Disclaimer: Naruto ain't mine, man.
Warnings: depressing, strange, a bit(OK,maybe a lot) confusing
Author's Note: Set after Sasuke joins Orochimaru and Naruto leaves to study with Jiraiya. The picture mentioned is the Team 7 snapshot. Er... this one's weird, but longer. I didn't edit or change it much at all. If you think this thing's messed up, let me know, and I'll change it.
In this room, the air is still, solid, pressing down on all sides. No space to breathe, though no one is here. Then again, it is crowded, with phantom thoughts and memories too volatile to speak, too heavy to keep inside. The pressure builds up, in pauses between a shallow breath, in the tense moment before the clock ticks away another second lost. It pushes forward, pushes her into the farthest corner of her mind. There she retreats, in the emptiness, where no memories can overwhelm her.
In this room, Sakura lies on the bed, carelessly, like a rag doll thrown aside. She feels thrown away – used, loved, abandoned again. The doll remains motionless, and the room waits, waiting for the moment she will come to life again.
Light, however unwanted it may be, filters through the screened window, vaguely illuminating a picture beside the bed. The team, all four of them, caught forever in a typical moment, perfect in its own way. In the picture, Sakura smiles, pleasantly and content, delighted to be there, to be with them. But no longer.
Friendships are precious promises. The I-will-always-be-there, I-will-pick-you-up-when-you-fall, I-will-never-forsake-you type.
She is sick of broken promises. She is sick of Ino and Sasuke and Naruto and the lies their friendships tell. Those pretty little lies she told herself, to keep herself safe, were nothing but skin deep, hollow and cold beyond the exterior. Empty promises. Promises to hide in.
But Sakura is sick, most of all, of hiding. Tired of doing nothing while the world spins past her, away form her, while she stays in this room, the eye of the storm. Here she lies, Haruno Sakura, in peace and submission, still the discarded pretty little doll.
A limb comes to life-- a fist forms, trembling and tight and white knuckled. She gets up slowly, stands, frozen in place by that picture, a shadow in the dark. She turns it face down.
As she stands in this strange moment between sleeping and waking, she remembers a boy. A boy who swore to protect her with his life and love.
She wants to find him. After all, Rock Lee never breaks a promise.