WARNING! This story contains some vulgar language! I couldn't decide between rating it teen or mature. And this story is definitely a big ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! It's SasukexOC. The OC is mine. I don't own anything of Naruto.
What defines a person?
Labels, handed out and plastered on like price tags? Or does definition come from within, from the sum of memories and experience?
Whenever I walk down the halls of Whitman High, I hear them all around me. Verbal bullets, aimed to cut, to bruise, to crack.
"Bitch."
"Freak."
"Slut."
"Ugly."
I've seen it happen to others, what they are trying to do to me. I've seen boys and girls alike turn to drugs, alcohol, cutting; any form of escape they can find. Why does labeling have such a big effect on our lives? Why do people feel the need to join in?
"What happened today, Chalice?"
It's my dad, speaking softly through the door. The one person I feel I can confide in, but I never do.
"Nothing, father," I say tiredly back, pulling the sleeves of my white sweater over my hands, trying to cover up the slowly darkening bruises.
He is silent for a moment, but then sighs and moves away from the door.
"Dinner is in a couple of hours."
"Alright," I call back, then fall back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The scrapes on my hands sting; I really shouldn't have punched that guy, but it felt good to stop his trash talk. Not to mention putting a little fear in his eyes. A lock would have been so much more effective. Why, with all my martial arts experience, did I have to just go for a punch? I blew away a wave of brown hair that was drifting into my face and sat up, reaching for my backpack. Thinking about that dick wouldn't do anything. I should get my homework done before my mother got home.
My mother's arrival home was marked, as always, loudly. Today she came in colliding with walls and giggling crazily. She was almost assuredly drunk. I glanced out the window to see the darkening sky, clouds gliding in, rumbling with thunder. The air smelled crisp and wet, the scent that was purely labeled 'rainstorm'. Maybe I better get outside for a while, even if it did rain. I tried to be away whenever mother started screaming. Glancing over to my door, I checked to see if it was locked then moved over to the window. As I pushed it open, a gust of wind blew into the room, stinging my skin with a few icy raindrops. I slung my jean-clad legs over the edge and stopped for a moment. Was that mother pounding up the stairs?
"Chalice! Chalice, get out here right now!"
Crap. I quickly tried to climb back in, but my jeans caught on a nail stuck in the side of the house. Urgently, I tried to yank it free, but I felt myself tipping. The door was shuddering as mother pounded on it, her screams drowned by father's yells. Then, slowly, inevitably, I felt myself sliding outside. I flailed my legs, gripped the window sill with my hands, feeling splinters driving into my palms, trying to get back inside. I grabbed for a water pipe protruding from the side of the house and swung myself onto it as my wooden windowsill cracked away. Precariously, I dangled from my hands, breathing hard as my body thrummed with fear and my hands stung. I felt something warm coursing down my calf and glanced down to see that I had cut myself. On the nail, maybe? I looked from my calf to the ground, judging the distance I had to fall. It wasn't that far; there was a hedge as well. Still, I didn't know if I wanted to risk it.
My indecision was solved when I heard my door burst open. "Chalice? Chalice! Where are you, you little…"
I released my grip, which was already slick from rain, and fell.
For a few moments, I seemed to float, suspended in the air. Then reality returned with a crunch and a snap. I twisted around in the bush, keeping my eyes closed tight. I felt fine, other than a few scratches. I finally worked my way out and rolled onto the ground, lying on my back. Rain slid down my face, streaking cold trails down my cheeks. Trying to catch my breath, I stopped for a moment and looked back up to my window.
I was looking right up into the startled face of my mother. Silence stretched on, broken only by Slowly, her face twisted into anger. When she spoke, the words hissed through clenched teeth.
"Chalice," she said, glaring at me. "Chalice, you get your little ass up here right now. Right this instant. I expect you to clean this up and to sit in your room until I come to deal with you."
I stared up at my mother, platinum hair tangled around her face, light blue eyes outlined with too much makeup. The face I have nothing from. My father hovers anxiously in the background. I have none of his reddish hair, or his blue eye color. My golden brown hair, my tawny eyes all come from elsewhere. I am struck with a sudden, boiling feeling that takes me a moment to identify. Hate. Hate and anger, all bubbling and roiling inside of me. I no longer want anything to do with that woman. Or my father, for that matter. I used to think that I could confide in him, that I could tell him my feelings and he would listen. He could have stopped my mother's abuse. Did he do anything about? No. In my mind, he is just as much at fault as the monster of that woman.
Slowly, I stand up, never breaking the glare between the woman leaning out the window and me. Deliberately, I brush my jeans off, ignoring pricks of pain in my hands, and turn away from the house. I stick my middle finger up in the air behind me.
