A New Way To Bleed;; Naruto and Shikamaru;;One Shot;; I may or may not do a sequel to this story, tell me what you guys think. It would be a NaruMaru fan-fiction.
Shikamaru Nara's Point of View
I was creating my own demise, tearing myself into little pieces, my being beginning to evaporate. I miss him, I miss the past. My heart was failing to convalesce, the blood traveling to my head and into my wrists, the incisions that were hidden beneath thick mesh material. The blood boiled beneath my skin, wanting to be released from the fine precision that were the cuts near my veins, letting liquor of crimson regret drizzle from the wounds. If I protected him like he protected me, if I had saved him like he saved me, if I used his lessons that he taught me. It's my fault, and no salvation can be returned now.
The seemingly concrete rain poured down heavily, shooting through jasmine leaves, though slowly drooling down slim branches and into little nests containing fragile baby eggs. If the mother was there to protect her children like she was supposed to, her children wouldn't have died in this storm. She let them down, just as I have let down Asuma-sensei.
Fumbling with my pocket, lithe bronze fingers playing with a creamy, pastel box, a thin ivy stripe on the packet of cigarettes, little cancer-sticks that Asuma had used to place evenly between his lips and light ablaze, puffing away all misery and regret. Maybe I could kill my own suffering by filling my lungs heavily, maybe ending the breath that kept me functioning, maybe it would cut off my chakra. Under this tree, beneath dense layers of leaves, drawing a thin white stick from the concealing box, I would allow myself to crumble. Slipping the short, nicotine infused numbing-machine between my thin lips, the lighter that was buried deep within my pocket fell out, and I plucked it up between two, shaking fingers, then quickly lighting the cancer-stick ablaze, inhaling and then exhaling. Five million tears I've cried…seventy pleas have gone unheard…tormented daily by your past presence.
The smoldering, singeing puff rose, drifting into my eyes, briefly scorching the interiors of my eyes, causing them to tear up. If I wasn't crying then, well, I am now. Groaning in frustration as the smoke continued to char my dark obsidian eyes. The silvery, graceful puffs were making clouds of their own, moving like the ones that I had watched even more frequently, trying to distract myself from my misery and angst. After about thrice more puffs of smoke, I cried out in annoyance and pain, grieving over the fact that I couldn't puff away the pain,
"I knew it, I was going to hate smoking! The damn smoke gets in my eyes!"
Throwing the cigarette into the grass to be washed away by the heavy deluge, I brought my knees tightly up near by chin and rest my elbows on the hardened bone of my kneecap, hands rising to caress my face, nuzzling my nose between the fleshy cavern that was the crease between my two hands joining to cup my face. A large pit was created in my stomach, twisting and churning deeply into the thick walls of the tissue. A scalding pain in my chest became evident as I tried to breath, causing me to choke on my own subtle breaths. Each breath that managed to make it out between my lips was hoarse, strained, and tainted with agony. Little sniffles began to come out with the short breaths, before a strangled whimper gurgled in the back of my throat before completely losing it. Streams of salty, slick tears cascaded down the tear-paths they had form on my face from going down the same path each time I had began my melancholy meltdowns. The familiar surges of bitter agony that glided down my face, dropping gracefully with little splashes on my dusky pant-legs became relevant to me. I still can't find what's keeping me here…
The echoing, eerie taunting winds whistled in the storm before a quick, booming ring of thunder sounded nearby, a lithe flash on lightning flickering in the darkened cerulean skies, the heavy dark gray and light gray clouds painted heavily on the powerful nightscape. Another hush, cold stirring began, elevating the rustling leaves into the stormy skies, swirling on the wind's will to bring them higher. Am I too lost to be saved…?
