WARNING: This story contains anorexia, drugs, and suicide. It is based off of a true story.

Anything But Perfect

She isn't perfect.

She was never perfect, and she probably never will be.

I don't know why everyone says that she is, they are all so delusional. I see her imperfections—the things that make her more human than everyone else.

I've been going to school with her since preschool, therefore, I know of everything she's done wrong and everything that is wrong about her. Everyone keeps saying that her pink hair is so long and luscious. It really isn't. It is not a deep color—it's actually pretty pale from all the time she spends outside, also causing it to tangle easily.

I turn at the tap on my shoulder and looked up to see my math teacher giving me a weird look. In return, I raise an eyebrow questioningly at Mr. Hatake.

"Sasuke, may I ask why you are dozing off in my class?" he asked out loud, the class snickering in hearing. I give him a blank look because he has the tendency to interpret other looks the wrong way.

"Sorry, I can't stand listening to you talk about the same thing the fourth time in a row. Just because Naruto can't keep up doesn't mean the rest of us has to suffer because of it." At this, the whole class bursts out laughing, even though I was completely serious.

Almost.

The dobe stands up and points a tan finger my way—actually, it's pointed up, and it isn't his pointer finger. It's the other one. I return the gesture, but with a bit more passion (not like that, I don't swing that way). Our teacher sighed in frustrated defeat, giving each of us a demerit on his carry-around notepad. Freak. "The two of you can put your birds away before those little birdies break in half," he said.

"Which birdie do you speak of?" Sakura said aloud.

And there's another thing—she isn't innocent, as so many people claim her to be. She has dubbed the male penis as a 'birdie'.

Kakashi Hatake got so red in the face, he put Hinata to shame. Seriously. "M-Miss Haruno! That comment was not –"

Then the bell rings.

Everyone quickly rushes out of the room, not wanting to hear another rant on how our math teacher is not a perverted child molester. I don't think he is, but there have been rumors. As I walk to my locker, I once again feel a tap on my shoulder. I glance to the side to see the Haruno chick grinning up at me. She isn't that short—but she's still shorter than me.

"So, Uchiha . . ." she trails off, knowing that it irritates me to no end when I have to figure out what she's going to say next. Evil little anorexic.

"Yes?"

"What were you day-dreaming about in class?" she asked, a tone in her voice that clearly meant no good. I scoff at her, trying to walk away. Sakura speeds up and catches up with me.

"I'm not telling you anything, so get lost."

I did not fail to notice how, for once, she listened to me. She stopped in the middle of the hall, staring back at me after hearing the sharpness in my voice. Out of the corner of my eye, is watch as she slowly turns around to head to her next class. In the process, though, a senior football player bumps into her, causing her two large binders, text book, reading book, agenda book, and pencil case, to come falling to the floor, papers scattering in the hall. I see some of the nicer classmates hurry to help her out. As she gets all of her stuff back, she struggles to pick it all up again. Sighing, I walk over and take half of it, silently walking her to her next class, which was a few doors down from mine.

"So, Sasuke, why'd you help me out?" she asked, using that tone again.

"Because you're too weak to do anything. How about you eat more and you'll get stronger," I suggest.

She wasn't always like how she is now. When we were younger, she looked a lot healthier than how she does today. She had meat on her bones and color to her skin. But then, one day, back in the ninth grade, I walk into the school building and was shocked to find her "new look". She was pale—almost the color of the school walls. In many parts of her body, her bones would stick out, like on her face. Her eyes were sunken in and cheek bones sticking out more than most models in LA. She looked sick.

She looked anorexic.

But despite what everyone else said about her in the bathroom between classes, I knew better. I know of her condition. Yes, as everyone can tell, she is anorexic. But I will say that it isn't entirely her fault. Ever since she was young, she has strived for the acceptance her mother promised her when she became perfect. For years, I watched in the background as Sakura struggled to make herself look perfect and act perfect and walk perfect and think perfect.

To be the most perfect person in her mother's eyes.

But then there came the day where Sakura was called fat by her own mother, when the girl was twelve and weighed an approximate 102.5 pounds. It drove Sakura mad trying to lose the weight that she actually didn't have—she didn't have much body fat on her at the time, most of it was from muscle she got from playing sports. Before she knew it, the food phobia became a habit—an eating disorder. She is still in denial about it all, last time I checked.

Which was a week after never.

