"I hate the taste of beer, but that night I had no choice but to drink it till I was blind.
My first drunken experience, therefore, involved staggering home, unable to see straight. Sobbing brokenly in an empty dark apartment. Falling asleep on the couch once I ran out of tears, exhausted. Only to wake up at 5:30 or so when the first bitter light started piercing through the dusty window pane. The calm after the storm. In my head, music playing. And then as one hour became two, then four and five, I sat there, not moving, just thinking. About you. Letting the memories, good and bad, play through my head over and over. The first time I met you, the last time I saw you, the most angry you ever were at me, and the happiest I'd ever seen you. The bittersweet chapters of your life that intersected with mine.
The phone rang a few times, and the number on the answering machine grew to a concerned 6. Still, I didn't move; I couldn't move, just let the tuneless ringing echo through my helluva hangover, my sorrow-broken mind.
Eventually, though, I had to get up. It wasn't that I suddenly realized that despite your death, my life had to go on as if there had been no interruption. Actually, I had to pee. Really badly.
Once I finally started noticing my body's needs, the hunger hit. Hard. And it was over the bowl of instant ramen that the one memory I had been trying to avoid all day finally caught up with me. Standing over you in that sad little hospital bed, shirt off, defibrillator in my hands, yelling "CLEAR" with tears streaming down my face. The empty thwok of the defibrillator colliding with your chest, the buzzing of the electricity desperately trying to create a pulse. The automatic start your body gave when I pressed them to your lifeless body. The spark of hope, and then shock of fury and sorrow when your heart stayed still. The hurt and disbelief at losing you so suddenly, and the pain in my hand from punching through the window at your loss, shards of glass wedged in my knuckles.
I think it's the failure that hurts the most, sensei...the feeling of guilt for not being able to save one of the most important people in my life. Guilt, and anger. Anger at myself for being inadequate, for not being able to save you. Because when we were a team, I was always the one that needed saving, and finally, finally I was in the position to save you when you really needed it. And I failed. And that hurts...my God, you wouldn't believe it, but it actually hurts more than Sasuke leaving.
I just always wanted to prove to you that I was worthy of your attention. I guess that being a normal girl when your teammates are the container for the most powerful tailed beast and the last heir to the Uchiha clan, it's easy to be overshadowed. That's probably what drove me to work so hard, and is also probably why failing you now hurts so much.
I guess that's also why I waited so long to get this off my chest. It felt like a burden I deserved. But now I feel like I'm ready...to let you go. To say goodbye, that I'm sorry, and that you'll be in my heart and my mind forever. I hate that I couldn't save you, but hopefully that'll just drive me to become a better medic. And finally, thanks. For everything."
As I finally let everything out, standing over that depressing little stone, standing on the ground over the buried body of my dead mentor- no, friend- I realized something important. Although the fresh tears slipping down my face showed that it would be a long time before my heart healed, I knew that this would only serve to make me a stronger person. The memory of Kakashi would stay with me forever, pushing me to work harder and become stronger, faster, smarter. And it was for him that I had to keep working, pushing, and eventually, succeeding.
And I would have stayed up all night with you
Had I known
How to save a life
