The River is Still Flowing
-Shisui Knows-
The needle dug deeper into his arm than the last time.
It always did that, it seemed. Time stood still when he plunged it deeper in. It wasn't anything special. It was routine. It was all he knew. It burned gently and made him rub at the spot to quell the itch. But it wasn't what you think.
He stared up at the ceiling of the hospital, white, sheets white, eyes white, heart white, everything white. His mind buzzed and thrummed like a running motor, lids refusing to go heavy. He had long since built up a resistance to the sleeping medication, but wouldn't let them know. He knew. They would not listen. They would not hear.
They never heard him. Nobody did. Not his mother, when he begged her to hold on, the ambulance was already on its way. Not his father, who he pleaded with not to leave him in that hospital, please, please, not alone. Not the social worker, when he cried and screamed that Itachi was being beaten and molested and why wouldn't they do anything?! Not the nurses, who he asked time and time again to let him go outside, taste the air, get away, away. Not the therapist when he insisted he was going to overdose on 1600 milligrams of Lithium, and not as a threat, either, but a promise. He knew. Nobody would hear him scream.
The closest thing...
He sat beside Shisui like it was the most natural thing in the world, smiling like they weren't in Konoha's finest mental hospital, tucking his hair behind his ear and staring fondly at his cousin. He looked so compassionate and enthralled to just be beside Shisui, to hear him speak and to speak to. To hear. To listen. But Shisui knew. Itachi needed him. Itachi's life was rough, too. He just hadn't made it to Shisui's level yet. His father was abusive, mother absent, younger brother almost a lost cause, running away every other week. Shisui, however unstable, was stagnant, and always there.
"So how are you feeling?" he asked softly, constantly, constantly smiling.
Shisui nearly rolled his eyes. "How do you feel?"
And he only laughed. That infectious laugh that bore into his heart and drugged him more heavily than the Lithium or the Geodon or the Adderal. He sighed heavily, a breathy relief, and asked again, "How do you feel?"
"I feel...okay. Like you'll get out soon. And I'd like to think that you could come live with me. I'm getting my own place soon. It's nice. Not far from here. Three bedroom. If I can get Sasuke to-"
Shisui just laughed a sardonic, condescending laugh. Itachi frowned patiently and continued, "If I can get Sasuke to settle down...I want him to come with me. He doesn't like father much."
"I can see that," Shisui joked, "Considering how he runs away all the time."
"..." Itachi stared absently out of the window where a robin perched. "I always find him. I'll find you, too. I promise you'll be happy one day."
"Don't hold me to that. I'm not good with gambling, anyways, and I'd just let you down."
Itachi sighed fondly and glanced at his watch. "I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"
"..." Shisui bit his lip to keep from begging him to stay and nodded. "See you."
Itachi smiled and nodded, getting up to leave. He had just opened the door when Shisui mumbled, "Don't fall in love with me, now."
It was Itachi's turn to bite his lip and go silent.
-o-
Like a loyal puppy, Itachi was back the next day, bearing dango and smiles and comfort and reassurance and news like what color the kitchen would be or how he couldn't wait until Shisui was omitted from the hospital. That's what he called it. The "Hospital." Not the insane asylum for suicidal and desperate maniacs like it truly was. For people like Shisui. He shut his eyes and shook his head to stem the aching thoughts. He suddenly growled and barked, "It's not a Goddam hospital! It's Bedlam with a fancy name! It's an asylum. I'm insane, infirm, I won't do you any good!"
Itachi closed his eyes and tangled his fingers with Shisui's, turning over his cousin's arm and touching the I.V. gently. Shisui stared as Itachi's slender fingers ran along the needle, up to the tube, and for a breif second, he thought Itachi would kill him. But Itachi only poked the bag and murmured beneath his breath, "Worthless."
"Why..."
"Hm?"
"Why are you still here?!" Shisui screamed, pupils dialating. "GO AWAY! YOU DON'T NEED THIS! GO AWAY!"
