I glared daggers at the girl on the stool next to me. You would glare daggers too, if you had been flirting with a super hot bartender, whose attention was suddenly whisked away from you by some whore with a face caked with make-up, and clothes so tiny that she was practically naked. I mean, I suppose nobody really wore any clothes to a bar—I was the exception to this rule being the dutiful person that I was—but still.
Who the fuck gave that girl permission to butt her fat ass into my flirtation?
Not me, that's who did.
If it had been any girl other than me sitting on that stool, she would have been dead by now. But it was me, so of course I took my drink with me somewhere else and sat in a dark corner of the room, ignoring the girl and the bartender, therefore effectively not beating her down.
Maybe I looked like a sissy to anyone else, but I don't like starting fights. That is not to say that I'm a peaceful person in the slightest. But I can never resort to physical violence.
And I do mean never.
"Sakura?" I looked up to see Kiba staring down at me, bemusedly.
Kiba Inuzuka. One of the most wanted bachelors of Konoha and Alleged Ex-Boyfriend.
It's something to add to my resume, really, the fact that I went out with The Kiba Inuzuka. "What are you doing here?"
"Wha' does it look like 'm doin' 'ere?" Huh. My words were slurring. I must have been drunker than I thought. Kiba continued to stare. "It looks like you're sitting in a corner, drinking something, and doing nothing."
"Nu-uh!" My denial was forceful. "'m doin' somethin'. 'm plottin' ma revenge on tha' skank o'er thar."
Kiba followed the direction of my finger to The Bitch, who was still flirting with The Bartender. My Bartender. The one who I had been chatting with so prettily before she came around. And I thought we had really clicked too!
"Well." Kiba looked confused, and ran his hand through the wild brown of his hair. "What'd she do?"
"She stole my bartender."
"Your bartender?"
"Yeah. She stole 'im."
Kiba slumped down next to me, and grabbed my drink outta my hands. I flailed for it, and ended up in a position across him that would have seemed very sexual to strangers. My arms were extended towards the cup, my boobs were pressed against his legs, and my ass was probably right up in his face. But I still wanted my drink.
I felt Kiba freeze up though, and used it as my advantage, snatching for my glass again. He recovered in the last minute, though, and managed to keep it up in the air and away from me.
"Sakura," he began, his voice thick with tension. I wondered why. I mean, we broke up awhile ago—we should have been okay with this kinda thing by now. Not like I cared (though that might have been coz I lost all my inhibitions, like, four drinks ago). "I think you're done drinking."
My head shook ferociously. "No! 'm no' dooonee. Sti' have t' plo' agains' tha' whoreee. Need th' alco-alco-alco-what's-it for ma plottin'. Gimme ma drin' baaaack." And then we launched back into a game of Drunk Girl Trying To Snatch Her Tequila Back From Her Ex-Boyfriend And Her Ex-Boyfriend Not Giving Her Any Chance To Get It Back.
They should try fitting that on one o' them boarding game lids.
"OI, COUPLE'S HAVIN' SEX IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM, LET'S GO WATCH."
Some idiot wants to watch two people getting it on. Personally, I have nothing against exhibitionists. I'm just not one. I prefer closets and bedrooms to crowded bars and parties.
"You don't have any shame, do you?" I looked up for the person who said this. It was The Bitch. The Bartender was standing next to her, as well, with an impassive look on his face. Which I translated to "This chick was uber-boring, why did you have to leave me with her? I would much rather prefer flirtin' with you."
Ferseriously. I read it in his eyes. His beautiful dark eyes that look like a swirl of all different colors in the light. Red, yellow, purple, black, blue, and some other colors that I'd probably be able to name if I wasn't drunk as fuck right now.
"Hey! Pink-haired byotch!" My head snapped in The Bitch's direction again. Well, now. Someone wants to pick a fight, don't they? "You should look at a person when they're talkin' to you—" And risk burning my eyes out? Yeah, I don't think so. "—otherwise people might assume somethin' about you." Oh, fuck no. She did not just go there.
