Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Innocent Guilt	By : ShadowSanctuary Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2112 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter
Two: Darkest Hours
Nightmares kept me
up for most of the early morning hours, so I gave up trying to fall asleep and
waited for sunrise. I sat on my bed, staring out of the window like a zombie,
eyes dead and lifeless, body as coldly unrefined as a corpse's.
My frame stayed in one position so long that I believed I was
paralyzed, for my limbs refused to obey any commands my brain handed
them. Everything on me had gone numb, except for my thoughts, jumbled ideas
springing back and forth in my head in awkward bursts of life. Breathing was
becoming a very demanding chore, an action that was reduced
to small raspy wheezes sprinting in and out of my lungs.
The single piece of
knowledge that brought a smile to my face was the date. It's December 14, a Sunday,
universally known as a day of rest for public school students. Work, studies,
and the rest of the daily grind could be procrastinated--to as late as tomorrow
morning, that is. Then it would be back to balancing checkbooks, keeping ties
with the stock market, burning precious sleep time for classes, dividing my
attention in three different directions just to break even. This is a
never-ending triangle for me, job gnawing at the bottom right point, with
degree plans beside that, followed by family teetering on the tip of the ice
burg.
Nobody knows this,
but that's the hardest part of the shape to pull off,
a real mental and physical drain that has been creeping over my head from the
moment Mokuba and I became orphans. Silent reveries have me wondering where my
childhood has gone, where it's ending up at, how it
will ever come in my existence without being shoved to the side of the
breakfast table with a cup of black coffee and the Business section of the
newspaper. Don't gn> get me wrong, I love my brother more
than any human alive, but being deprived of informality gets to me after a
while. I don't know why I'm even bringing this to
light--everyone has their own problems to deal with--but I find myself reaching
the end of my rope more often than not.
Mokuba is a terrific ing,ing, someone bright and beautiful,
a best friend that serves as the only ray of sunshine in my darkest hours, and
I admire the spaof vof valor that flash in his eyes now and then. As far as
true companionship goes, the boy can be a source of great entertainment and
joy; however, as das difficulty understanding mature topics. I don't hold this against him, nor would I ever tell him that
directly, but our relationship has some non-traditional quirks that make for
awkward conversations among outsiders. Not only is he a relative, he is the
child of a surrogate father still in high school. Being a single-parent
has its perks, but not when peers identify me as someone fifteen going on
thirty, taunting me with ridiculous chants that should have stayed in
kindergarten.
While I may uphold
an insane amount of responsibilities, that doesn�t
mean I�m incapable of acting my age. Honestly, I�ve
never been given the chance to be a teenager. Sometimes I wonder if I�ll ever be anything other than a stereotypical
businessman, a ball-busting asshole who is only concerned with the company�s
bottom line, an executive that evolved so fast that arcades, dances, and even
hanging out are mere privileges unheard of. Then again, I also ponder
when I�ll be able to associate with someone who is aeasteast as experienced as I am. For some reason, that dream seemed as
unattainable as harvesting money trees in my yard, something I fantasized about
doing often, but knew deep down inside that I�d have to keep competing for international
sales to meet my high standards. Everything chews a hole in my credit and
savings�the house, cars, things to go inside of the dwelling�and all I
could do was hope I could keep up with the material demands.
Sometimes I wish I
could take the easy way out. You know, stroll to the city lake, stand over the
water, spread my bare feather wings and take a swan dive into a pile of rocks.
One jump and everything would vanish into a pool of red, turning me colorblind
for the last seconds of my shriveled life before the tunnel of light guided me
through it. The only thing prohibiting me from committing such a heinous crime
is the image of my brother�s expression, a twist of terrible shock and rage
that would never forgive me, not even if I was still
alive on the base of the chasm. If I ever pulled a stunt like that, I deserved
to die without salvation.
Mokuba�I breathed,
the air around me thick with guilty sadness, I�m
sorry for ever letting those ideas get in my head. It�s
not fair to fly off the deep end like that and leave you by yourself�
Widening my eyes, I arrived at a troubling
thought, one that should have crossed my mind previously, but had slipped
through the cces ces of altered perception.
Mokuba! My head
shouted, commanding my body to react. Most of my structure had hit the snooze
button on their clocks, appearing to be a bag of bones drifting in Dreamland. I haven�t seen him
since last night!