It didn't take long for the nurses to shoo Itachi from the room while Shisui screamed obscenities at who might have been his last friend on earth.
And he was back the next day.
Shisui ground his teeth in frustration at the sight of the pretty Uchiha, circles beneath his eyes telling tales of how much sleep he got last night (None at all) and the bag in his hand letting Shisui know that he was thought of dearly.
Itachi unwrapped the light lunch of suimono and rice and murmured apologetically, "If you do not wish me to come, tell me so."
Shisui began to speak, but was seized by fear and trepidation. If not Itachi, who would come? Would there be anyone to remember him? Visit? Would he vanish without this last lifeline? This was his connection to the world. If he lost Itachi, he lost everything.
And at the same time, Itachi didn't need somebody like him. Years in the hospital because his mother died in his arms and his father left him locked away. Watching his best friend, his own family beaten on a daily basis, assaulted, defiled, betrayed, and hurt on a daily basis, and then watching that damn smile come back! What the fuck was wrong with Itachi's head!? It was him that should be in here, not Shisui.
And Shisui burst into tears, frustrated, angry, confused tears that did nothing to console his aching need for Itachi to be there and yet go away. That omnipresence that haunted him. Those eyes that had seen too much in too little time. Why was he in here? He was supposed to be watching over Itachi? But how could he do that when he couldn't even keep his mother alive long enough for the ambulance to arrive? He couldn't hold it together enough for his father to keep him. To want him. Love him. Itachi...
He would be no different.
Shisui turned away from Itachi, effectively freezing him out. Itachi only sat patiently with a worried expression for four hours, then left wordlessly when visiting hours ended. Shisui looked over his shoulder and saw a note beside the food saying only, "You know."
Those simple words in his simple handwriting flooded his brain and he burst into tears because he did know. He knew that Itachi was in love with him, would always be there to take care of him, watch over him, protect him. Because Itachi was strong like that. He was strong where Shisui was not. While Itachi was slender and quick to run away, he was mentally firm, a psychological Ft. Knox. Shisui was strong and built, a natural fighter, but weak in his head. His mind was riddled with guilt and pain and everything he couldn't prevent. The beams of his head were worn thin and collapsing slowly.
And maybe, just maybe, Shisui knew that Itachi could support those beams, reconstruct them one by one, and make him whole again. Well...not whole. The scars would still show from time to time. Pain stains the soul. But he could make it bearable. He could stop it from hurting.
But for what price? Matter cannot be created or destroyed. How much pain would Shisui put Itachi through to make himself happy? How much would he make him hurt? Itachi's presence alone had caused him such relief, such joy. But how much pain had Itachi already endured? How much more could he take? Would he take? Before he gave up and went away, just like everyone else? Would Itachi leave him behind, too? Not him, too. Surely not him. But he would. Wouldn't he?
Shisui raked his fingers through his hair and lashed about on the bed, crying out in agony. Who had gone? Who will go? Mom, Dad, Kimmi, Auntie Miki, Uncle Fugaku, Sasuke...
Then Itachi. Right? No?
Shisui balked, arching off the bed as his thoughts ate at his mind, tears burning and stinging his eyes, body jerking, trying to escape the pain, trying to stop his head from betraying him. He screamed at the top of his lungs, shaking his head again and again, no, no, no. Everyone he knew passed him by. Even now, Itachi, still three years younger than him, was older. They all left him behind. He was the same. He would always be the same fucked up mistake. Why wouldn't anybody forgive him? He didn't kill his mother! He was nine for God's sake! Why would he kill her! It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault.
-o-
Shisui was certain that he had pulled his shoulder judging by the pain. His mind was still fuzzy from the sedatives. He was very cold.
He looked over slowly, wincing in pain, and saw that figure by his bed once more.
Itachi just turned to him with betrayal in his eyes, eyelashes batting slowly.
"They said you ripped your I.V. out last night. Did you?"
