AN: Hey, guys

AN: Hey, guys! Back with another chapter! :)

Thanks to…

ONIX-21: Haha, I'm happy to hear that you're glad I'm back! :) Makes me want to update more often, keke. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks for commenting!

-Hannah-Thief14: I hope it stays interesting, lol. Thanks for the comment!

Comicbookfan: I wonder…will your guess be correct? :P And no, Father Josiah doesn't think he's literally an angel, but…like, a gift? Lol, it'll be clearer in the next chapter. Thanks for the review!

dragonlady222: I know! That old man is a bastard, lying like he is… Thanks for the review!

Bakura666: Keke, did I update sooner than expected? xP Thanks for the review!

The Vampire Prince: Lol, up and running, huh? I like that. Well, it is thanks to you that I started writing this again. (Though I would have continued, just…not as soon, lol). Thanks for the comment!

Sarah: I wonder what you think Bakura has to do… Keke, thanks for the comment!

yeyavailability: Lol, I loved your first sentence, that cracked me up. I'm glad you like the story so far, haha. And I'm sorry – the second half of your review was a little confusing. What's pain-related? (And…read this chapter before you, er, leave a comment. I think things will make more sense, for you and for me oo;;) Thanks for commenting!

the-bee-keeper: Glad to hear you still like it :) Thanks for the comment!

Mirage88: Hm, you're going to have to tell me what you think of this chapter, haha. Thanks for the comment!

Chapter Twenty Six: Bakura's Story - Nightmares

He didn't look back as he shut the door to the room he shared with Ryou. Though it hurt him to leave the child alone like that, with the music blasting as it was, it couldn't be helped. Not when his father was waiting downstairs.

As Bakura raced down the steps and into the basement of the house, he tried to mentally prepare himself. With some difficulty, the teen entered his dream world. It was getting harder and harder every time – one of these days, he was going to slip up. Then his dream world and reality world would crash together. If that happened, Bakura was sure he was going to lose his grip on his sanity.

Or maybe he already lost it.

It was dim and musty in the small, spacious basement. As Bakura waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he could feel the walls trembling from the music that he left blasting upstairs.

"Are you ready?" his father muttered from somewhere in the shadows.

What a stupid question – like he had a choice. "Let's get this over with," Bakura meekly said, already feeling his mind separating from his body.

His father chuckled as he stepped closer to him, toying with something in his gloved hands. "There's two of them this time. Make it quick."

In a daze, Bakura said not a word as something cool was pressed against the nape of his neck. He no longer panicked at its metallic touch. His father shoved something against his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Bakura took it.

It was cold like always, cold to the touch. He would always glance down at it, surprised at how heavy it was. Even after all these years of using one, he couldn't get used to the weight – how could such a small thing be so heavy?

Slowly, Bakura walked towards the darkest corner of the basement, his father close behind him. The teen could make out two forms lying down on their side, huddled against each other, blindfolded and drugged.

Bakura stared at them, his mind fogged. They're just dolls, he told himself. That's all they are – dolls. See? They aren't moving.

"Hurry up," his father grumbled, increasing the pressure on his neck. "I haven't got all night."

Bakura swallowed hard as a hand pushed his arm up, taking aim for him.

They're just dolls, he reminded himself.

Why is it so heavy?

Just dolls.

He pulled the trigger.

He never heard the bang of the gun, but the sudden recoil shook him up. Startled, he almost dropped the firearm as if it was burning coal before his father pushed his arm up again, pointing the barrel at the second form.

"Shoot, damn it!"

Bakura did as he was told.

His ears were ringing now, ringing with silence. He was in shock. He felt his father tear the gun from his fingers, and shove him aside. Bakura let himself collide into the wall, and slowly slid down to the ground. He was trembling all over, his eyes shut tight.

Just dolls, just dolls. That's all they are.

He could hear his father grunting as he dragged the bodies out of the basement. Bakura stayed where he was, curled into a ball, rocking on his heels. He repeated the words again and again in his head, willing them to be true.