Sliding into the role of a worried parent, I
called the child�s name repeatedly. �Mokuba? Mokuba,
where are you?� I said stridently, stress outlining my falsely tranquil tone. �Uriel?�
My only response was
the low rumble of the heater turning on. Although it was smack in the middle of
winter, the thermometer rarely dipped below sixty-five degrees, producing a fairly
comfortable climate for residents of Florida. Most people could be seen displaying matching shirt
and pants sets, casual spring attire that didn�t warrant the use of a jacket.
Matter of fact, it was unusual to witness someone wearing the typical clothof tof the season�gloves, scarves, woolly coats, ear muffs�but there was always one
person here or there decked out in heavy accessories.
I happened to be one of them.
Even on a hot summer
afternoon, I shiver in the sun. That�s the explanation behind the trench coats
and perfectly pressed suit collections�the garments have an aristocratic manner
to them, but they also help to keep
my skin lukewarm. If I didn�t have them on, I�d be shaking as violently as a
car wreck victim, sort of like I am now. I�m not physically freezing,
though. My flesh wasn�t dropping in heat because of an inability to stay above
zero degrees. It was prickled with goose bumps because my sibling�my last
living relative�had failed to reply to my calls.
�Mokuba?� I tried again, my voice echoing off
the walls, traveling to my ears in frightened waves. I don�t know why I am
overacting so much; it certainly wasn�t a valued personality trait to
display. Biting back my uneasiness, I swallowed a clump of dread into my
stomach and sat up straight.
Dizziness attacked
my senses, making the room blend together in a childish finger painting. Never
would I have imagined staying steady on my feet to be a monumental task.
Slapping a hand to my temple, I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to get my
bearings by eliminating my surroundings. I couldn�t really do such a thing, but
I needed the time to breatTherThere was a ten-year-old kid on the loose,
someone who counted on me for guidance and moral support, and I just lost him.
This wasn�t some pen or misplaced book I was considering. He�s a living,
breathing human being, an individual who has been with me since we were
introduced to orphanages, a boy that comforted my weariness with a slight smile
or hug.
Someone that sweet and lovable couldn�t be
replaced.
Not in a million years.
Dragging my lids
open, I found that my eyes remained in a pair of half-slits, fleshy curtains
that would rather be closed than let in any sunshine. Fortunately, my will is
stronger than my matter, so I ordered this sore wreckage to put itself in
motion. Images of household furnishings sailed past my sight, warping
themselves into hazy renditions of Picasso�s cubism. Everywhere I looked, my
brain registered pictures of blocky, swirling objects dancing before my vision
like sickening sugar plums. Nevertheless, I advanced through the dimly lit
mansion, sacrificing my health for Mokuba�s sake.
�Brother?� I yelled over an ornate banister.
His bedroom was downstairs, which was a stroke of luck when I desired to rest,
but was also a curse when any day I wished to shatter the monotony of my
vocation. Mustering an overused supply of strength, I shouted his name once
more, loud enough to make my throat hurt. �Brother!�
No response, not
even a cry of annoyance. This could mean one of twongs:ngs: A.) he is out of
hearing range from me, or B.) he is ignoring me to carry on playing his PS2,
forming a new deck, or is just waiting to see if I come after him. He�s
done that on a few occasions already, enough for me to confiscate his
CD�s and computer until he told me the motivation for his disobedient behavior.
Much to my surprise,
the kid revealed to me that he was hanging on his cell, sweet-talking one of
his classmates with the charm and sophistication passed down from our family�s
genes. Imagine that�my pubescent little bro hitting on some seventh grader,
trying to score a date for next weekend. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Kaiba Mokuba has had a taste of
crushes and pretty faces, so take care not to get
swept off your feet by his charisma and cleverness. I�m joking, of course.
Realistically, my brother is as shy as a domesticated bunny, always pining for
someone or another that doesn�t even know he exists. You should have seen the
way his cheeks flushed when he spouted off the details of the vixen he fell (and
continues to fall all over) for.
That�s probably why he�s not talking to
me. I reasoned, rapping my fingertips on the glossy surface, gazing
thoughtfully at the level below. I bet
he�s sitting on the floor again, phone glued to his ear, mouth going a mile a
minute because he is too embarrassed to shut up and heat what she really thinks
of him.