Shisui stared at Itachi dumbly. "Wha...I didn't."
Itachi's eyes narrowed lightly. "Please do not lie to me."
"I'm not...I think I blacked out last night-"
"Shisui, I can't lose you!" he cried. "Don't! Don't do that, don't try and kill yourself, okay?! You're the one thing that's kept me sane my entire life! Don't do it!"
And Shisui began to laugh. Pure, hystarical laughter. It was hilarious. Shisui? Had kept Itachi sane? Surely, he didn't know. And he laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
And Itachi got angry. "What the fuck is so funny you stupid fuck?!" he screamed in a way that reminded Shisui of Itachi's father. "You think this is some laughing matter? This isn't funny whatsoever! I lose you, then what? I hope that Sasuke comes back? I hope that I'll recover from losing you? I HOPE THAT I'LL LEARN TO FORGET WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?! YOU'RE THE LAST BIT OF FUCKING HOPE I HAVE! AND I'M WAITING. WE'RE BOTH DUE FOR A GODDAM MIRACLE HERE SO IF I'M WAITING THEN YOU ARE TOO! YOU AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE!"
Shisui stared after Itachi, dumbfounded, as the crow breathed heavily. A nurse sauntered into the room and began to usher him out.
"I was just leaving," he murmured softly, sparing Shisui one last glance before leaving.
-o-
He didn't come back the next day. Shisui stared at the door for hours until six o'clock came and visits were not allowed. And he stared some more. All night, waiting to see if Itachi would show up, by some miracle of God, if he existed anymore.
No. He must have left Shisui behind a long time ago, and He took his mother with Him.
-o-
Itachi didn't come back the day after, either. Shisui didn't know what to do with himself.
A nurse looked rather smug as she said, "It looks like your friend is gone."
Shisui only stared at the ceiling absently. There was no use in retorting. He knew.
He always knew.
-o-
It had been a week. Shisui refused to eat. He only stared at his ceiling. Everything hurt. Swallowing hurt. Blinking hurt. Breathing hurt.
Maybe he should put some truth behind Itachi's accusations. His hands had not been restrained yet. He ran his fingertips up the inside of his arm and that, surprisingly, did not hurt. He touched the needle. Shivered. Thought about it. Itachi was gone. That was it.
That was all he had to think about. Nothing more, nothing less. The wounds were fresh and raw and aching and gaping and soon he was crying and his fist was around the needle as he tore at it and opened his arm up wide, yawning like a bloody mouth. His fist was stained red and his arm was jerking uselessly, needle on the ground, gasping for air desperately. He sucked it in through his teeth and began to scream Itachi's name repeatedly.
To come and fix it.
-o-
His arm was stitched and bandaged, his body medicated and numb, his mind reeling.
They hadn't known who to call. Nobody was left. He was alone, now.
He couldn't rely on anybody else because there was nobody else.
Itachi wasn't coming back.
This time...Shisui wasn't sure.
About a lot of things.
Like if it was worth it to wait for Itachi.
Because nobody else was going to come for him.
He was alone.
And he was so, so tired.
So tired of waiting for things to get better. For fate to decide what it wasnted to do with him. For some divine being to bring him a miracle, and with it, his family, his friends, his Itachi. Tired of waiting for a cure, when the only cure would be to end his life here and now.
And to Hell with everything! Because relying on others had done nothing for him.
He would have to take matters into his own hands.
-o-
The nurse sauntered in to check on him when he muttered, "I wanna go to group therapy."
-o-
Talking had not been as hard as he imagined. A lot of the other denizens of the Hospital had never seen him because he had never even gotten close to getting out of isolation. They didn't know his story.
But the fact that...
They wanted to know. They wanted to know.
So he told them.
He told them everything.
He told them that when he was nine years old, his mother suffered a heart attack and died in his arms. That his father had tried not to blame him, yet looked at him as if he were nothing but a monster. That he had tried not to blame himself, but there must've been something he could have done. He tried not to blame God, but that was just too hard. He tried not to blame his mother, which was easier. He tried not to blame Kimmi, whose death three years prior had already put a strain on the family.