We used to be friends—a couple, if you must know. I dumped her almost a year and a half ago. The anniversary of the break up is in two days, eight hours, ten minutes and twenty seconds. We were together—someone freak actually dubbed us as "cutest couple" in the year book two years ago. But the thing is, she got into drugs. One that I caught her using was Methamphetamine, which has some medical uses. Such as the treatment for obesity. I also knew that she was smoking and binge drinking. I never figured out how she got into it all, but I do know that she never bothered to get help.

So the one day at lunch that I see a senior go up to her ad secretly offer her some cigarettes (how do teachers not see this?) and see her reject the offer, I am shell shocked. When looking at the small item, I saw the slightest hint of . . . something . . . in her eyes.

She catches me watching her, and gives me a questioning look. I raise my eyebrow, silently asking why she didn't take the drug that she's been letting rush through her system for over a year. When she realizes that I saw the small scene and what I'm referring to, she quickly turns away, avoiding the situation. Just like she always does.

"Sasuke, are you coming?" Mom called from the bottom of the stairs. I stuck my head out of my room.

"No. I'll just stay here with Itachi—I've got some studying to do, anyway," I reply. Okay, so that's partially a lie—I don't have anything to study for. I don't study, I just get really lucky. And Itachi isn't here; he's already left the house for a night out with some of his friends and his girlfriend. But of course, my parents have yet to learn of this because they are too oblivious with the family business to know what their own kids do (and I am speaking mostly of dad, because mom actually pays attention).

When my parents are gone, I go down stairs, grab my jacket, and sneak out of the house. It's a week before Christmas, and school was let out just two days ago. I drive to the mall, knowing that Naruto and the others are already there. It's been a while since I've been here, so there are some new stores that I haven't seen in town before. Such as Limited 2 and Abercrombie and Fitch (ew). As I make my way across the food court to the side of the mall that I know the guys are usually at, I see another sight that shocks me more than the one from a few years back in the high school cafeteria.

There, sitting at a single table, is Sakura "Anorexic" Haruno.

Eating.

I get a good look at what she's wearing. Black designer jeans tucked into her knee-high boots; a large, fancy coat that is buttoned so that you couldn't see what kind of shirt she was wearing. I noticed that she has cut her hair to her shoulders, and it's no longer multi colored—just back to the regular pink. I slowly walk up to her, giving her a chance to notice me first before I get to her so that I don't freak her out. After a few seconds, she does notice me, and shock is on her face. Sakura whips her mouth and stands, taking in my appearance while I take in hers. The first thing I notice is her eyes. Back when we were teens, in high school, they were so dull and devoid of life, a fake mask blocking most people from seeing the deadness to her. it is still there, but not as strong. It's like there's a little more life back in them. She's still skinny, but there aren't dark circles under her eyes.

"So, you look like you're doing well, Sasuke. How's college? You never did tell me what you were going for," she says softly. The tone in her voice clearly shocks me, and she knows it. I honestly thought she was going to make some kind of witty comment of some sort. But it wasn't anything like that. She sits down and offers the seat across from her to me. I take it, leaning back. "College is okay. I'm in for computer graphics." She notices that I'm purposefully being vague. She gives a small smile while taking a sip of her pop.

"That's good."

". . . Are you in college, or do you still dream about being a prostitute?" I never meant to say the comment—it slipped. I see how a guard comes up on her face and she leans back as well, creating a distance between us.

"Actually, I do go to college. I'm training to be a teen psychiatrist," she says tonelessly.

"Really. You know, based on your history, you might not get that job."

"Based on my history, I actually have a better chance in getting far in it. I pretty much done everything a teenager shouldn't do in life except get pregnant, though I have gotten pretty close to that. On my own, I've been able to turn my whole life around. I think I would be great helping kids who are in the position that I once was."

It took me a while to try and make sense of her words. How could someone with such a terrible history actually make some kind of living? And then my mind actually started working.

Experience.

When you go into a business, people that are going to hire you are looking for experience in what you are applying for. The woman wants to help teens out of there melodramatic problems. She probably could do that because she did it herself.

I still think there's something wrong with her.

And then I read the paper. And here is the headline that pops out at me.

TEENAGER TALKED OUT OF SUICIDE!