Throwing my head back in an achingly sorrowful position, my eyes shot open, tears gliding off towards the side of my face, falling off the sides of my jaw-line. Arm jerking in anticipation of what was to come, I decided not to stall it. It was going to get what it craved so strongly. The wounds cried for the crave, and my soul cried for the deliverance. Scrabbling my appendages in the deep caverns that were my pockets, I finally snatched precisely what I was seeking. A thin, sharp blade that was once Asuma's, stained with his blood and my own blood, coated with my sorrow and his last breaths, holding my grief and holding his dying spirit. Leisurely moving my head forward, tilting it down to glance at my wrists and arms. Skinny, fleshy fingers slipping beneath the weaved top that coated the yearning, blood-lusting slits.
The first slice into the thin, paper-like sheet that protected my inner body, my chakra system, and spirit began to bleed beneath the silvery, cold metal. Deeper and deeper the knife plunged before I raised it from the deep, scarlet wound, mahogany misery splashing around the disfigurement. Inhaling, exhaling, the crave for painful pleasure was taking over, escalating as a hungry, yearning smirk plastered itself to my face. The hemorrhage was blissfully delicious, filling the desire for the distress. This was a new way to get satisfaction, a new way to bleed.
And it all came back at me.
The clouds rolled in. Helpless, useless...that's all I was. And as I watched the final blow into the gut of my sensei, my best friend, my partner, I crashed down to my knees. No, I had to keep my composure. I was a the Proxy Commander of the Fourth Division. I needed to keep my calm. Sashaying hurriedly towards my former mentor, I began to let loose tears. Blood, cuts, punctures into his flesh, killing him. Only hardly breathing, Asuma glanced up at my broken face. And that was when I knew that I wasn't sleeping. Ino and Chouji had appeared, Ino was trying to revive our sensei, our teacher, the one who'd bribe us with things that caught our attention, th one who spent time with me and played Shoji and Go, the one who told me that I was so intelligent, and so smart, and that one day if I put my mind to it, I could become Hokage. I snapped out of the meaningless phase, but I looked down at him and brushed a few strands of hair out of his face before he began to speak. He was telling Ino about how my chubby friend and I were goof-offs, and how she was dependable and needed to keep us too in line. He also told Choji about how he was a nice and considerate man, and that he'd grow up to be a shinobi stronger than the rest of them. Finally, he met my gaze, a hoarse cough began his statement, and he had caught my attention, "And Shikamaru. You're so smart… and have great sense as a shinobi. You could definitely become Hokage. But… you're too lazy… You'd probably hate it. I never even beat you once at shōgi… Ah, yes… Remember our talk about the King?…" And slowly, my memory rang loud and clear, during our games of shogi,, Asuma used to mention about "The King". Saying quietly, "Yes Asuma, I remember the King, what about him?" He chuckled gently, "The "kings" are the unborn children who will grow up to take care of the leaf. One is still in Kurenai's womb… hers and my child. Take care of my "king"!" My eyes fluttered a bit before I took in the realization; Asuma's lover, Kurenai, was pregnant with his child. Asuma was entrusting me to bring up and mentor his baby boy, who I now knew as Konohamaru, my apprentice. His hand slipped weakly into one of his deeper pocket, bringing up his pair of chakra blades and putting them in my hands. He was also entrusting me with his beloved weapons. Before he was about to perish, our weakened sensei choked out hoarsely, "I want one more smoke."
And that's where I am now. Hitting rock bottom as if it were a safe haven, taking on my mentor's obsession and habit of getting a pack, lighting them and smoking the days off. I was so close with him. There was a time when we just laid in the field, just our team, and we took a nap. I laid right next to Asuma, laying next to his left arm, resting my head on the bulging muscle that was his worked bicep. Ino had claim to his right side, though stayed pressed up against the muscled side as she slept. And well, Choji just kind of plopped down on his legs and rested there, basically immobilized the bronzed, hairy faced older man. He was more of a father than my father, Shikaku ever was to me. But those were the good times…when I didn't have to worry about his life on the line. He was a father, he was a friend. I loved him and his company, and now he's gone. Now I'm lonely. I finally got to get along and have a bon with someone…and it's all gone!
