Welcome to all of my old and new reviewers! This story is a
side story to my stories. This is how Seto and Joey met and fell in love.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Yugioh,
just Aria and Aten are mine.
WARNINGS: INCEST!
YAOI! ALCOHOLISM! NONCONSENSUAL INCESTUAL YAOI SCENES!!! SETO X JOEY LEMONS! SOME
BDSM AND USE OF SEX TOYS. YOU
HAVE BEEN WARNED.
My Home
It was the same routine every day for the past two
years. I woke up locked in my room. My
skin, my hair, my clothes, my bedsheets all smelled
of Jack Daniels from my father’s breath and the cheap perfumes of the ten-cent whores
he brought home on a regular basis.
But of all the whores he enjoyed, I was the cheapest whore he
could find. As it happens, I’m also the
whore that he has held onto for the longest time. Am I proud of it? No. But, there was a gentleness
to him sometimes. He loved me, but his
love was killing me inside.
So, after knocking on my door begging for my father to unlock
the door to my room, I showered. Oh yes….the shower felt good. It prepared me for another day of school,
life on the streets, and finally for my return home to be used by my father
again for his enjoyment.
Then came school. Yugi and my friends would never know there
was anything wrong with me. I hid my bruises just as well as Ryou. Now there’s a guy I feel bad for! His yami is always giving him the shitty end
of the stick. He limped up to his
locker. He said he pulled his leg in gym class the day before. Bullshit. Ryou
was always a sucky liar!
I’m the Prince of Bullshit.
I lie to my friends all the time that I felt good and that everything at
home was fine. When I look pale from a
long night of being pounded into the mattress, I just tell them I have a
cold. It works all the time.
Yugi, bless his heart, never digs his nose into my
business. Tristan and Otogi invite me
over for some video games almost every Saturday. Between Tristan’s addiction to coffee and
Otogi’s addiction to cappuccino, I’m always wide awake when I leave Otogi’s
home. Tristan is dating my sister, Serenity, but I know it won’t last.
Ryou has his own
problems. I try not to intrude on him.
I’d rather have my spleen dug out with a dull, rusty spoon than speak to
Anzu. I’d rather dive into a swimming
pool naked filled with razor blades than think of her.
If I am the Prince of Bullshit, Kaiba is the King of
Bullshit! The Supreme Master of the Art of Bullshit! Yes, Kaiba made Bullshit into an Art. He walks around thinking he’s better than
everyone else. He thinks because he’s a
rich-boy, that he can buy his grades! ‘Oh, look at me! I have a silly
multi-million dollar company to run!’ He believes because he’s so rich and powerful
that he is immune to everything bad around him.
Hmm…Conceited Rich-Boy!
But, if he is so conceited, why do I look at him every time
he passes by me? Well, it would make sense that I’m attracted to him. He’s like
my father. He’s dominating. Imposing. Powerful. Strong. That has to be the only reason I look at him
while I’m changing my books for my next class.
So, I go through the course of the school day. Yugi and Ryou
are planning a movie night on Friday night. Pizza! Soda! Pretzels! Bloody,
scary movie! Hell, yeah! They said they would love for me to come
over. I would have to leave their house early. My father wanted me home every
night in case he wanted to “borrow” me for the night, as he called it.
Ryou was the last to leave. He really didn’t want to go home.
I walked him home, though and he seemed perfectly content that I talked to him
about the new cards we were looking at in Yugi’s Game Shop. He shivered when he reached his house and he
gave me a hug before returning into his house.
Poor guy.
I know how it feels to dread going home. It was my goal everyday to go home last
minute. I was safer living on the
streets. Actually, I live in an alley. I
have a little place set up for myself. I live under a balcony and I always keep
a trashcan in the alleyway. In it, I keep my blanket and some crackers for
food. I removed the blanket from the
trashcan and cuddled up in it under the balcony. I grabbed my crackers and grabbed my own
bottle of Jack Daniels. If I get myself drunk enough, I can go home and my
father can use me any way he wishes.
I grabbed a tattered cross-stitch that my mother made when I
was two years old. The colors have faded now, mostly due to my father using it
as a coaster for his beer. I looked at it as I wrapped the blanket around me in
the cold alley.
The cross-stitch read: ‘Home Is Where The
Heart Is.”
My mother sewed a large pink heart into the white cloth. The stitching is ruined now by beer stains……..and
my tears.
NO. Home is not where the heart is. Home is where the sex is. Home is where the
hurt is.
That is what it should read.
The heart should be broken in two….blood stains should shroud
the heart with a crimson wound.
’Home is where the hurt is.’
If I get drunk enough, I won’t have to feel anything.
After all….my feelings don’t mean shit. I have to attend to
his feelings. I’m not entitled to my own feelings, so I’ll drown them in the
bottom of a bottle.
The police sirens speed pass the alley. They’re still looking for me. I had to steal the crackers to eat. I was
arrested before for underage drinking and when the cops returned me to my home, my father didn’t stop pounding me into the bed all
day. I spent all day tied to the bed at
twelve years old, my father using me all day as his personal pleasure toy.
Please don’t find me here again. I don’t want to go back to my father for
underage drinking!
I wrap myself tighter in the blanket and cuddle closer to the
corner. I’m happy in my corner, hidden in the alley.
My father can’t find me here.
Nobody can find me here.
I’m invisible.
This is my world! The
trash-lined alley is my kingdom! The rats are my loyal subjects and my
pets. The cockroaches are my loyal
minions.
In this alley, I am king.
In this alley, I am protected.
In this alley, I am safe….until I am forced to leave the
safety of my alley and venture off to my house, a battlefield.
My house is a battlefield, and I am always left the bleeding,
crying casualty.
My watch reads
I fold my blanket and put my crackers back into the
trashcan. I walk home with my schoolbooks
on my back.
I enter the house and my father wraps his arms around me
lovingly. Tonight Jack wasn’t keeping him company. Tonight was a new bottle of
Gin. Variety is the spice of life, no?
My father removes my backpack from me and removes my jacket.
My father pulls me into a Gin-flavored kiss. “I missed you
today, Joseph. Your daddy wants to show
you how much he missed you.”
My father unbuttoned my shirt, planting tiny kisses around
the base of my neck.
I hate this. This is wrong. Disgusting. Evil. Demented.
Our sick, twisted ballet continued as it did every night…….