"You again
"You again."
She puts the milk away, a slamming of the fridge door, and brushes past him, pretending not to see him where he stands. Sugar, in its rightful place, spoons readjusted, everything perfect, perfect, perfect. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches him standing there and frowns.
"I'm not talking to you. I hope you know that."
He doesn't say anything.
He never does.
She leaves the kitchen and goes to the bedroom, begins to take off her clothes, pulling off each item and folding it, placing it back in the dresser, or in the laundry, until she is completely naked. She pulls down her hair, long lengths of pink curl that reach to her thighs and walks to the bathroom. On the way, she spots him, now standing in the hall, but pretends she doesn't, and instead goes into the bathroom, turns on the water, steps in, burning hot, freezing cold. Halfway through she realizes she left the door open, but he doesn't come to watch, he never does, and somehow she is disappointed, angry, bereft.
She gets out, water squeaking off, and towels herself off, hair still dripping even as she scrubs at it furiously. When she is done, she hangs the towel up to dry and then walks back to the bedroom, pausing at her door.
"I'm going to bed now."
She doesn't look, doesn't want to see, because it is half-invitation, half-surrender, half-challenge, one that he never takes advantage of, and so she climbs into bed alone, her long hair getting the pillows wet. For a long time her breathing is loud, deafening to her, but then it fades away and she is asleep, lost in some place.
He stands at her door and watches her. It is, after all, his duty.
In the morning she gets up and makes them breakfast, toast for her, tomatoes on bread for him. She sits down, eats her meal, drinks orange juice, while he sits at the other end. When she is done, she clears both plates—he hasn't touched his.
"I'm going to Ino's after work," she tells him as she puts the dishes in the sink, turns on the water, begins to wash them. "I don't know when I'll be home. Don't wait up." Scrub, scrub, rinse, rinse, squeak, squeak as the faucet turns off. She dries the dishes, puts them away, and grabs her coat and bag. "Goodbye. Have a nice day." The door shuts behind her and locks. He watches it, the lock, until the sun goes down.
- - -
The grass is wet beneath her feet as she enters the house, not bothering to knock.
"Ino!" she calls out, dropping her bag and coat. "My god, have you cleaned in weeks?" She steps around a broken chair and sees Ino, there on the couch, just like she always is. "I brought food." She goes back and gets her bag, bringing it the to living room and sitting next to her friend. "See, your favorite—they're fresh." She pulls the strawberries out one by one and eats them, juices slipping down her chin, before giving some to Ino, placing them in her mouth and giggling. "Don't be so lazy, making me do all the work." Red slips down Ino's white jaw, looking like blood, looking like laughter, and Sakura giggles louder. "You're so silly."
She leaves after half an hour—she doesn't want to leave him too long. Bidding Ino goodbye, she kisses her on the cheek, cool and smooth like bone, and smoothes her hair. Some of it comes out on her hand and she places it back tenderly.
"Take care, Ino," she says as she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Ino says nothing—she hasn't for four months, but that's alright. Sakura always makes the conversation anyway.
- - -
she told him no told him dont want but he didnt listen he never does and his hands plunge into her, scraping her bloody black and blue and she screams for mommy but mommy looks away
- - -
She is an acrobat, dancing, half fighting, half ballet, across her living room. He watches her as she laughs, screams, cries, stumbling and flying, leaping and falling, until finally she stops, lying sprawled over the arm of the couch, completely still. He waits, because he knows what comes next, it is what has always come next.
She looks up at him, so scared and young and weeping, and says, "Do you love me, Sasuke-kun?"
He makes a motion, a motion that could be either yes or no, but she sees only what she wants (she always has) and smiles.
"Will you kill me, Sasuke-kun?"
And this time the answer is a definite no.
Her face clouds—it always does—and she gets up, puts her clothes back on, and goes out again, and when she comes back, she pours the old milk down the sink and puts the new milk in the fridge, checks the sugar, checks the spoons, and tells him she is not speaking to him. He never says anything.
He never does.
- - -
She is standing beside the sea, its breath on her toes, watching it crash crash crash and her hair blows and blows away and her clothes whip and whip away and she is naked, hairless and then she walks into the sea and leaves not a trace, not even footprints on the sand.
- - -
She kissed him, when he was still warm and blood trickled down his lips, and even as her hands left the handle of the knife she buried her tongue in his mouth and spat all of her secrets down his throat, that she loved him best, better than herself, that this will keep her with him always, that he shall never leave her now, for his dark eyes and his white skin are hers, even as she loving plucks his eyes away.
- - -
It is a circle, a circle of nothing carved in the middle of the room and she stares at it, looking through, frozen with wonder as the world crumbles silently and begins to burn.
Go on, whispers the voice and she does, placing her hands on the rope, slipping the noose over her head. She giggles, wondering how she must look, for the nothing has eaten her mind, eaten it all up, and she is headless, a wonder, and he watches her, watches as her hands fall down and she steps off the chair, kicking it away. For a while her body twitches, but even after she is dead her eyes watch him and finally he leaves, because green has never been his favorite color.
- - -
Finishing notes: Happy happy sunshine. This has sort of been sitting on me for a while, so I just went for it. Hope you liked.