Knife Party
a NaruSaku fic. by Rot-chan
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"I'm going to be the Cinderella at Walt Disney's new theme park, Susanna's gonna be Snow White.
You can come if you want. You can be the Cocker Spaniel that eats spaghetti."
-Lisa, in "Girl, Interrupted"
We all sit in a circle. We all hate each other. In a way, we're all the same. There's a guy with a semi-bleach job and tattoos on his face and arms. A girl with a Barbie-blonde pony tail, filing her nails and snapping gum. People with circles under their eyes and nervous fingers tapping against their knees.
But my eyes find their way back to the boy with the unnaturally blonde hair. I need a distraction. He is perching on the tacky blue chairs instead of sitting on it like all the others, frowning defiantly and staring across the circle at our 'leader'. (His name is Kakashi. No one asked.)
I trace the tattoos with my eyes, remember the color patterns, pick out the shapes. Star, dragon, tiger eyes . . . .
At Konoha Rehab Center, we're the sick minds, the druggies. The Substance Abusers, like the doctors tell us. And I guess that really is a problem.
Kakashi speaks.
"So. I'm going to cut to the chase here, save us a half hour or so. Why did you come to rehab? What do you want to change?"
Why I'm here? I don't want to think about it.
But seriously - why am I here? Why am I even in this place?
Yeah . . . this sucks. I'm always getting myself into bad dreams.
KNIFE PARTY
I was running across the track. It was drizzling, and my bangs were stuck to my skin. The air was warm, and sticky. My throat felt thick.
A message was on the stadium board - LET'S GO PANTHERS! BEAT THE PHANTOMS. I can never get this image out of my brain; white letters stark against the black board. It was as if maybe, I was one of the people who were going to play in that game, or sit in the bleachers, or like, cheer. But I wasn't.
Five people, then ten, all passed by me, heavy footsteps thudding against the rough ground. A whistle sounded off somewhere in the distance, but all I could think of is white letter behind my closed eyes. "Come on, kids! Move it! It's gonna start pouring!"
Later I drove home. I noticed my windshield wiper was broken again.
I walked inside, and found a post-it on the mirror. Another note of instructions - make a TV dinner, order a pizza, I'll be home by 10 (Dad). I scowled; surely having another take-out meal would make me want to puke.
There was a mess on the kitchen table, and broken glass on the counter. Clothes littered in a pile near the laundry room. An abandoned Diet Coke with a green straw on the coffee table.
In the medicine cabinet on the second floor bathroom, it was calling my name - a pleasant orange bottle with a bold Rx, a fond good-bye to the real world, the nights of homework, the empty house, the unfixable wiper.
It was like swallowing candy, sliding down my throat. One, two, three, all crushed up and powdery, sticking to my tongue. I felt like gagging. Soon I would need a refill, would need some more.
And everything was all right, just like that. Just for a little while. I slept until dinner time. I ended up ordering the pizza.
I ended up crying over Rome + Juliet. Ended up downing bitter liquid and taking a few more pills when I thought about forgetting the chemistry exam and my former friends at school. I ended up here.
KNIFE PARTY
10:15. I'm the last one to tell.
Kakashi looks at a chart, and then at me. "Haruno . . . Sakura. Any nicknames?"
I am uncomfortable. I pull at the hem of my shirt. "No . . . just Sakura." Why does my name sound so wrong, so stupid when I say it out loud? He nods, and a few people murmur half-hearted greetings. I can't bring myself to reply.
"Hey, hey, Kakashi, I have a question! Hey Sakura - what about the hair?" The blonde woman asks. She is the one with the pony tail with fried ends. When Kakashi asked her about her dreams, she replied, "I want to be an actress, in like, one of those 'Christiane F.' kind of roles. Because I like, did heroin."
A cool sweat hits me, and I can barely breathe. "I . . . I dyed it in ninth grade." I clear my throat, and dig my nails into my palm, cough nervously once, twice.
Kakashi sighs. "And what brings you to The Circle?" It is a too-cute name for our 'substance addiction support group', where we discuss our problems at Konoha Rehab Center.
I want to say, 'it's an oval, not a circle'; instead, I reply, "I . . . I don't really know why I'm here." It's a lie.
The truth: I feel like the walls are slowly closing in on me, like Ino's gaze is burning into the side of my skull as she's mesmerized by my hair. I want to pound on the windows of my room, room #237, and scream to be let out until I don't have a voice. I know why I am here.
"Really. Well, I guess that's something that you want to change, then. Knowing why you're here?" Kakashi says thoughtfully. He doesn't write anything down on his clipboard about me like in the movies.
I make the mistake of looking anywhere else but the therapist's eyes, and find semi-bleach staring at me intensely across the Circle, his blue eyes fixed on hopefully not my hair. My heart suddenly pounds, and my hands shake violently at my side. I grip the edges of the chair, because I already know I will not be able to stop.
"Haruno." But I can't hear anything - I can barely hear any sound, can only picture myself taking the liquor bottle, pouring it into a chipped blue mug, swallowing the pills, watching the floor blur -
- "I-I need - I need to leave the room. P-please? Please."
Kakashi waves his hand in the direction of the door. "Go ahead. Take as much time -" I jump up at once, stagger, almost fall, hear someone say, 'woah, is she like, ok?'
"Y-yeah, I know, um, thank you, I'll be back in . . . soon . . . ." I cover my eyes. The lights on the ceiling are too-too bright, like staring into the sun.
Mechanically I open and shut the door with unsteady hands. I lean against the wall. Time passes, but I never know how long. When I remember I wasn't allowed to bring my favorite Mickey Mouse clock with me to the Center, a heat explodes behind my eyes, and dull wetness builds near my lashes.
I hear the door open and shut. I half-hope it's semi-bleach, because I like his weird tattoos. Tears slide down my cheeks and my hand, jumping against my skin, wipes them away. The salt tastes good on my lips.
It's Kakashi. "Are you all right?" I'm silent.
"I know, I know . . . what can a 25 year old man possibly know about a seventeen year old girl. Well, you would be a bit surprised. Maybe I know about these kind of . . . things." These things. The wanting, the sadness, the need. 'The d-word', as one of the therapists said. No saying anything but 'd-word'!
His hand on my back makes me cry. It's because it reminds me of my mom. It makes me want to tell him about everything - finding the Valium, crying as I took the first pill - but I don't. I just can't. I can't speak.
My head pounds. I hear Kakashi talking. A nurse takes me to my room as I cry, softly, trembling. Then the doctor comes in. She makes me take another pill, but it's cold and sits in my mouth under my tongue, until I have to get rid of it in front of her eyes.
Now I can't sleep. I want to tell Kakashi I am sorry I never went back, to room 107. I beg to go, but they tell me 'no' again.
I'll just write him a note instead. I like to write.
KNIFE PARTY