Under the title, there was a picture and caption. The picture was of a fifteen year old girl standing next to Sakura. The article went on to tell how Sakura found the troubled teen about to jump into the lake from the bridge while the woman was driving home from college. She had quickly gotten out of her car and coaxed the teen to step away from the edge of the bridge. Sakura called the child's parents and sat down with the family and talked to them about why the girl was about to end her life. Then, it went on describing how Sakura's teenage years were a struggle for her. "I became was an anorexic, turned to drugs to dull the pain I felt at home, and was also drinking. It took a lot of hard work to get my life back on track, and I only want to help others do the same."

I began to wonder what caused Sakura to wake up from her life. I found my answer when I saw the obituary of her mother and father, having passed a year ago in a shooting. So they died a few months before Christmas of last year.

When I saw her again, a month after the article was written. She was sitting in an outdoor café, drinking some kind of tea. As she stood to leave, she noticed me, and walked over rather timidly.

If we were back in high school, I would have scowled at her a walked away. But I noticed that she has changed a little since then. I'm not saying I'll let her in again, but I will be a decent person.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked lightly, walking beside me down the sidewalk. I shrug—

"Quick being so vague with me, Sasuke. I know we used to date, but the awkwardness is gone—for both parties," she said, an irritated edge to her voice. I sigh, giving in.

"Things are going well. I moving out west soon—"

"You'd better not be moving to the east side of Portland, Oregon, because that's where I'm buying my new house," she said. I feel shock run through me.

"That's exactly where I'm moving to. How'd you know?" I asked suspiciously. Because really, what are the odds?

"I didn't," she mumbled, her brow furrowed slightly. "I got a job offer out there . . . for dancing," she says quietly, as if ashamed. "Just kidding!" she said. "I sent in a resume, the article from the paper from a month ago, and they accepted me! I'm moving early next year—gives me time to look for a house and move everything." She took a deep breath, a smile on her face. "I probably won't be seeing you, though. We'll both be busy with our lives, so it won't be like it was in high school, seeing each other every day," she says. I nodded, seeing another change in her.

"You're happy."

"Um . . . I'm sorry, what? I'm happy?"

"Yes, you're happy. Back in high school, no one else may have seen it, but I did. You were depressed because you couldn't please your mom, and you faked everything about yourself—except the drugs. That much was real." I know that I'm being too blunt, but she needs to know that she was obvious to at least one person.

Her face fell, somber. I watched as her eyes dimmed, memories that were once forced back came rushing to the surface.

"You are right—I was depressed. But it wasn't because I couldn't please my mother—it was because I did please her. I got the good grades, I was skinny and under 150 pounds, I was popular—though not for the reasons I wanted—and I acted like the perfect daughter."

"You acted like it."

She snorted, shaking her head at her past mistakes. "Yeah, a lot of it was an act after a while."

"So what got you to realize you were—?"

"A teen druggie? An anorexic? My aunt Kim visited one day after ten years. She and my mother never got along well, but she came by to see how I was doing. Well, after she saw me and what I was getting into, she just . . . snapped. It was also the death of the people I once loved that woke me up as well."

"Surprised you never attempted suicide," I said casually. I noticed how she stopped walking, her eyes suddenly distant. I rounded on her, looming over her small form. "Don't tell me . . ."

"I don't want to talk about it—it isn't any of your business anyway," she said while turning and running back down the street.

A little over a year later, I found myself walking down the streets of Oregon. Life has been running smoothly, very few complications. Except the fact I hadn't seen Sakura anywhere yet. From what I remember from our last conversation on the streets of Maine, she should have been here a few months ago. Did I care if she was here?

A little.

Yes.

Maybe she's changed a little since high school, and I want to see how much. She seems like the type of person she was before she started using drugs. A go-happy freak.

Plus, I still didn't know a lot of people here, and it'd be nice to talk to someone I did know.

As I was walking home from work, I passed by the park that was a few blocks down from my apartment. And I sight caught my eye.

There was a young child—looked to be about a few months old—was sitting on a bench. There was no one else around. It angered me that someone could forget their own child like that! I walked over, coming closer to the infant in the basket. It was a little girl. She had fair skin, green eyes—

I only know one person with eyes like that.

But it was impossible! Sakura was single last time I saw her, and she wouldn't be . . . pregnant . . . if she was single.

I was suddenly shoved out of the way as a woman quickly grabbed the baby out of the basket, glaring at me, as if I was about to take the child.

As took a second glance while walking away, I noticed that the kid's eyes were blue.

"Was there a reason for just staring at the infant?" I heard from behind me. I swiveled around to see Sakura leaning against a tree, sitting on the grass. She gazed up at me with curious eyes, her face blank. Then there was surprise, than she began to laugh. "Wow, I almost didn't recognize you! You'd think that would be impossible, because of your hair!"

