Souvenir

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.

Mementos


With my stepfather actually here in Domino, it’s only a matter of time before he finds me and takes me back. Resigned to my fate, I allow Yami to fawn over me more than usual because I want to keep as many memories of him as possible. He’s constantly making me pastries, as though the sugar content will make me forget that my time here is short. Because he means well and because I wish I could forget, I don’t mind his indulgences.

Raphael came by the day after my confessions and I thought Yami would tell him everything about me, or at least my real name. But he didn’t. And from the way that Raphael continues to treat me like a threat a week later, he still hasn’t.

I wonder what it will be like, being back at Kaiba Manor again after all this time. Will I even make it that far? Maybe he’ll just dispose of me along the way. No, he’ll want to punish me first. And he’ll probably try to make me tell him where Mokuba’s located; not that anything he could do would get me to reveal that information.

Maybe I won’t go back at all. I could run again. Or...or...

I shake my head, trying to clear it of that last thought. I don’t want to die.

“Seto?” Yami knocking on my bedroom door distracts me from my morbid thoughts. “Raphael’s here. It’s time to go.”

This afternoon’s jaunt is another one of Yami’s treats for me. After a late lunch with Raphael at a small shop in the area, we’re going out to a department store nearby because he insists on buying me some new clothes. Despite my protests that it would be a waste of time and money to get me anything new, Yami has made up his mind and won’t be swayed.

Allowing myself to be pulled from concerns of capture, I follow them out of the house, squinting in the late afternoon sun that I’ve hidden from for weeks.

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With my latest acquisition of clothes, Yami decides to give away all the things that are a little too small for me. I help him put them in a box for charity, thinking all the while that I should probably keep them. After all, once I’m back under Gozaboro’s roof I certainly won’t be eating Raphael’s well-prepared meals and Yami’s decadent pastries that have allowed me to fill out over the past few months.

I’ll really miss Yami’s pastries.

I’ll really miss Yami.

Looking up from the latest confectionary goodie in front of me, I study Yami’s face as he talks briefly about a new pastry he introduced at the hotel. I want to remember him just like this: open, happy, excited about his work. I savor each moment in his presence now, memorizing his face and mannerisms, knowing that I’ll soon never see them again. I want to cherish the feeling of having Yami as my friend.

As well as the other feelings being with him have awakened in me recently...

A few weeks ago, I started noticing a warm sensation all over my body every time I interact with Yami; sometimes when I think about him too.

“You’re staring at me again, Seto,” Yami observes for the third time today.

I look away, not having any explanation to offer him. Or myself. Especially after what happened yesterday.

Around 5:30 pm yesterday evening, Yami had been in the hall closet, reaching from the top of the stepladder for something on the very back of the top shelf. I was coming out of my room to go down and start dinner when I saw him miss the second step in his descent and begin to tumble backward. I caught him and staggered back into a nearby wall before stumbling to the floor, Yami landing on top of me.

My body grows warm as I remember wanting to lie there beneath him a little longer than the few moments afforded me.

Hastily excusing myself from the dinner table, I close myself in my room to try and figure this out. Flopping back on my bed, I stare at the ceiling, hoping some sort of sense will come with that act. It doesn’t work.

Or maybe I don’t want it to work. Maybe I don’t want to know what’s going on and why I feel...whatever it is I feel for Yami.

And I do feel something.

Is it more than just friendship? And would I know if it was?

If I didn’t think he’d kill me for even suggesting that I may feel some attraction to Yami, I’d talk to Raphael about this...this...I don’t know what it is.

I close my eyes and re-live the sensation of Yami’s warm body atop mine. Wrapping my arms around myself, I imagine that I’m holding Yami against me. A stirring that I’ve never known sends my hands moving of their own accord over my body.

As my fingers brush across my thigh, I remember my encounter with the man who’d tried to excite me while I paid him for a meal and a night on his couch. Mimicking his movements and touches while keeping the memory of Yami’s body on top of mine, the stirring begins to get stronger.

Slipping my hand inside my suddenly too tight pants, I’m more than a little surprised to find myself fully aroused. Is this because I was thinking about Yami? Do I really want to be with him like that? To have him touch me like that other did? To have him take me?

The stirring reaches its peak at the images that thought brings and I find my first voluntary release shaking my whole body.

I open my eyes and study the plain, white ceiling again, panting heavily.

I want him. I want him to hold me. And touch me.

And take me.

But how could I feel that way about my friend? Am I so used to being a sex slave that I don’t know how to have a friend?

Not that it matters since I’m sure Yami could never see me as more than some damaged kid.

Though it would be nice if he could...

Deciding that it’s pointless to dwell on the impossible, I shed my soiled underwear and jeans, take a shower and go to bed.

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“Wow! Look at that!” Yami exclaims about something on the TV as we eat dinner.

“That looks like the front gates to your complex, Yami,” Raphael notes, picking up the nearby remote and turning on the sound.

"Police say that the driver of the SUV, a Mr. Hokuto Nakamura, was traveling at approximately 104 kilometers per hour when he struck the limousine as they were both turning into the complex. Mr. Nakamura had apparently being drinking heavily earlier this evening before this unfortunate turn of events."

“That is my complex!” Yami confirms in surprise.

“Well, it’s certain that no one made it out alive,” Raphael asserts.

Looking at the smashed remains of what used to be a white SUV and the black limo wrapped around it, I have to agree. Especially since both vehicles are also upside-down on top of the fragmented brick garden wall of the house on the corner. Littering the street just inside the complex gates are myriad pieces of the two wrecks.

