Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ And They Call It Rock'N'Roll ❯ MakeDamnSure ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Note: This chapter will be the introspective into Malik's (and partly Yugi's and Otogi's, perhaps?) general way of life for this part of the fic.This chapter is set a bit far after the first. This chapter is set after they move to America. Now, until otherwise stated, the chapter content is occurring at the same time, etc, etc. But watch for time warnings!
4/28/07Chapter TwoMakeDamnSure
“Ugh…damnit…” the groan echoed through the freezing room, bounced off tile and plexiglass, reverberated through the air vent. “Son of a bitch…”
Malik opened his eyes widely and let out a huff. “God. Whut the Hell…Man…”
Drawing up an arm, he placed his palm on the chilly floor and pushed himself to roll over. He lay there with his eyes closed for a moment, listening to the hum of cool air being pumped through the vent by his feet. Violet eyes opened and stared blankly at the square, ticking clock on the wall. He noticed how there was a distance of about three and a sixth of an inch between the face and the wall. He traced with his eyes the pattern of wavy squares, like strange roofing tiles, covering the clocks front. He started at a corner of the piece and, with every tick, began counting the wall tiles, one by one. He looked anywhere but at the chrome arms, dragging and clicking their way around numbers. Anywhere but at the tell-tale time.
He sighed slowly and began to pull himself up. Laying there however long he had been had caused his legs to stiffen and yet become jell-o. He backed up a bit and sat himself down on the side of the tub, knocking over a shampoo bottle in the process. Not caring, he put his legs straight in front of him, bending them back and forth. Blonde and lavender hair fell from behind his ears as he bent to rub at his calves.
From the door, there was a groggy, “Wah the Hell?” He looked up, still massaging his leg through his black denim jeans.
“Go sleep, Yug’.” The boy shuffled off, tri-colored head nodding in sleep.
Malik finally managed to draw himself onto his feet, standing steady. He placed a hand on the granite sink next to him and tipped forward on one foot to retrieve his fallen hoodie. He yanked the gray jacket over his head on his way out of the bathroom, and made sure to step over his soppy mess from the night before.
Seeing his stomach lying on the floor like that really just made him sick.

“What day is it, and in what month? This clock never seemed so alive…”
Chords faded through the speakers and a small buzzing indicated the CD stopping. There was a loud clunk followed by whirring as another disc was loaded.
“Who the Hell listens to that shit, man?” Malik struck his lighter with the calloused side of a thumb, using the ignition to flare the cigarette on his lips. He walked over to the bookshelf on the far side of the room, scuffling his feet in the carpet. He crouched and his eyes skipped over the many books and manga to see the various compact disc cases. Letting his finger run over slick, sometimes dusty plastic, he scanned for a title.
“Apparently you. It’s your mix CD.”
“Hmmm…really?” he let his mouth hang open slightly after speaking. His finger caught the top edge of a case and it tumbled into his hand. A snarky laugh came from the sofa across the room. He drew down three more cases just as Otogi pushed the wheeled seat away from his desk. While the chair rolled away with him, the raven-haired boy snapped his laptop shut. He drew his right leg to his chest, locked his hands together at the base of his foot, and stared at Malik
After flipping over all the cases and reading their backs, the Egyptian made a face and kept only one. He stood up and stretched his legs before piddling through rows of sunglasses on a hanger nearby. Why couldn’t this boy develop some taste?
Sighing, he picked up a pair of thick-rimmed sport glasses. He slid them up the bridge of his nose and wiggled his feet to make his shoes more comfortable. As he was turning to walk out the door and pulling his hoodie down further, Otogi suddenly spoke.
“Are you doing okay?”
The blonde paused in the threshold, putting a hand on either side of the doorframe, cigarette balanced between index and middle finger. He leaned forward slightly and his hair fell over his eyes and tangled in his lashes. Staring at the floor in front of him, changing from carpet to vinyl, seeing his foot half-covering each perfectly, he pondered the right answer.
There was a clack from the CD case bumping against the bedroom door as it closed.

Barreling down-mountain on a two-lane wasn’t the safest thing to be doing at night. With speakers thumping and a full tank of gas--and a broken speedometer, Malik didn’t really care. Time was fickle and so was death, so to Hell with it all for him. Dangers of on-coming coal trucks and twists bending over disastrous hills didn’t matter. He kept easing his sneakered foot on the gas pedal, one hand on the wheel. His free hand brushed away the hair being blown into his face. He rubbed his fingers together in an attempt to remove the sweat beaded on them from touching his forehead. Speeding around S-curbs with no headlights in the dark didn’t matter. Danger didn’t matter. Death didn’t matter. Time barely did.
He pressed his foot farther toward the floor.
All that mattered was speed.
You’ve got this new head filled up with smoke.I’ve got my veins all tangled close to the jukebox bars you frequent:the safest place to hide.A long night spent with your most obvious weakness.You start shaking at the thought that you are everything I want,‘cause you are everything I’m not.And we lay. We lay together, just not too close. Too close!(How close is close enough?)