I would have shown her just how much of a "byotch" I was, if it hadn't been for the restraining grip that Kiba suddenly had on my wrist. I glanced back at him incredulously. He had stolen my drink and now he was holding me back from bitch-slapping a hoe who really deserved it? No wonder I broke up with him.
Or maybe he broke up with me...Damn. I don't remember. Either way, he wasn't gonna stop me.
"Lemme go," I hissed into his ears. To all our witnesses, it probably looked like I was whispering something sexy into his ear. Or biting it. Or kissing it. Take your pick; they're all incorrect, anyway. "I ain't takin' no shit from some wannabe queen o' the club."
There was a chorus of "good one!" and "oooh's." Whoops! Guess I wasn't talking as quietly as I thought.
The Bitch's face had turned an unattractive, blotchy red. I glorified in its hideousness. Yeah, I know. I'm terrible. Isn't it amazing? "I am sooo not a wannabe, you fucked up freak. Seriously. Ever heard of gettin' a room?"
It was at this point that I realized that the previous comment about the couple having sex in the corner of the room was referring to me and Kiba and the easily misleading position we were in. No wonder the entire club was staring at us...
Oh well. Might as well give 'em something to stare at. I grinned deviously, my sharp canines—though, they had nothing on Kiba's—peeking out of my mouth. Then I twisted around, so that instead of me lying across Kiba, I was sitting on his lap. My arms went around his shoulders, my hand holding the back of his neck, partially because it was all part of the show and partially because I was on the verge of losing my balance.
And if I was gonna embarrass myself at a club, I'd rather it not be because I sprawled across the dance floor with my panties in clear view of some good-for-nothing perverts. And my Ex. And The Bitch.
(The only person I wouldn't mind showing my panties to would be The Bartender. Even though he is clearly not interested in me. Even though he clearly should be.)
So I clutched Kiba's neck tightly, and looked around at the crowd. My grin widened. Kiba had frozen again, and I felt his breath against the—exposed—nape of my neck. It was burning. Not an uncomfortable sensation; if anything, it felt pretty nice. Just not a sensation that I'd like to be feeling from my Ex Boyfriend. He was my Ex, after all.
"What the fuck are you doin'?" he whispered to me. The tension in his voice had reached its maximum. Usually, Kiba's pretty easy-going, so the stressful tone he spoke with would have worried me, but I was not as oblivious as a person should probably be when they're drunk—or as oblivious as I might have been acting.
Basically: I was well aware of the fact that I was giving my Ex a hard-on. (I had been playing stupid when I told you I wondered why he was all tense. I'm really not that stupid in actuality, thankyouverymuch.)
Which is probably me breaking some rule in the Break Up Bible or whatever it's called.
But then again, I was never very religious. "Chill, babe," I said, easily. "I got this."
"Got what, exactly?" Kiba retorted. "Your ass on my lap—and, basically, my penis? Because if you think I find this pleasurable, then you're more off your rocker than I had originally suspected."
"Oh, shaddup, Dog Boy," I snapped, flapping my hand at him. He dodged out of the way before it could hit him. This time, it was a definite that nobody could hear us. They were all leaning in, trying to eavesdrop, but I didn't give 'em a chance. "I'll let ya get home t' Akamaru in a mo-moment. Jus' play along fer now, would ya?"
Without listening to his reply, I turned back to our audience. But mostly to The Bitch.
"Rooms are overrated," I said. "I got a boyfriend, so I'll flaunt it t' the world, and get some while 'm at it. Sorry if ya gotta problem with that, seein' as ya don't have one. A boyfriend, that is."
"You," Kiba said, through gritted teeth, and into my right ear—which was mightily distracting, let me tell you—, "are incredibly aggravating. You think I don't have somethin' better to do then act out some play with my ex-girlfriend?"
The smile on my face didn't drop. "You're the one who stopped me from jus' beatin' her to a pulp. Not my fault that ya gotta take responsibility fer that."
Kiba shook his head and muttered something along the lines of, "bat-shit crazy woman, nearly as bad as Hana." I took it as a compliment, simply because I was both drunk and awesome and my name is Sakura so I am just allowed to, okay?