"Later," I call, and break into a run.
I don't know how long I ran for. For a while, I heard them shouting behind me, racing after me, but I soon left them in the dust. Now they were in our car, still chasing after me. Whenever I saw the flash of a streetlight glinting off a white paintjob, I would dive into bushes or duck down alley ways to avoid them. I slowly made my way to Julia Davis Park, a park where I often took shelter from my parents. I was stumbling by the time I sagged onto a swing, rattling the chain as I grabbed onto it. The air was frosty, unusually cold for the time of year. The rain had frozen into cold, white snowflakes that fell silently through the air. My hair, wet from rain, froze into stiff, icy strands. My breath puffed out in tiny white clouds as I panted. I closed my eyes, chest still heaving, and leaned my head against the cold chain. Then the horrible realization of what I had done crossed my mind. Breath rushed out of my lungs in a harsh hiss and my shoulders shuddered. What a stupid, stupid thing to do. Putting up with abuse would have been better then freezing or starving to death. Moisture began to collect in my eyes and I furiously scrubbed the back of my hand across my eyelids. I couldn't afford to cry now; I had to figure out what to do. I tugged my hands back inside my sleeves and vigorously rubbed my arms, trying to keep from shivering. Goosebumps pricked all over my body. The temperature was dropping as the night drew on. I winced when my numb hands started stinging and looked down to see blood on my sweater, then checked the cut on my calf. I pulled back my sleeves and saw splinters of wood stuck in my palms. I began to pull them out, wincing when the wood pulled at my skin.
Suddenly, I heard voices.
I jerked my head around and stared into the shadows surrounding me. The light from street lamps seemed very far away, swallowed up by the snow.
Raucous laughter broke out from behind me, and I sprang off the swing, trying urgently to locate the voices.
"Hey there, darling! Why you out so late?"
"Hi Sugar! Come hang out with us!"
"Look, man, she scared! Hey, don't be scared girly!"
Three men staggered out of a stand of trees and advanced towards me. Dark bottles hung from their hands, amber liquid occasionally sloshing out the top.
"You're pretty girly! Come here," called one of the men as he came closer. The three were close enough to touch now. I could see their twisted grins, the crazy light in their eyes. All three looked rich, dressed in nice clothes with intentional tears and cuts and good leather jackets. One of them reached out to pat my side and I jerked away. Fear drummed through my veins and accelerated my heartbeat, as well as some anger. Here come the labels again. Just because I was out late, I must be lost or a slut. When another reached for my face, I quickly grabbed his wrist and thrust my arm under his, grabbing my other wrist. The keylock twisted his arm into a ninety degree angle and when pressure was violently applied, the lock could dislocate the shoulder. It was this I tried for now. I cranked his arm back, applying more pressure at once then I ever had in class. Immediately there was a cracking noise and the man screamed in pain. He struggled away from me and kneeled to the ground, clutching his shoulder.
"You bitch!" he shrieked. I whirled to face the other men and quickly stepped into another man to execute a hip throw. He came in for a punch and I caught it, trapping it to my side before pivoting and throwing him over my outstretched leg. When he fell to the ground I jumped to straddle him and rolled him on top of me, slipping a little on the collecting snow. I quickly locked my legs around his torso and my arms around his neck, simultaneously crushing all my limbs together in a sleeper choke. The breath rushed out of his body in a mighty whoosh and I heard a few ribs crack. He barely had enough air to moan. Suddenly, explosively, my head snapped back and my mouth filled with blood as the third man kicked my face. Gagging from blood and the smell of alcohol, I released the man and got on my hands and feet, crawling away. I struggled to my feet, head ringing, but staggered down again when the third man punched my face. My head was dragged back when one of the men wrenched back my hair, glaring at me. I choked slightly on blood slipping down my throat.
"You're turning out to be more trouble then you seemed."
My head snapped back again when the man with the dislocated shoulder punched my face as well.
"Little slut," he snarled in my face.
"Come on, let's get this going," growled one of them. Hands began ripping at my shirt and jeans. I writhed in their grip, biting one man's hand, ignoring the blows raining down on me.
"I've had enough of this!" one man yelled, pulling something from his jacket. "Hold her arm out."
Terrified, I bucked around, trying to escape, but their grips were like iron. I felt the man raise his hand up, than bring it down onto my arm. Intense pain burst out in my arm with a crack, and I screamed. The man put the metal pipe he used to hit me with back in his pocket and kicked my arm. I cried out again, pain radiating all the way to my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep moisture from running down my cheeks.