Lightly, I shook my
head, a useless sign of negation that signified my disinterest in
relationships. If my sibling is happy throwing himself at the mercy of a clueless
female, then that will obviously make him a hell of a lot less moody to be
around. I couldn�t say that I comprehended the importance of the whole romantic
scene. There aren�t many people who advocate being single, but I do, and that�s
what matters to me at this point. Love is intriguing to fantasize about;
however, that�s as far as I ever get in obtaining a partnership. I mean, if I
am completely capable of handling and sustaining myself for this long in
life, why would I need another individual there to be by my side?
Dismissing my
theories of partnerships, I turned into the stairwell leading to the rest of
the estate. Sure, he very well could be
chatting away on his personal line, wasting his minutes as fast as prospective
girlfriends come and go, but I had to check on him. My conscience wouldn�t
allow me to involve myself in any other
activity until I knew for certain that he was alright.
Grasping the railing
with a tremulous hand, I brought my left limb around my waist and descended the
stairs. Lethargically, my body thumped across the ground, throwing harsh smacks
into the hallway. It was a creepy noise to listen to, one that reminded me of
old horror movies where a psychotic killer is meandering down the steps,
expression blank and pitiless, blade of mortal destruction suspended above his
brow as he stalked after his fatality. The prey, which spends most of the movie
running from the atrocity, screams at the failed attempt to escape impending
doom. Then, like an angel of death, the murderer hunts his casualty down,
raises his weapon, and�
Suddenly, for no
other reason than idiotic fear, I whipped my head to the side; turning myself
just enough to observe what was behind me. Luckily, the place was as clear as
it had been formerly, showing me Oriental carpeting, lamps, and lustrous white
wallpaper with gold accents. Smiling at my foolishness, I reprimanded myself
for allowing such immaturity to disturb my mind, telling the soft glow of the
fixtures how stupid I was being. Satisfied and oddly humiliated, I swung my
frame forwards again, only to have an event from a fright fest transpire.
Without warning, my
foot slipped, causing a terrible distribution of weight. Balancing on one shaky
leg, my arms reached for the walls to steady myself, but all they caught were
molecules of space. Too wobbly to hold my body up, I fell face first into the
stairs, plunging dowem uem until I hit the bottom floor. By that time, it was
already too late to prevent my head from connecting with the dozens of
platforms, each as unforgiving as the next, plowing at my skull with hard
wooden blows. Spra on on the marble tiles, I lay on my stomach, coughing wet
masses of liquid from my mouth. A bruise was forming on my cheek, forcing me to
wince painfully, overwhelming my judgment with a severe headache. A weak and
brittle moan reverberated in unsettling spasms, resembling the cry of a wounded
animal. I cringed as much as my damaged structure would let me, shuddering at
the eerie noises I was making. The groans seemed distant and foreign, like they
belonged to anyone else but me.
Spread across the
first story of my residence, a black void curled around me, an anaconda of
forbidding shadows constricting my thoughts, masking my consciousness in
sinister swallows. I was struggling now, battling against my flaws, fighting to
ward off being shoved into the isolated plane of abyss. Fingertips flexed,
eyelids fluttered, lips formed unintelligible speech, even legs twitched
restlessly, almost as if they were trying to rectify their fatal mistake, but
to no avail. The efforts were too little too late, serving as powerless signs
of incompetence, gestures that were similar to a dying fish squirming on a
linoleum counter.
It was closing in on
me, the horror of the shade, making my sight its premiere target. Invading my
vision, the darkness sunk into my eyes, wrapping my sapphire orbs in a blinding
cape of onyx. Little did I know that my lids had lowered shut themselves,
alerting the body that attention for self-repair was needed. I had my hearing left,
wonderful gigabytes of hard drive to record and store information in�a
priceless reserve that was evaporating under my nose. At first, the appliance
motors and hum of electricity eroded, then the rhythm of my breathing weakened,
along with everything else�
And then it came.
A sharp shriek I barely recognized as my
name.
�Seto!� screamed the terrorized voice in real tones
of agony, �Seto, are you okay? Say something! Say
something, Seto!�
Before I could identify who the distraught
howls belonged to, the snake sent me into its expansive belly, dementia that
qualified as oblivion in my darkest hours.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Innocent Guilt