He told them that he decided to blame himself, because God must not exist and he had nobody else. He blamed himself for everything that happened. Every little nuance was a problem. It was his fault Itachi was abused. He hadn't done anything. It was his fault Sasuke ran away so often because if he had stopped Fugaku, Sasuke wouldn't feel the need to run away. The worst part was, even if he wasn't involved, everything tied in together so nicely.
Like his sister drowning. If he had gone outside with her and her friend and that friend's parent, he could've saved her. He could have pulleod her from the ice depths of the river and kept her alive. But he couldn't. And it just hurt worse becuase they just thought she wandered off, not slept in the bed of sand. Better yet, Shisui had been the one to pull her up and into his arms, soaking wet in the freezing midnight, and yell that he had found her.
And it was at this that he curled up into his chair, knees pulled securely to his chest and face buried away. If he can't see them, they can't see him.
But there was an appreciative silence. A soothing one. He peered up slowly and noticed among his own tears that people were looking at him as if he were a god.
And he decided. If God wouldn't help him, then he would just be his own God.
He would make his own fate. He wouldn't need anyone else's help. He would be above that need.
He would be everything because he had nothing now.
-o-
Such a gut-wrenching experience.
Talking. Feeling. Feeling all of the pain and guilt and anger and confusion well up inside of him, screaming why? Why? over and over again. Why Kimmi? Why Momma? Why Itachi? Why HIM?!
The sessions with his therapist were a bit of a variable. On some days, he would talk and smile and even laugh occasionally. He would joke about the food there and that would always make her light up because it meant he was eating. He would mock flirt with her and become a semblance of his old self from years ago when living didn't hurt.
And some days, he would have to drag himself out of bed, the pain aching in his joints as he wanted desperately to go lay down. But he didn't want to let his new friend down. On those days, she knew it would be a bad day. Where he would stare at the floor brokenly and confess his nightmares and his thoughts and say that ending his life is the only true way to escape. And she would listen intently as he confessed how he thought she would be some condescending bitch who would prescribe him so much medicine he would have to worry about living, not dying. He would apologize over and over and feel a painful fear that he would ruin her day and somehow drive her to the brink of sanity and make her run her own car off the road in an effort to end her own life.
And then he would curl into a ball and be silent the rest of the hour.
And then one day, he surprised her.
Because he began to talk about Itachi.
He started by describing him. The long crow-colored tresses. The sharp black eyes and butterfly eyelashes. The snowy skin. The petal-colored lips. Every detail that came to mind filttered out of his mouth and made him smile. Truly smile. And he didn't stop.
So at the next session, he was asked to describe his father. And he shut his eyes and began to talk. Talk about how he wanted to be as tall as him and aspired so throughout his childhood. About how before everything happened he was the best father around, strict enough to enforce discipline but fun enough to make anybody laugh. They used to go to the lake a lot, fishing, and camping. They never had technology growing up because his father knew they would become like the rest of the generation. They spent sun-up to sun-down outside, catching fireflies and hiking and enjoy what God-...what was there for them to enjoy. Then, his expression darkened, Kimmi drowned. And suddenly, Dad wasn't Dad anymore. His eyes were darker. He sighed a lot and began to drink. He never went outside. He left Shisui to entertain himself in the terrain that had taken his sister. And he looked at Shisui like it was all his fault.
Shisui was always one for poetic justice.
So he tried to drown himself as well, only to be wrenched up from the depths a few minutes later to puke up cold river water and sediment and stomach acid and be rocked back in forth in his father's embrace as he begged, begged Shisui not to do that ever again.
And for a minute, he had his father back. But only a minute.
Then Momma-
And he stopped and stayed silent the rest of the time.
