2

6:

The end came.

It came before I could see it. Before I could accept it. Before I could even feel its presence.

We had reached the end. Your goal was so close. I had followed your wishes, your commands, your desires—and we were so close to completing what you had wanted for so long. To me, it seemed like your freedom, to you—it was something much more.

I had begged you to let me stay with you, each step down into the tomb you fought me for control of body and mind. I clawed against the walls, screaming that you needed my help—that I needed to be with you. That we had come this far—this far and I could help. I could still help.

But you just told me you never needed me. All I was good for was as a vessel and something to fuck.

Those had been the last words before I lost consciousness and you had taken over.

“I don’t need you—I never needed you. You’re a vessel and a fuck—that’s all. I don’t love you.”

The next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital bed with Yugi and the others. Smiling over me like I had been the victim in all this, treating me with care and worry. Yugi—even Yugi after what we had done—looked at me like I was some friend. Tears running down those scarred cheeks in happiness that I was okay!

I was disgusted.

I screamed out, pushing them away, screaming out your name, pulling the IVs running from my arms, fighting against them as they tried putting me back in bed.

I know you didn’t mean what you said Bakura—you were saying it so I wouldn’t worry about you.

But you were supposed to come back. You weren’t supposed to leave me alone.

I sit now in this empty dark room. Thinking about all that had happened here. The first time I’d seen you until the last. How could I sit here? How could I live here knowing? Knowing what all had happened?

I grip the knife tighter in my hand, closing my eyes as I let my other hand run over my hardening groin.

“Bakura. Bakura touch me more.”

It’s his hand that runs over my crotch, his hand that brings the knife to my chest.

I let the knife cut through my clothing down to the skin—feel the bitter sting as my skin is sliced—watch my shirt slowly turn red—let my other hand pull my jeans down to pool around my ankles.

His hand teases me, squeezes painfully hard—continues to squeeze as I whine out his name.

It hurts as I slice down my chest again, painfully squeeze my cock so that the tip is blue. I dig my nails into the cuts, feel my eyes sting.

“Bakura!” I cry. “Bakura!”

I’m sobbing and I can’t stop, I’m cutting and I can’t stop. I need the pain. I need it.

I’m rubbing my cock raw as I stroke it as fast as I can. I’ve stabbed through my leg so far the knife has stuck in the floor. And yet I feel as if I can’t really feel it.

I can’t feel the pleasure—or the pain.

“Bakura…”

I pull the knife out, holding it tighter, crying…crying…crying so hard I can’t see. And I can’t feel anything.

Everything is dull and dead without you.

“Bakura…”

I pull on my cock so hard I feel it would pull right off, I scream and I stab again, right into my stomach, blood gurgling up into my throat, dripping down my chin to mix with these tears that won’t stop.

The knife pulls out easily, chased by the chunks of blood and skin that stain the floor. Again my knife goes on, higher into my rib cage. And this time it feels like I can no longer breathe. I gasp and choke, reaching for completion before I lose consciousness.

But I feel myself slipping, too much is leaving me to ever reach that completion.

“Bakura.”

“Bakura!”

Come back, come back and finish me. I stab again. Finish me. Finish me!

I let the knife tear down my side, screaming out as it rips at my insides—tears them apart.

I’m stabbing too much now, I feel my grip weakening as I stab frantically. My cock is getting limper as more and more blood leaves my body.

I stroke it harder as I twist the knife deeper into my side.

“Bakura…”

The body that belongs to you. It doesn’t know what to do now that its master is gone. So it destroys itself. So that no one else can ever possess it.

People live their lives fearing death. The first thing they ask is, ‘will it be painful?—will I be in pain?’ They fear pain, they avoid it. They wish to die beautifully.

Will people envy me? When they find my body, surrounded by this pool of crimson, will they be jealous that I had died beautifully?

- -

AN: This is the creepy, weird ending I've had in mind for this story since the beginning. I hope it leaves you O.O. I SUPER APOLOGIZE FOR THE HUGE GAP OF TIME IT TOOK TO FINISH THIS. Its not even that long! GAH! Well. Anyway, its done. Love you all! I really appreciate all the reviews that I received on this. Let's me know its worth doing these!