HeartQuake: Confession
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
His breath coming out in short sharp gasps, he pressed his hand half-heartedly over the gaping wound in his chest. He felt sticky from all the blood pooling about his still form. He knew that hoping for rescue was futile; he had cut all ties from those he had once called friends.
His gaze drifted towards the cliff edge a few meters to his right. After all the training he had done, all those hours spent combing the continent for his family's murderer so that he could exact his revenge on the man who had ruined his life, all those nights envisioning the myriad ways of making him die a slow and painful death, and all he had been able to do when it came down to it was push him off the cliff. He attempted to laugh at the irony but it came out as a gurgle. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He would have wiped it off but as it was now, he was too weak to lift a finger, let alone his whole arm.
"Was it worth it, this so-called revenge? Was it worth leaving everything—her—behind? Is it worth the pain of truly dying, the pain of not having anyone—her—to keep my memory alive? The emptiness from knowing that she would—could—never be mine?" he contemplated.
As darkness crept into his eyes, he thought "If only…"
"Scalpel."
"Clamp."
"Clipper."
As the steam rising from her coffee warmed her face, she mulled over the events of the last few hours. By sheer luck, they had found him, albeit unconscious and on the brink of death. It had taken all she had to keep him alive. She put her mug down, breathing in the sterility of the hospital she has been working in for the past three years. The clock struck three, signaling the end of her shift.
"I should probably check on his condition before going home. I mean, yeah, he's stable now but what if the wound reopened and he's bleeding to death all over again? My career as a doctor would be ruined!" she thought, trying to justify her need to see him again. Leaving her half-full mug on the table, she strode purposefully toward the hospital's Intensive Care Unit.
She sat by his bedside, reminiscing about how they had been before he had left.
"You know, if you hadn't left, I would probably still be relying on everyone around me without trying to stand on my own two feet. So I guess your leaving was good for something. You taught me to not be afraid to run towards what I want," she said.
"But I'm not saying leaving to get revenge was a good idea; I understand that you wanted to punish the man that killed your family. It's just that you didn't have to let vengeance control your life, right? I mean, we—I—could have helped you track him down. Everything would have been fine if you had just accepted help, anyone's help!" she scolded the unconscious male lying in the hospital bed. She stood over his figure, glaring down at him.
She sat back down and pulled her chair closer to the bed. She leaned closer, taking in eyelashes dark against pale skin, dark hair against the white sheets of the bed.
"I should be angry with you for leaving…but I'm not. I guess I never did get over you after all. I know I told you before that I was happy to be Itachi's fiancée but that was just me coping with the fact that you and I could never be anything more than friends. Isn't that funny? I tried so hard—so hard—to forget you when you left, to give Itachi a chance, but…" she trailed off.
She propped her elbow against the bed, resting her head on her hand.
"You know, I think…I think you being gone for all those years just made me realize the intensity of my feelings for you," she murmured.
She felt his hand twitch and saw his eyelids flutter. Not moving from her position, she waited with baited breath for him to acknowledge her.
"Sakura."
"Okaeri, Sasuke."