"Okay, girl," said the man with the pipe, kneeling down. "Here's how things are going to happen. Every time you struggle, we break a bone. Simple enough?"
I summoned up saliva in my dry mouth and spat at him.
He jerked back, wiping his face disgustedly. "Alright," he hissed at me. "There goes a couple fingers."
"Hold her down," he said eerily calm, drawing out the pipe again. I tensed up, straining against their holds. Just as he brought the pipe back to strike, another voice came out of nowhere.
"I don't think you want to do that."
The man started and looked behind me. His eyebrows drew together in a frown like clouds sliding across the sun.
"Just who the hell are you?" he demanded, standing up and taking a step forward.
"The one who's going to kick your ass," said the calm voice. "For not knowing your place."
"Alright buddy, look-"
Suddenly there was a sharp smack, like flesh meeting flesh, and the pipe clanged to the ground. Soon after followed the sound of the man's body collapsing to the ground with a soft moan. Silence roared in my ears as the last note of the ringing pipe died away. The two men holding me down jumped and let go of me. Their faces slowly twisted into fear as they backed away.
"I don't think so," said the dark voice again. A blur appeared in my peripheral vision and slammed into one of the men, who crumpled like a can. The other one was already running away, stumbling and clawing at the air.
"Humph. I expected more of a fight."
The figure that turned to me was a boy. A teenager, probably about sixteen, my age. He was dressed all in black. I couldn't see much more then that because my vision was blurring. I struggled to sit up, but fell to my back with a cry as my arm shrieked in protest.
"You probably shouldn't move," said the teen, kneeling next to me.
"Leave me alone!" I scooted away from him, holding my arm to my chest.
He snorted. "I'm not going to hurt you. Why are you out so late?"
I blinked, trying to think through the pounding in my head. My body was wracked with shudders and my whole body was numb.
"I think I was…running away?"
He frowned, reaching for my cradled arm.
"From what? Home?"
As he spoke he examined my arm between his hands. Now that he was closer, I could see details. Pale skin, spiky dark hair, dark eyes. He was taller than me, and a mix between lithe and muscular. Three silver hoops glittered along the top of his ear. I could see part of a black, Celtic-design tattoo on the side of his neck.
"I-I think so," I said, wincing as his fingers probed a little too hard.
The pressure of his fingers lessened immediately and continued feeling for a moment before moving away. He sighed.
"Then I suppose taking you home is out of the question then, if you ran away. Can you walk?"
"Yes."
I slowly get to my knees, than my feet, wobbling slightly as the pounding in my head intensified. The boy stood silently to the side, watching my shuddering frame. I felt a wave a nausea rising but determinedly swallowed it down. I took a step, then another, before the shaking in my body overcame my will to stand.
He smirked next to me. "I guess that's a 'no' on walking, then."
"Shut up," I said, holding my head in my hands, shaking from cold.
He smirked again. Standing up, he pulled me to my feet, than swung me onto his back.
"H-hey!" I call, my eyes popping open and my legs locking around his waist. "What are you doing? Let me down!"
"Well, we're never going to get anywhere otherwise," he said, beginning to walk away from the swings in the direction of the richer subdivisions. "I'm going to take you to my house, to see if my dad can get that arm checked."
"No, I don't need to, it's-"
"Don't say it's fine," he said, his voice suddenly colder. "No one could go through that and just be fine. Besides, you ran away from home. Where are you going to go?"
It was silent for a moment, before I murmured, more to myself then to him, "I just might surprise you."
He laughed softly.
Darkness began creeping up in the corners of my vision. My head became heavy with all the pounding. I rested it against the back of his neck, too tired to hold my neck straight, too tired to care that I didn't know him. I kept shivering, numb, even against the heat of his body. He smelled nice. Clean. Like soap and apples and a personal scent I couldn't name. Then one thought occurred to me.
"What's your name?"
"Tell me yours first."
"Mine?" My head hurt too much to wonder about his smooth rebuttal. "It's Chalice."
"Chalice," he said softly. "That is an unusual name."
Just before the darkness overcame my vision, I caught his reply.
"My name is Sasuke Uchiha."
Uchiha?
Alright, so I know the fight scene might have been kinda confusing, especially the terms 'sleeper choke', 'keylock', etcetera. So I found a couple videos from the taekwondo center I train at (you can trust they are legit) to help you understand. Sadly, I couldn't find a link for the sleeper choke.
My first story! Please review and tell me if I should continue.
Also, tell me if I should up the rating one more because of de language! Yeah, I'm a coward, haha.
Keylock= watch?v=-iGVK9fFncc&feature=player_embedded
Hip throw= watch?v=9oKmqOeEXqw&feature=player_embedded#!