Just dolls, just dolls.

It was quiet again, and he was all alone. Bakura dared to open his eyes, and saw nothing but black. He blankly scanned the shadowed basement again and again as bit by bit, pieces of reality started infiltrating his mind, bringing him back.

It was a dream.

Bakura slowly pulled himself to his feet, feeling weak with fatigue. His world was spinning, spinning out of control. He bit his lower lip, pressing a hand against his temple to ease the dizziness. He stared at his other hand, and for a second, he saw red on them.

He blinked. The red disappeared.

Dumbfounded, Bakura intently watched his hand to see if it would happen again. A minute passed, then two.

Nothing.

It was just a dream, a nightmare. The same nightmare he had every night.

That was what he told himself for the past seven years – it was just a dream. Too horrified to confront his fears, too terrified to acknowledge what he had become, Bakura had separated the nights with his father from the real world.

It wasn't always like this. In the very beginning, when Bakura was nine, he had been so shaken and disturbed that all he could do was stare, stare at something in the distance that wasn't really there. Despite his trance-like state, his father brought in victims, drugged and bagged, every night. Repeatedly, he wrapped Bakura's fingers around the trigger and shot, making sure to never get his own hands on the killing weapon itself.

The boy started to suffocate. He never had enough air. It hurt to breathe, to laugh, to live. Headless monsters haunted him in every shadow, bloody corpses were waiting for him around every corner. His hands wouldn't stop quivering, his breathing was always shallow. He was scared witless, and he had no air to scream.

Bakura became a mute. His friends started to avoid him, teachers began to make house calls, his detached mother overdosed on alcohol too many times. They never came to his rescue. No one ever did.

He couldn't sleep. Three nights he went without rest, the guilt, sorrow, and regret tormenting him.

One time, he tried to kill himself. In the basement, when his father handed him the gun, the nine-year-old Bakura had raised it to his own head. Utaka Teishin had torn the firearm from his son, but only after slapping him.

"What's wrong with you, Bakura? They're just dolls!" his father had shouted, gripping the boy's shoulders and shaking him hard. "They're not alive! Look at them!" He didn't want to look, but his father made him. "See? They aren't moving!"

Bakura stared at the still forms.

"They're just dolls, damn it! Don't you understand?" His father shook him again, trying to emphasize his point. "Nod, you bastard!"

Rigidly, Bakura gave a slight affirmation with his head. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

His father grumbled as he took the firearm back and cleaned it of fingerprints. Then he grabbed Bakura's hand, and closed the boy's fingers around the trigger.

"Just shoot the dolls, Bakura."

The child blankly stared at the bodies huddled in the corner. Dolls, were they? Yes, yes…dolls. That's all they are. The thought eased some of the pain and terror that had tortured the boy for the past few days. Dolls… He felt a little lighter, but exhausted. He wanted to sleep now. Someone's hand rested on his, and gently pushed his finger down. As the boy pulled the trigger, a cry rose in his chest.

The young Bakura forced it down, locking the truth and burying it. Something inside of him died that night, but he didn't care. They're just dolls… The more he told himself that, the less it hurt. The more he could breathe. The easier it was to cope. The harder it was to believe it was real.

That night, the nightmares began.

And that's all they were… Nightmares.

AN: I had some doubts about the organization of this chapter. At first, I only wanted to post the first half, and then add the second half later. But then, it didn't seem appropriate to split it… But I don't know – what're your guys' opinions? Did it turn out well? And another thing – why did everyone assume that his father was raping him? Did I really make it sound like that? oo;; Oops… Anyways, thanks for reading, and please comment!

PS: Uh, this is just a question, but…has my style of writing changed or anything? Gotten worse or stayed the same? (Sorry, I was just wondering because it's been a while since I've written chapters for this story. I wanted to know if I need to edit more heavily, if the chapters aren't good enough oo;;)