volition /n/ - the act of making a choice.
by Kaiserin Firebird.
She doesn't want to think of all the things that made her end up here: in the (cold, dark, gloomy) forest sitting on (damp, squishy) moss near a (warm, crackling, loud) campfire beside (the demon) Uchiha Itachi.
The night is very still, and nothing moves, nothing sounds, nothing breathes. There is nothing more than him, nothing more than her, nothing more than the two of them.
And no matter how hard she tries to ignore it, even her bones feel disturbingly unsettled.
When his (cold, long, strong, killing, hating, destroying, murdering) hands touch her face almost-gently, she shivers—whether it's from fear or anticipation, she doesn't want to know either.
So she sighs, loudly.
His face is oh-so-near to hers, and his (beautiful) red, red eyes stare at hers with an unreadable expression. He breathes in what she breathes out.
She blinks.
And suddenly she realizes how idyllic this little setting seems. If she just closed her eyes to what was in front of her, then maybe she could believe that he wasn't a shinobi, wasn't the man who ruined so many precious lives, and that she wasn't a kunoichi, that it wasn't her loved ones whose lives he ruined.
That perhaps he was courting her and she was playing hard-to-get.
She puts her (healing, saving, loving, caring, sharing, destroying, murdering) hands on top of his, and slowly, gently, closes her eyes.
.
.
.
.
.
—"Pull away from him!"
Her heart lurches, and it starts to beat like the fastest metronome (thud thud thud, what are you going to do next?)
In all honesty, she hates thinking and she hates brooding all the more (because she hates feeling guilty, and something about wearing her heart on a sleeve always makes her feel that way). Still, she can't help but overanalyze this—this whole situation that brought her out of Konoha and (quite literally) into the hands of Uchiha Itachi.
To put it simply, she knows there is definitely something wrong with not doing anything to harm the man who killed the entire family of her most precious person—the same man who hunted her own best friend—when his hands are preoccupied with her face and he is studying her intently, almost reading her thoughts . . . not even if he could (swiftly, efficiently, heartlessly and you know it) kill her should he sense a spike in her chakra.
Her conscience pulls at her, demands her to die trying anyway (especially because she knows getting rid of him would make everything easier… right?)
But her (foolish) heart can't—can't even let her point a kunai at him, not one meant to kill.
Because somewhere along the way, her (stupid stupid stupid) heart found a way to bind her so tightly to him he became someone she (undeniably) loves.
.
.
.
But no no no she doesn't want to love him, not at all, and she's pulling away, away from this mess, away from this damn bond, away from him.
Because no, this isn't happening again, she won't let someone (anyone) drag her down, not anymore. No matter how much she (still) loves Sasuke, no matter how much she (possibly-maybe) loves Itachi, too—
She doesn't want to spend the rest of her life watching people leave (again and again and again).
She doesn't want to spend the rest of her life waiting for someone to return to her.
Because if she gave in to this (childish, stupid) infatuation he'll inevitably. . .
. . . leave. Just like Sasuke did.
And if she gave in to these feelings (iwantyouiwantyouiwantyouwithme) he'll inevitably. . .
. . . hurt her. The same way Sasuke did.
There, she said it. She won't give in, she'll never give in.
So she won't hurt any more.
Love hurts.
Too much.
And so she doesn't want to love him.
Right.
(but she does anyway.)
And she does and she does and she does.
And she knows it will be her downfall.
It takes an eternity before she allows him to come closer, as she sits so very still and gives in, as he leans in, watching her open eyes as they flicker, shimmer, almost glitter in the fire.
She is tired of waiting, waiting, waiting—for Sasuke and Naruto and Kakashi and everything to leave and come back and not—and so she drops her clammy hands to his neck and pulls him in.
This is my own moment.
Their (damned) lips touch and they kiss.
By the intense look in his eyes when he draws away, she has a feeling this is only the start of many.
tyvm. :)