The Ride
folder
Yu-Gi-Oh › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
2,954
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Yu-Gi-Oh › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
2,954
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Heart of Stone
Hope everyone's enjoying the fic so far! Leave me a review if there's something that you love, or even something that you feel could be a lot better and should be brought to my attention. Thanks!
Disclaimer (and this goes for all the other chapters): I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.
Chapter 2- A Heart Of Stone
My hand slaps the snooze button on the alarm clock heavily, putting an end to its high-pitched buzzing. The sting of contact jars me just the slightest bit awake, and with a great effort of will, I drag myself to the washroom and turn the shower onto full cold. Staying awake all night might have been a better idea, I reflect as the water chills me to the bone. For one thing, I wouldn't be so damn drowsy.
Shivering slightly, something I would never do in the presence of anyone else, I dry off as quickly as possible before tossing a few papers into my briefcase, along with my laptop and a book to pass the time in that drudgery they call class. Finally, I throw my dark blue trench coat over my shoulders. Despite its weight, I enjoy the feel of it. Although I'd never admit this to anyone, this coat is a tangible reminder of my barriers against the outside world; unnecessarily cumbersome, but all the more functional for it. Somehow, just knowing those walls are in place makes me feel safer, if not any better about my life.
I grunt a quick greeting to Mokuba as I stride into the dining room and take my place at the head of the table. One of the servants has already placed the newspaper and a mug of black coffee, at my place, and I tilt the scalding liquid back into my throat, gulping down half of it at once before setting it back down and flipping to the business section. As I do so, my eyes meet Mokuba's worried gaze.
"Are you all right, big brother?" he asks. "Don't tell me you were up all night again!"
"Of course not, Mokuba." It's not a total lie. After all, I did get a good hour and a half of sleep.
My little brother doesn't seem convinced in the least, but he's lived with me long enough to have learned when to drop what. For a fleeting moment, it saddens me that this child whose development and protection is my responsibility has to censor himself for my benefit. That emotion, however, like all others that I have experienced in the course of my life, is quickly scoured away, this time by the rest of my hot coffee, leaving only the same, hollow emptiness that I have lived with instead of a heart for my entire young life. To feel is to be weak, I remind myself, and the familiar words have the tone of a mantra; recited each day until they lose all meaning. To survive in this world, I must be strong. To weaken is to condemn us both to a hell worse than this. I look at Mokuba, pushing his breakfast around his plate thoughtfully. Perhaps, at least, I can save him in return before I self-destruct.
I rise from the table, tossing the business section on top of the rest of the paper. Right on cue, Mokuba drains the last of his orange juice, and as I pass him his backpack, he wraps his arms around my legs and gives me the tiniest squeeze.
"I love you, Seto," he says innocently, and I yearn to reciprocate. Try as I might, however, the words will not pass my lips. It's as if they refuse to be said unless I believe them absolutely. Instead, I rest a hand in his ebony mane and gently extricate myself from his embrace.
"Let's get going." I call back over my shoulder as I walk out to the limo parked in the drive without looking back. A muted sniffle reaches my ears, but I decide to fool myself into thinking it's my imagination, or possibly that Mokuba's just coming down with a cold. I'm getting better and better at this denial thing as time goes on.
"Coming, big brother," I hear him call as I clear the walkway, gliding over the ice gracefully, the same way I do everything. Strange, isn't it, that someone with such a chaotic soul can be so physically buoyant?
I hardly spare the chauffeur, who's holding the limousine door open for us, a glance as I slide into my usual seat. Mokuba climbs into the seat across from me, but says nothing, preferring instead to take out a textbook and pretend to study for a test that I know he doesn't have. I don't blame him, though. After what just happened, I wouldn't want to talk to me either.
Disclaimer (and this goes for all the other chapters): I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.
Chapter 2- A Heart Of Stone
My hand slaps the snooze button on the alarm clock heavily, putting an end to its high-pitched buzzing. The sting of contact jars me just the slightest bit awake, and with a great effort of will, I drag myself to the washroom and turn the shower onto full cold. Staying awake all night might have been a better idea, I reflect as the water chills me to the bone. For one thing, I wouldn't be so damn drowsy.
Shivering slightly, something I would never do in the presence of anyone else, I dry off as quickly as possible before tossing a few papers into my briefcase, along with my laptop and a book to pass the time in that drudgery they call class. Finally, I throw my dark blue trench coat over my shoulders. Despite its weight, I enjoy the feel of it. Although I'd never admit this to anyone, this coat is a tangible reminder of my barriers against the outside world; unnecessarily cumbersome, but all the more functional for it. Somehow, just knowing those walls are in place makes me feel safer, if not any better about my life.
I grunt a quick greeting to Mokuba as I stride into the dining room and take my place at the head of the table. One of the servants has already placed the newspaper and a mug of black coffee, at my place, and I tilt the scalding liquid back into my throat, gulping down half of it at once before setting it back down and flipping to the business section. As I do so, my eyes meet Mokuba's worried gaze.
"Are you all right, big brother?" he asks. "Don't tell me you were up all night again!"
"Of course not, Mokuba." It's not a total lie. After all, I did get a good hour and a half of sleep.
My little brother doesn't seem convinced in the least, but he's lived with me long enough to have learned when to drop what. For a fleeting moment, it saddens me that this child whose development and protection is my responsibility has to censor himself for my benefit. That emotion, however, like all others that I have experienced in the course of my life, is quickly scoured away, this time by the rest of my hot coffee, leaving only the same, hollow emptiness that I have lived with instead of a heart for my entire young life. To feel is to be weak, I remind myself, and the familiar words have the tone of a mantra; recited each day until they lose all meaning. To survive in this world, I must be strong. To weaken is to condemn us both to a hell worse than this. I look at Mokuba, pushing his breakfast around his plate thoughtfully. Perhaps, at least, I can save him in return before I self-destruct.
I rise from the table, tossing the business section on top of the rest of the paper. Right on cue, Mokuba drains the last of his orange juice, and as I pass him his backpack, he wraps his arms around my legs and gives me the tiniest squeeze.
"I love you, Seto," he says innocently, and I yearn to reciprocate. Try as I might, however, the words will not pass my lips. It's as if they refuse to be said unless I believe them absolutely. Instead, I rest a hand in his ebony mane and gently extricate myself from his embrace.
"Let's get going." I call back over my shoulder as I walk out to the limo parked in the drive without looking back. A muted sniffle reaches my ears, but I decide to fool myself into thinking it's my imagination, or possibly that Mokuba's just coming down with a cold. I'm getting better and better at this denial thing as time goes on.
"Coming, big brother," I hear him call as I clear the walkway, gliding over the ice gracefully, the same way I do everything. Strange, isn't it, that someone with such a chaotic soul can be so physically buoyant?
I hardly spare the chauffeur, who's holding the limousine door open for us, a glance as I slide into my usual seat. Mokuba climbs into the seat across from me, but says nothing, preferring instead to take out a textbook and pretend to study for a test that I know he doesn't have. I don't blame him, though. After what just happened, I wouldn't want to talk to me either.