- Because it's hard to have someone drift away.
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Closing in on the pain and the torture, he's slamming the door like it's something to strive for.
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Pretend
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Her hair laid in abandon, framing her face carelessly, but none the less perfect.
Her clothes hung on her frail frame making her look like a little girl playing pretend in her mother's clothes.
Her chest stopped heaving an hour ago, her pulse was faint.
Her lithe fingers were slid together carefully over her heart, almost like she was praying. I reached out and took one, holding it to my own.
Her tattered clothes tainted with crimson were covered by my cloak, her distended stomach still present beneath it.
And I watched closely at the tiny form that cried in my arms, the little body desperate to wriggle around, little mouth that opened wider than possible and cried.
Little one…don't cry.
I wanted to be angry with the child, but as hard as I tried to hate the little bundle of newborn flesh, I couldn't.
How can you not hate yourself, little one?
She looked so forgotten, with barely the energy to open her eyes.
Sakura?
She didn't look at me, or her son.
Meet our son.
Her eyelids fluttered slightly, but her breathing was shallow.
What should we call him?
Her lips moved and she rasped a single word. Sasuke.
Are you sure?
But she spoke no more words; her chest moved no more, her pulse had faded. At that same time Kisame burst in, his lips moved, but no sounds could I hear.
It was like living in slow motion.
I'm sorry Sakura.
Large blue hands splayed out in front of me, offering to take the infant.
I'm not letting go of him.
He turned and yelled up the hallway. His lips moved again, I heard him. Give the child to me Itachi.
And I did, but I didn't let go of her hand, even when it was long into the night and her heart had long stopped beating.
But its easier to play pretend, you're not gone.