Disclaimer: Obviously, I dont own Naruto, otherwise, I wouldn't be stuck just doing fanficton!!!
Authors Note: No, I dont hate Sakura in the slightest, and yes, she could be seen as a tad bit OOC. Most of my stories are fairly Team 7-centric however, so I decided to stay with that theme as far as characters were concerened. I hope you all enjoy, and please review.
She sits immobile, her eyes squeezed shut, and her mind turned inward to something only she could see. The harsh rasp of her breathing seems to echo continuously in the emptiness of the room. Abruptly, she sways back and forth for a moment, before drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs tightly. Her shoulders begin to shake uncontrollably, and a slight whimper escapes her lips.
A small part of her mind hears the whimper and feels disgust at herself for making it. The rest of her mind is careening wildly from point to point as if it is a caged beast. That small portion is devoured almost instantly by the rest, as if it was some tantalizing morsel placed before it.
Memories are flickering through her, faster than she can count, and yet she experiences each one fully, even compressed as they are into less than millisecond. Thoughts and feelings race through her, making her feel as if she is nothing more than a tiny piece of driftwood being tossed around by a vast storm.
Shock, fear, and a tearing pain suddenly lance through her. Then humiliation, shame, and bitterness course through her before consuming her utterly. Then there was the aftermath, with everyone offering words of comfort and condolence. All of those sentiments and statements were completely meaningless to her. Her only question was why that no one else could realize this simple fact. They of course, assumed that she was just fine, but that just demonstrated how stupid they happened to be! For wasn't she a kunoichi, trained to lie and deceive from early childhood?! Were they all really that blind and incapable of seeing anything, she asked herself?
I am tainted, she screamed mentally, I am lost! Innocence trampled, damaged goods, unworthy, forsake, broken beyond repair, a twisted doll, no more use at all…the words and phrases ran taunting circles around the interior of her mind.
Yet another spasm tears through her unresisting body, her chest heaving with unshed sobs, but even now, her eyes remained dry. Why, she asks herself, can she still not shed a single tear, even now?
Groping blindly along the surface of the table beside her, she finds the handle of the kunai sitting there. She grasps it firmly with both hands, before bringing it before her face, the movement unnaturally steady. In an act of supreme will, she forces her eyes open to stare down at the kunai.
She takes in the kunai, its familiar shape and weight oddly comforting to her. Her eyes trace the gleaming edge of the blade before her gaze falls upon one of the bright planes of the kunai, and her own distorted reflection staring back at her. Normally, she would've shocked by the perfection of the hazy reflection in the kunai, but an odd numbness was filling her instead. Fragmented and shattered, she thinks, just like herself.
Looking down at her arm, she contemplates the veins running up and down her arm with a sudden spark of interest. You need to travel down the river, she thinks whimsically, not across the stream.
Now, her mind screams, do it now!
A single quick slash and a flash of burning pain races through her. It actually feels good, she thinks in astonishment. Letting out a long sigh, she lets herself fall back onto the bed in pure relief. A soft smile appears on her face as she rolls onto her side, watching the growing spread of crimson on her arm with a sense of gentle wonder.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
All that was still anchoring her to reality was the calming sound of her blood falling down to the floor. Surprisingly, the trickle of blood down her arm felt like the caress of a lover. The darkness was steadily encroaching on her vision.
The sudden rap on the door jolted her to a state of semi-awareness. She thought about going to answer, but a wave of overwhelming exhaustion swept over her once more. Even a gentle shake of her head in denial was far too difficult now. The volume and pace of the knocking increased even as blackness fully consumed her sight.
It's too late, she thought with a touch of regret. I'm sorry. Please forgive me.