"Information on the occupants of the limousine is being withheld pending notification of family members,” the reporter further explains.

“In other news...”

“I’m surprised it took him this long to kill someone,” Raphael asserts, muting the rest of the broadcast while we eat. “That guy’s been a menace for years. It’s too bad he couldn’t have just killed himself. I hope his family’s got deep pockets.”

“His wife must be devastated,” Yami sighs into his chicken lo-mein.

“She’s probably relieved,” Raphael murmurs.

“That’s an awful think to say!” Yami admonishes. “Though on some level, you’re probably right.”

I stay silent through their banter, thoroughly enjoying my meal, as it has been more than a week since Raphael’s cooked for us. Even something so simple is a pleasant departure from Yami’s instant ramen and my mediocre efforts to feed us. I help myself to seconds from the large wok on the stove and return to my seat.

At the abrupt halt in their conversation, I look up from putting a piece of chicken in my mouth to find Raphael frowning worriedly at me.

“Yami,” he begins sternly. “Are you feeding that kid? He’s inhaling his food like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have.”

I completely miss Yami’s reply, so stunned that Raphael shows any hint of concern for me.

My time here must really be short.

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“Here,” Yami prompts, handing me a folded piece of paper.

I take it, eying him cautiously.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” he smiles.

I unfold the small sheet slowly, frowning in confusion until I see what he’s written.

Ishtar and a phone number, complete with country code.

“Yami...” I whisper incredulously.

“I don’t know much about hacking into computer systems or searching the Internet, but I do have lots of people willing to help me out for a few pastries,” he grins.

“How...?”

“I thought if we called them all, one of them was bound to be the Ishtars you were looking for,” he offers by way of explanation

“You...I don’t know how to thank you for this, Yami.”

“I think you just did,” Yami beams. “And since that’s all settled, there is a phone in your room, you know.”

I blink at him and he laughs at what must be a completely shocked look on my face, and for the first time in my life, I feel a blush warming my cheeks. Suddenly very uncomfortable in Yami’s presence, I retreat to my room.

Though eager for the chance to talk to Mokuba for the first time in almost two years, I find myself staring at the phone instead, worried about contacting him after so long.

What did he think when I stopped writing? And when his letters came back? Maybe he thinks I’ve died since I told him nothing short of death would stop me from keeping in touch with him. And if he thinks I’ve died and has mourned me, what will it do to him to hear my voice again?

What if he thinks I stopped writing on purpose? What if he thinks I didn’t care?

What if he hates me?

I shake my head at that ridiculous thought; Mokuba would never hate me.

Still, what would be the point in contacting him now? Soon I’ll be back with Gozaboro and Mokuba will never see or hear from me again anyway.

Crushing the number in my palm, I toss it into the small, plastic trashcan by my bed. I appreciate what Yami has done, but it’s been too long. I shouldn’t burden him with my presence in his life again. Not now. It’s best that he doesn’t know what’s happened to me these last few years; best that he not worry about what will happen when Gozaboro finds me.

Mokuba’s safe and happy now. I’ll just leave it at that.

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The phone ringing startles me awake.

Turning my bleary gaze to the red numbers glaring at me in my darkened room, I realize that it’s only a little after 11:00 pm. I’d decided to go to bed early as it’s Yami’s night to stay at the hotel. On most days, I’d still be up after having watched some random TV show with him, usually some sappy drama, and we’d now be watching the news.

“Hello?” I yawn.

“Seto!” Yami calls urgently on the other line. “Turn on the news!”

“I’m in bed, Yami,” I protest.

“Hurry! You’re going to miss it!” he presses.

Groaning, I blindly reach for the remote to the smallish TV that Yami moved from the kitchen into my room last week. Finding it after fumbling around for a bit, I click it on and turn to the station that we usually watch…only to nearly fall out of the bed in shock. On the screen behind the talking anchorwoman is a picture of Gozaboro and what look to be birth and death years.

Several moments pass as I stare at the screen before I actually hear what the reporter is saying.

“...family elected to have a private funeral service.

“Kaiba Corporation issued a statement last week that the Board of Directors will formally take over operation of the weapons manufacturing giant at the beginning of next month. No word on how that decision will affect Gozaboro’s two sons who have been studying abroad for the past five years.

“The famous CEO died last week in a horrific car accident outside of a quiet suburb of Domino City, a victim of a drunk driver. Speculation abounds regarding Mr. Kaiba’s reason for being in that particular neighborhood. Several rival corporations suggest that the CEO was there for a secret business meeting with plans to corner the market on the SM-3 interceptor system, a joint development with the United States.

“The Kaiba Corporation Board of Directors has declined to comment on the matter.

“In other news...”

I turn off the TV, dropping the remote to the floor.

Dead.

He’s dead.

“Seto!” I hear Yami’s exclamation as if from far away and realize that I must have dropped the phone on the floor earlier. “Seto, are you there?”

Ignoring Yami’s insistent voice, I roll over and huddle beneath the covers.

I want it to be true so much, but...

I know why he was in this neighborhood; he was coming to take me back. I’d been expecting it, planned for it, but knowing that he’d really almost gotten me...

No, he could have faked it. He could still be out there. And as soon as I let my guard down and start to think that I’m safe...

Still, if it was on the news...

Closing my eyes, I burrow deeper under my covers. In the blackness behind my eyelids, I see the combined wreck of the SUV and limo from that night and know for certain that Raphael was right; no one got out alive.

He’s really dead. He can’t hurt me, or Mokuba anymore.

So why am I not happier about that?