"YOU GODDAMN BYOTCH," yelled The Bitch herself, and would have tried—and failed—to punch me. Except there was a restraining grip on her arm too. And it was My Bartender's grip.
He came to my rescue! I knew I wasn't just imagining the fact that we clicked!
"That's enough," he said. "There are rules against fighting, and I'd appreciate it if you got out now."
The Bitch's face scrunched up, tears forming at the edge of her eyelids. "But-but-but—" I almost felt bad for her. "She started it!" Until that.
Bartender's face was still stoic—I think it had remained stoic the entire night, even while I was talking to him—when he said, "I didn't see her trying to punch anyone."
She looked like she wanted to argue more, but the look on his face must have stopped her. Giving me a dirty glance, she huffed and stormed out of the club.
Finally.
"There's nothing to see here, guys," Bartender was saying to the peanut gallery. "No girl fight, no nothing. Just a drunk off their ass couple who are grinding against each other in a corner, on the ground. Forget it, alright?"
And, just like that, the crowd dispersed.
Bartender rubbed his temples and glanced at us. The dark of his eyes were still swirling around with the other colors. I could stare into them and get lost forever.
"Would ya gerroff me now?" Kiba reminded me, snapping me out of my ogling. I scrambled up as quickly as I could, and stepped as far as I could away from him. Wouldn't want Bartender to the think I was taken, would I?
(Though, in retrospect, it was kinda late for that.)
Kiba watched this with a raised eyebrow. He looked at Bartender, then back at me, and scowled a bit. But he didn't say anything. Just stood there and watched.
"Um." I was tongue-tied—a first for me. "Thanks fer puttin' a stop to that, 'fore it got dirty."
"It's my job." Well, now. Thanks for making me feel stupid. I searched my mind for anything else to say, but I wasn't getting anything. Probably realizing this, Bartender turned on his heel, and walked away, shaking his head the entire time.
"It would have gotten dirty," Kiba put in. "But not coz o' that girl. You're lucky I was here. And I don't expect a thank you or anythin'. I'm just sayin'. If you forget yourself this much—" He looked me, up and down. I probably looked like a demented pink-haired weirdo. "—then you could seriously hurt someone. And even if that someone might be a bitch, you know you don't wanna do that, Sakura."
"Wow," I said. "Never knew the day would come when I got lectured by The Kiba Inuzuka. Who's the one who pounded Sui's watery guts out when he stole yer precious steaks from yer freezer?"
Kiba scowled. "They were expensive steaks and they tasted amazing, Sakura. You should know, considerin' you ate nearly half the box with Sui. And don't try and turn this on me. This is all 'bout you, whether you like it or not."
There was no one in the world who knew that better than I did. Did he really think I wasn't aware of the danger I posed to everyone when I got into a fight? Did he really think that I didn't know that if I could've put that girl in some serious danger, along with everyone else at the club?
Clearly, Kiba did not know me as well as I thought he did.
"'m goin' home," I said, tiredly. I wasn't gonna stand around and argue all night with him. All I wanted now was to go home and have a nice shower. To let the hot water pour down on me, and make me forget whatever could have happened tonight. Because, even if it could've happened, it didn't and that's the only thing I can look to when I'm desperate and practically suicidal. "'m too tired. This ain't the right time."
The stare Kiba gave me was searching. It was like he was seeing through me, to the coward inside, to the little, innocent girl who had always just wanted a normal life, to the woman who'd never get that—never even deserve such a thing. "You're right," he said, finally. "You look worn out. I'll take you home."
Before I could protest, he put in, "Don't even think 'bout rejecting it, Sakura. You look like shit. And you're so tipsy, that you'll probably tip over on the sidewalk where some bum could harass you while you're unconscious—listen to yourself! You're talkin' slang like you're not the Grammar Nazi you are. I'll drive you home quickly, and you can hop into bed faster, anyhow."
"Ya don't have anythin' to do?" I asked, helplessly hoping he'd miraculously remember he did have something to do.
He chuckled and shook his head. "I don't got anythin' to do, hon. Just lend a hand to a pretty ex-girlfriend of mine who really looks like she needs it."
"Seems like yer forgettin' the 'ex' part."
