Under the Influence.
[ Backdated to October 6th, 2007. ]
Shaking the water out from his hair, the king of thieves studied himself in the bathroom mirror. He'd slid into some gray sweatpants shortly after climbing out of the shower, though he hadn't bothered with a shirt yet. The mirror was foggy but he could still make out the scars on his chest. Trailing his fingers over them, he allowed himself to sigh heavily. Dark Malik had already cut him up and screwed him over; he really should have expected that it was only a matter of time until he did it figuratively as well.
Bakura had been down before but it had been a long time, well over 3,000 years, since he'd been depressed. He could hide it well, bury it down under the ego he'd worked ages on building for himself, but it was there. He closed his eyes for a moment, gripping the sink and leaning over it. He could remember the first time he'd been with her, the time they went dancing together, and he'd almost fucked her in the back room of the club. He could remember how nice she'd felt when she was with him, how she'd felt better than any of the others he'd been with. He'd even overcome his lust for Darkness. Fallen in love. Proposed to her. Had a kid.
His grip tightened without him realizing it but he opened his eyes again, glancing towards the toilet. He probably needed to puke, collapse on the ground and just spend the night hovered over the toilet. Complete misery, maybe, but these things worked in a cycle. He'd been able to disguise it enough to fool around with the Dark Bakura (the darker side of himself -- things really did work in a cycle), to pretend that he was the only thing he cared about. He'd taken the proper time to nurture his ego, though there was still a small gash left from the idea that he wasn't good enough.
Wasn't even decent enough for a whore to keep a promise to him.
He'd grown up with the philosophy that he was the only one who loved himself. That it would stay that way until he unleashed Darkness or died trying. There had never been any reason to think otherwise. How he'd been given the illusion that someone else could love him, he wasn't sure. He'd wasted his time, valuable time, chasing after something that wasn't meant to be. Priorities, priorities. How could he have botched things up this badly?
He coughed quietly before moving out of the bathroom. Fuck throwing up, he didn't feel like wasting the time. Grabbing his sweatshirt (it'd been lying on the floor in the hallway), he slid it on over his head and moved to the couch, collapsing on it and turning on the television. Background noise, maybe, but it certainly beat listening to his head. The more he did that, the angrier he got (and at this point, he wasn't even sure what he was angry at.)
He would have preferred going to bed, sleeping it off, but that option had been yoinked away from him when Shizuka had told him she needed to see him. Now, apparently. Couldn't even wait until the fucking morning. Was there no grace period to leaving a heartbroken moron alone? She'd be here any minute probably, so there was no real reason to bother with getting comfortable. Just lie here and wait.
... And flip through the channels. He'd die before he resorted to watching the Spirit's cooking shows.
[Tag, Princess. :3]
Shaking the water out from his hair, the king of thieves studied himself in the bathroom mirror. He'd slid into some gray sweatpants shortly after climbing out of the shower, though he hadn't bothered with a shirt yet. The mirror was foggy but he could still make out the scars on his chest. Trailing his fingers over them, he allowed himself to sigh heavily. Dark Malik had already cut him up and screwed him over; he really should have expected that it was only a matter of time until he did it figuratively as well.
Bakura had been down before but it had been a long time, well over 3,000 years, since he'd been depressed. He could hide it well, bury it down under the ego he'd worked ages on building for himself, but it was there. He closed his eyes for a moment, gripping the sink and leaning over it. He could remember the first time he'd been with her, the time they went dancing together, and he'd almost fucked her in the back room of the club. He could remember how nice she'd felt when she was with him, how she'd felt better than any of the others he'd been with. He'd even overcome his lust for Darkness. Fallen in love. Proposed to her. Had a kid.
His grip tightened without him realizing it but he opened his eyes again, glancing towards the toilet. He probably needed to puke, collapse on the ground and just spend the night hovered over the toilet. Complete misery, maybe, but these things worked in a cycle. He'd been able to disguise it enough to fool around with the Dark Bakura (the darker side of himself -- things really did work in a cycle), to pretend that he was the only thing he cared about. He'd taken the proper time to nurture his ego, though there was still a small gash left from the idea that he wasn't good enough.
Wasn't even decent enough for a whore to keep a promise to him.
He'd grown up with the philosophy that he was the only one who loved himself. That it would stay that way until he unleashed Darkness or died trying. There had never been any reason to think otherwise. How he'd been given the illusion that someone else could love him, he wasn't sure. He'd wasted his time, valuable time, chasing after something that wasn't meant to be. Priorities, priorities. How could he have botched things up this badly?
He coughed quietly before moving out of the bathroom. Fuck throwing up, he didn't feel like wasting the time. Grabbing his sweatshirt (it'd been lying on the floor in the hallway), he slid it on over his head and moved to the couch, collapsing on it and turning on the television. Background noise, maybe, but it certainly beat listening to his head. The more he did that, the angrier he got (and at this point, he wasn't even sure what he was angry at.)
He would have preferred going to bed, sleeping it off, but that option had been yoinked away from him when Shizuka had told him she needed to see him. Now, apparently. Couldn't even wait until the fucking morning. Was there no grace period to leaving a heartbroken moron alone? She'd be here any minute probably, so there was no real reason to bother with getting comfortable. Just lie here and wait.
... And flip through the channels. He'd die before he resorted to watching the Spirit's cooking shows.
[Tag, Princess. :3]