When he talked about Kimmi, he lit up. She was all things bright and beautiful. Her curly brunette hair and light freckles, long eyelashes and sweet smile. She was multilingual, like him, and loved butterflies. She played piano and was learning guitar. She was also a fish to water and loved to swim. She wanted a dog. She could brighten anyone's day.
Then, he began to describe the pallor of her skin when he wrenched her up from the river, the tint of blue on her lips and eyelids as if she had gotten into momma's makeup. Her hair was drenched and limp, her chest unmoving, hands cold. All his fault! All his fault!
He was brought back to his room to scream.
-o-
He surprised the doctor the next time by talking about his fondest memory.
It was a warm summer in July, Sasuke having just turned 8. They had a picnic by the river where Kimmi would drown. It was straight out of a book, with the checkered blanket and wicker basket. They had sandwiches and sweet tea and red velvet cake and pasta salad and swam in the river and a birdwing butterfly Shisui swore was the length of his forearm landed on Kimmi's head. It was the most beautiful thing he thought he would see, only to find out that his sister's smile truly was later on in life.
He, Itachi, Sasuke, and Kimmi all sat beneath a large oak years older than any of them and ate and laughed and joked and sang. He still had a picture but it was at...
He broke off at home and said he still remembered the image fondly. And then he smiled. And wished he could go back to those days. When his father still loved him. When everything was okay.
-o-
Shisui walked into the office and sat down, clenching his fists. She thought it would be a bad day until Shisui stated, "I want to talk about my mother."
He described her ebony curls and long fake fingernails, almost always red. Her smile was painted red, too, with her favorite lipstick, although she was prettier without makeup. She had freckles and a small patch of rough skin on her cheek that was really not as bad as she thought. Her hair was tinted lighter with the sun and she had slightly yellowed teeth from smoking, although she stopped after Kimmi was born. She wore sparkly jewelry and could out-cook anybody. Her name was Iseul. She was always worried about the river, how fast it could rush and how deep it could get. She knew a million ways to get rid of a headache and could fix anything. She had a green belt in Karate.
Before she collasped she ran into the room and told Shisui to quickly call 9-1-1, which he did, and he held her close as she gasped for breath and tried not to panic as she stopped breathing, looking up at his father with the same lost expression he had when he held a still Kimmi in his arms and his father looking back with more hatred than he had ever seen.
He didn't, however, make any mention of how he could have called faster, could have responded more quickly, how he could have gone out there with Kimmi, how he should have talked to his father instead of locking himself in his room and cutting away at his arm.
He did say that he was tired of this place, of the white walls, and how when he was out of here, he wanted a house that was colorful and bright, with a bay window and a river nearby. He said it wouldn't feel like home unless their spirits were embedded in the walls and he could always remember. He also said he wanted that picture of that summer, and he would get it from his father once he left.
-o-
Surprise wasn't the word to describe his expression when he opened the door and his son was standing there with an unreadable expression.
"Come in-"
"No," Shisui said simply. "I just came for a few things, then I'm leaving for good. This house holds too many memories, and I still don't know if I can forgive you. You blamed me for Kimmi and Momma's deaths when I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I hadn't found Kimmi, we could still be looking today. If I hadn't been with Momma, she would have died alone. I did all I could to help them. I was just a boy!" he shouted, then paused, calming himself, raking his hands through his messy hair and continuing. "I just want a few things. Then I'm gone for good. I've learned...I know that I'm not to blame. It wasn't my fault and it never will be. But the human psyche learns to place faces with names and dates and times, and we all coincidentally need somebody to blame. Funny thing is, we had the same person to blame: me."
Akashi stepped aside and let his son in. Shisui slipped in, blocking out the feelings of guilt and silently reassuring himself. He knew he still had so much to say, but all he could manage was, "It wasn't my fault."
Then he looked to his father, with his lonely eyes and worry lines, knowing that he was alone through all of it, too, and maybe Shisui was-
No. You don't blame a child.