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting. Care to join me?"

Instead, I pulled her to her feet, leading her back to my place to talk. We held up light conversation on the way, reminiscing about good childhood memories. When we got there, I warmed up some spaghetti from yesterday, handing her a bowl. She repeated her question from earlier. I simply shrugged. I couldn't predict her reaction if I told her I thought the child was hers.

"Sasuke, tell me why you were staring! I want to know!"

"I was staring because I could. Is that so wrong?" I asked teasingly. She smirked and continued eating.

"You're still after that goal, aren't you?" she asked softly. My head went to her sharply in shock. How could she have possibly remembered? It was years ago that I told her. "You still have dreams of raising a family of your own," she stated calmly. I stare at her for a moment or two, thinking of what to say. When I don't say anything, she smiles at me. "I know you do, Sasuke. I know you."

And she does know me. And that's when it happens.

Two months later, Sakura and I are walking down the street, having left the restaurant. Yes, it was a date. Before any of you get over-excited, not much happened. I gave her a peck on the lips when I picked her up (which is the first time I kissed her at all in the past two months since that talk in my place). As we walked down the street back to my apartment, I suddenly have a flash back to when the topic of suicide came up over a year ago. I stop her by a bench and sit down with her. "Sakura, I just had a thought," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember a while ago when we were talking, and the suicide thing came up? I asked if you had attempted it, but you ran off." Sakura becomes so still, someone would think she was a sculpture of some sort. After a moment, she sighs, running a hand through her hair.

"I guess you have a right to know. Yes, I have attempted at it. It was before my parents died. You know about the shooting, right? Well, my dad went immediately, but mom died a day after in the hospital. I quickly went to her after hearing about my dad, and she . . . she just . . . blamed me."

"She blamed you?" I can't even fathom a parent doing such a thing.

"Yeah. She said that his death was my fault. They had been in that area of town because I was there, and they were coming to find me. She said that if I had just stayed home . . . he would be alive!" She hunched forward, her arms going around herself, sobbing. I moved over to her and hugged her tightly. She pulled herself away once she regained herself. "She wouldn't stop screaming at me . . . I told her that I hated her, and I just . . . ran out of there . . . I went to the one place that no one would find me: the state bridge." My eyes widened as I realized where she was going with this.

"Sakura, you tried to jump?!" She chuckled quietly.

"No, you idiot."

"Good . . ."

"I did jump."

A silence.

"When I was up there, on that rail, I felt so . . . alive. At peace, even, because I knew that I would be with my dad again. I didn't give a shit about my mom—I had just figured she already had a one-way ticket to hell. But I knew in my heart that my dad wouldn't have blamed anything on me, and that he would forgive me for everything I had done. So I jumped."

I wound my arms more tightly around her, her head under my chin. "But you survived, and that's all that matters."

"Yes, I survived. And I didn't know why. Until the next week, when I ran into you at the mall."

"What do you mean?"

"God has a plan for everyone, Sasuke. Even us, whether or not we deserve it. I know you still care about me—you're too easy to read." I snorted at her. A plan?

"I thought only the perfect church people got to get their happy endings." She laughed, and it sounded so effortless in my ears. After a moment, she sighed.

"Sasuke, this isn't going to be a happy ending. If anything with the way our country is going, it will be a decent ending. And you and I are the furthest thing from perfect. But I think that's okay."

Our lives went on as we grew closer than ever before. I became what I wanted, and Sakura grew to be the best teen psychiatrist in the western region. Before any of you ask, yes, we did marry. We both made plenty of money, but we moved into a smaller house than what most people thought we would have. We had two s=children—a boy and a girl. They were both still very young when their mother died. All of the drugs she had taken in high school had made too much of an impact on her body, causing too much damage, even after she had stopped. All of the drinking and smoking and chewing from when she was a teen—the affects came back, because at some point, things like that never go away. There was a large turnout for her funeral. I still remember how some people from high school had tried putting crack next to her in the casket. We got it out, and they were kicked out, also. I later taught my kids the dangers of drugs and alcohol. The loss of the mother made them see what all of it truly does to a person. I wasn't mad about her death—heartbroken, yes, but I could never be mad at her. she had stopped during college, after her parents' deaths. And she swore she would never touch any of it again. And she didn't.

No, Sakura was never perfect. But for me, she was good enough.