"Not forgettin'. Just...callin' it a truce tonight. I'm not gonna try and get you in bed or anythin', but let's say that you also can't reject my help. I know how you are 'bout that. As if we haven't been friends for the last couple of months. Who's to say its odd when you're helpin' out a friend?"
The luminescent lights through Kiba's sharp features into high relief. They were too striking for me to ignore, and I stared at them with a longing that I should definitely not have felt. Had I already forgotten The Bartender in favor of my Ex? "Me, when that friend is someone whose tongue has been down your throat, and who's seen you naked. A multiple of times."
Kiba did not get a chance to respond to this comment because, right then, a dozen police sirens sounded outside the bar. The music stopped, and everyone halted in their "activities," to run to the windows and look outside. Curious as to what the commotion was all about.
Curiosity was nothing like what I felt, in that moment. All I could feel was fear. It rushed to me like a baseball to some guy's balls; made me wince, made me want to drop down on the floor and cry. An odd analogy, I know. But I was still drunk, so it is allowed.
I did not wince, I did not drop down on the floor, and I did not cry. Instead, I stood completely still, gazing at the entrance of the club with a terror that was probably alarming. But terror is always alarming. Always unexpected, whether you know it's coming or not.
My situation was the former. I knew it was coming, knew it for a long time. I just put it behind me, and tried to ignore it, like a pesky fly. Only the flies'll keep coming now. I'm absolutely sure of it.
"Sakura?" Oh God. I had forgotten Kiba was here. He knew about everything. Everything I had decided to tell him over the two years we had gone out, and the years before that where we were close friends. He knew enough to stop me from beating up random chicks at bars. He knew enough to keep a close eye on me, in case my temper got the best of me, and some innocent bystander got seriously hurt.
He knew enough.
Which means there was no choice. He would have to run with me. Otherwise he'd get hurt, and no matter whether or not I thought our relationship had restored to the close friendship it had been before we started dating, I couldn't see that.
"Sakura, what's wrong?" There was an urgent tone to his voice now; he had realized that I was not just in some drunken haze. "What's goin' on?"
I inhaled deeply, sucking all the air I could in. I needed it. "We have to go."
"You'll need a ride."
My breathing hitched. I wasn't looking at Kiba, but I knew that was most certainly not his voice. It wasn't as scratchy; more smooth than it was raspy, though I could hear even the slight roughness in it. I, of course, recognized the voice. It had asked a certain Bitch to get out of the club, just a few minutes ago.
I didn't feel tipsy anymore. There was no instability to my mind. My body and my voice? Those were a different matter.
Swiveling around swiftly, I looked up at the Bartender. His eyes peeked out from underneath the bangs of his raven-colored locks. It was a peculiar haircut, like a chicken's butt, but he made it look good, so I didn't dwell on that.
He was leaning against one of the stools, looking impossibly cool. There was no change from his outfit; he was still wearing his uniform—a black vest, over a long sleeved white shirt, a black tie loosely slung around his neck, and black pants. He looked exactly as he had two minutes before.
Except. There was a fire in his eyes that hadn't been there before, a fire that made me burn like Kiba's breath against my neck did. And he was also dangling a pair of keys around his fingers nonchalantly.
It was against my better judgment, honestly. Kiba was already involved, I knew there was nothing I could do about that but take him along with me. People would be on top of him, if only I ran.
But was there a need to bring a complete stranger into this? Into something that they had no business being in?
One voice was telling me that I should just run for the front doors with Kiba, and hope for the best. The other voice was telling me to take the chance with a stranger, sneak out some secret way that only he'd know about, and actually manage to escape.
They were both options based on chance, and they could both be equally dangerous.
Kiba looked confused when I glanced at him. He hadn't caught onto what was going on yet. But he was going to, soon enough. Before that, I'd have to decide.
I looked at the Bartender again. Then at the entrance of the club, piled with spectators wanting a view of the police cars and whatever drama-action-whatever was going down. Not knowing the drama-action was all in the place they were standing. I looked back at the Bartender. Then I looked at his keys. They were black, and kinda matched his eyes.
"Let's go."