He went upstairs to his parents' room, taking a photo of their wedding and slipping it into his bag, then taking his mom's engagement ring and a tube of her favorite lipstick. He went into Kimmi's room, holding his breath as the dust on the floor stirred and his chest began to ache. He stemmed the tears that threatened to fall and took a picture of her from her kindergarten graduation and her baby pictures. He took one of her stuffed animals, a worn rabbit that she would pretend to feed and care for, and found an envelope beneath it that had his name on it. Through the layers of dust on the window, he could see the river flowing on, and it was so strange to think that it was not the same water that took his sister's life, or the same water that they played in on that day. Not the same water he and his father fished in, and not the same water his mother used to water her flowers. It would never be the same. So much was held in those banks, but the river flowed on anyways.
He shut the door and went into his own room to find there was less dust, but more pain. His clothes were strewn on the floor, pictures picked up and moved. A picture of the dance he went to with Hana Inuzuka went into his bag, along with his own baby photos, birthdays, everything. All of those memories he was too much of a masochist to let go of. Birthday cards scrawled with his mother's fancy writing and Kimmi's messy drawl. These were his to take. His to keep.
His old MP3 player was still loaded with music from 10 years prior. His headphones still had one ear blown out. His old shoes were still very dirty.
It was almost soothing to be in his old room. This was his sanctuary when he was little. His haven. He would hide here when he would cry. Scream. Cut himself so deeply he could see his pulse. It was cathartic. The familiar was nice. But he couldn't stay there forever if he was going to let it all go. As a last minute thought, he lifted his pillow and found the bright silver shaving blade he used to let go when he was younger. He stared at it like an old friend and felt his wrist begin to ache in familiarity. This was the fifth member of their broken family. It was him, his father, the ghosts and this razor.
He slipped out of the sliding door to the backyard and went to the river's edge. It glinted innocently in the sunlight and he knew these were waters he could not blame. There was nobody to blame. Especially the innocent. Especially himself. He held the razorblade up to the light and watched it glimmer prettily. He remembered its surface painted red, sliding so easily into his arm and out again, taking his pain with it. It was so near and dear to him. It was the only thing that would never betray him. It was his only outlet. His confidant. It was his sweetest friend.
Was.
He held it high and murmured, "Thank you."
Then he let it go and watched it sink to the bottom of the river, picked up instantly and swept away with the tide, replaced with newer waters.
He made his way back inside and heard his father speak up. "Shisui, I-"
"No, Dad. I don't wanna hear it," he said lowly. "Maybe one day," and before he left, took the picture of that summer in July and slipped it into his bag.
-o-
He sat in his room with its bright red walls and stared absently at the wall, knowing that dinner would be ready soon and he would have to go down to eat. Itachi had been gracious enough to let him stay in his room for most hours of the day and gave him the one that connected to the bathroom so he wouldn't have to leave.
The walls were the exact shade of lipstick. The rabbit sat on the edge of the bed. The card from Kimmi was for his birthday, which happened a week after she drowned. It read:
"Happy birthday, Aniki!
You're getting so old! Ha! I'm kidding. Happy birthday! You're the best big brother ever. I'm so lucky to have an awesome older brother to play hide-and-seek with and listen to me when I'm upset and make me pancakes and watch me when mom and dad are at work so I won't have to go to stupid Miss Yamanaka's house even though I know you would rather be at your friend's house. Thank you!
-Love, Kimmi."
Shisui was snapped out of his thoughts when a knock resounded on the door gently. "Shisui? I brought dinner."
He paused for a minute and looked around. This was not his childhood home anymore. He couldn't hide forever. He cleared his throat and responded, "You didn't have to bring it up. I was just coming down."
-o-
Shisui knew.
He knew it would be a long, long time before he was ever really over it. Over everything that happened to him, and Itachi, and Sasuke. That happened to Kimmi, and his mother, and his father.
But for now, the picture is on the mantle, he, Sasuke and Itachi are sitting around the dinner table saying grace, the walls are no longer white, and the river is still flowing.
-o-