Screeching out in pure agony, all I could feel was the liquor of crimson regret trickle down my arm, and the pain that my ears were in as my own terrorizing shrieks rang through the air, splitting the dense air like hovering thunder. Holding nothing back, loud, somber cries of terror and sorrow,
"Asuma!" I cried out, a plea for comfort, a plea for him to come back and make everything better, a cry to make everything how it used to be, a cry to help me make amends. All it did was cause an echo, the name could most likely be heard for a few miles in all directions, and at this point I didn't care. Taking the lighter from my receptacle, I pushed on the little chrome nozzle that made the fire blaze out, I held it up in the air, not caring, just wanting to express everything somehow. Little droplets and speckles of rain pattered onto the warm flames, causing steam to rise from the lighting fuse. Elevating a hand to my face, I cloaked it with the firm skin, collecting all the pain and tears, allowing my other arm to continue to bleed out onto the green grass, soon to wash away due to the rain. I'd give up all the world to see him staring back at me.
I hadn't even gone to his funeral. I was at home that day, staying awake, examining, indulging myself in ways to seek vengeance for my beloved master, my beloved sensei. All black. Black was the only thing I wore. I sat there, for hours, maybe even days, on that roof, holding the burning lighter firmly next to me, cuddling the sheathed blades to keep myself sane. My vengeance worked out perfectly. Absolutely perfectly. I killed that monster, that dreaded, horrible thing that took one of my best friends from my grasp. That was when I had seen my sensei again, he appeared to applaud my work, my brilliance, and he passed down his jutsu to me as I blew up the fiend.
I should have gone to his funeral. I know that I had slept by his grave at multiple occasions, like I was this very moment. I had laid there for hours on end, lightly stroking the gravestone, leaving flowers, and bawling. And I can't live with myself today.
Something snapped me out of my phase. A firm, warmed hand was placed firmly on mine, and I glanced upwards, my dark, slate eyes examining who it was. Eyes fuzzy from tears, I made out the blue eyes and the blonde hair.
"Ino…" I whispered gently, reaching my arms up to hug "her" closely. I succeeded in that, but there was just one little problem there…you see…
"No Pineapple-head…it's me, Naruto Uzumaki." Muttered the warm being into my ear, though the nice thing was that he hugged me back, "What's wrong Shikamaru…?"
What was wrong? What. Was. Wrong? How could he be so oblivious to everything around him. Asuma's grave, the flowers, the crying, the blood, and the cigarettes. Where did it not all add up?
"Well, I know…it's Asuma-sensei…isn't it?" the Fox-Nin coughed gently. His firm hands held my hips firmly and brought me down along with him, laying my body in his arms, he was cradling me like a child.
Why was the boisterous idiot all calm? He would usually be springing everywhere and be taunting me at this moment in time. Wait…
"I understand what you're going through Shikamaru…" The whisper was quiet and hush, and it held pain behind it all, he glanced at the deep incision in my arm, marveling at the precision and aim of the greedy cut, "Don't do that…please…I don't want to lose another friend Nara…please…" He seemed to be begging. My heart ached, swelling was all too much, his gentleness, Asuma's death, everything. "You're too good for this… you're a proxy commander, your IQ is over 200…you're the smartest Nin I know…don't stoop to this level…if I had known your troubles I would have been here to help you in a heart beat." The golden haired ninja slowly shook his head, tears welling in his own tear ducts, "I've already lost Neji…and then Jiraiya…and I lost Asuma…I don't want you to die Shika…you're my friend and I care about you…no more deaths…no more…" I was surprised that the blonde was in the same state I was in, and I felt the heat of his head bury into my shoulder.
"Shika…I know your heartache…I know your suffering…I cant lose you after losing so many others, you're one of the only ones I have left and you mean far too much to me…when Jiraiya died I was in the same state that you are now…and it was awful, just remember…Asuma is proud of you, he always has been, and so will I…I'll be here to comfort you…I'll share your heart ache."