across the room, crawling onto the bed next to me. I can smell the alcohol on him, rolling off of him in reeking waves, choking me. His beautiful silver hair hangs in limp clumps about his shoulders, and his eyes are dull with booze. My fear intensifies as he reaches over to me, pushing the blanket off my shoulders, his hands rough and insistent.

“You look so tempting, aibou,” he slurs, his fingers fumbling at the buttons on my shirt. I close my eyes, tears beginning to slip down my cheeks, as he catches my lips with his own, his kiss hot and searing.

I can taste the vodka on his breath, as his tongue slips into my mouth, searching, probing, demanding. His fingers have finally finished with my buttons, and he slips my shirt off of my shoulders, tossing it to the side as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, forcing me more into his kiss.

I dare not struggle, something I have learned from experience. So I submit quietly to his ministrations, my lips beginning to bruise and my breath shortening as he continues to plunder my mouth with his tongue. Just as I feel that I will faint from lack of air, he pulls away, and lifts his own shirt over his head, clumsily and drunkenly. His hands tug at the waist of my pants, sliding them down and off of me easily, before shedding his own rather quickly. I begin to tremble in fear, hot tears sliding down my face, as I scream inside my own head. I mustn't make a sound though, or he'll hurt me, more so than he already will. I only pray that he will be quick tonight.

He flips me onto my stomach, his need hard and insistent. Without a word, he slides roughly into me, and I arch my back against the intense pain, my mouth forming a silent scream. I bite down hard on the pillow, my hands clenched in fists of agony. Tiny whimpers of protest escape my lips as he slams into me again and again, the white-hot pain searing through my body, causing stars to dance behind my eyes, but he ignores the sound - or perhaps he doesn't even hear it over his own groans of ecstasy. Either way, I don't care, and only hope that it will end soon.

Finally, with a loud moan, finish he does, and he collapses on top of me, his weight pushing my body down further into the mattress. The pillow under me is soaked through with my tears, and I add more as he slips out of me and rolls to the side. I can feel his hot breath on my neck as he draws the blankets up over us, his arm slipping around my waist, pulling me closer to him, trapping me.

“You belong to me,” he whispers as he falls into sleep. “You are mine, and mine alone.”

I carefully turn my head to look at his face, so peaceful in slumber, and it's like looking into a mirror.

“Yes, Ryou,” I whisper, my words laced with sadness. “But maybe someday I'll belong again to me. Someday, I will once again be who I was. Someday, I will once again become me…Bakura.”

And holding onto that one tiny ray of hope, I fall into a defeated sleep.

Someday…

 

A/N: Oh my gosh, I wrote a lemon! Sure it was a semi, not really descriptive lemon, but I actually wrote one! Maybe I'll write one into All I Ever Had…or maybe not Lol! God, I'm glad I got that out of my head! It was driving me nutsoid LOL!!! I think it was kind of original, meh? Dark and angsty, without a doubt Lol! So please tell me what you think by clicking that little tiny button at the bottom and send me a review!