A/N: Wow. I'm actually submitting something here. Can we say "miracle"? I couldn't help myself... I'm infatuated with Kimimaro, and I knew I would end up writing a fic of him sooner or later. Now, this is just a drabble I wrote on a whim, but I kind of like it. There's probably OOCness somewhere, but whatever. The title doesn't really correspond to the story - I was just dying to use the title, and I couldn't think of any other non-cheesy title to put in its place. Warning: hints of OroKimi BL.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or anything. So yeah.
Camellia Bones
The world has stopped. The slow, invisible rotation of the soil beneath my feet has ceased, and it has left me with an emptiness that I don't want to admit to. He was my world - my sun and my moon and my stars, as well - and he has forsaken me. Forsaken me to a sickbed, for a dark-haired prodigy with avenging eyes. How I hate him. How I despise him. How I wish he would die, and how I wish even more that I could watch. But which "he"? Surely not my Orochimaru-sama; not the one whom I so desperately love; who gave me a life to live when I had none. Certainly not him. No, I must be referring to that Uchiha brat, the one who took my place in dear Orochimaru-sama's heart. But he has no heart. The thought shakes me. It shakes me so deeply that I'm thrown into a cough, nearly impossible to stop once started. My body trembles, jerks, throbs, and I'm thrown headlong into a swirling darkness of pain. My body has grown so weary that it's a chore to even wipe the blood from my lips. I don't bother. Instead, I lie back down and draw in a shuddering breath. The copper flavor of blood makes me cringe, but I disregard it. I force my thoughts back to my earlier musings. Orochimaru-sama... Does he still care for me? Did he ever? Did he ever think of me as more than just a body, a tool to use as he pleased for whatever end he chose?
My mind says "no," but my heart - that traitorous atrocity - screams "yes." The two extremes are too much for me to bear. I want nothing more than to scream. It comes out as little more than a pitiful, weak, and broken sob, but out it comes nonetheless. The agony of it all threatens to crush me. Had I never fallen ill in the first place, I would still be in my place beside Orochimaru-sama, shrouded in blissful, childish ignorance. But the fates are cruel, and so have cast me in this lot. And such a hateful, deplorable lot it is. I whimper again, and my body shrieks in anguish to rival that of my weak heart. I wish I could die right now. I wish I could wither and die.
But Orochimaru-sama won't allow that. Even though he has that Uchiha usurper, he still clings to the faint hope that I can be saved. That fact alone was once enough in the way of solace - proof that I was, indeed, the superior one. But now? Now it only depresses me further. It reminds me that I am trapped, and that I am a fool. The near-constant presence of Yakushi Kabuto only serves to reenforce that fact. Glaring down on me like a half-starved vulture, the iryou-nin stands as a constant indication that my time has passed; that I am no longer the warrior I once was. As far as he is concerned, Kaguya Kimimaro is only a vague, idealistic memory. To him, I am merely another challenge to overcome. It is his job to cure me, to make me well and restore me to my former self, but he has proven unable to so far. Part of me is infuriated that this so-called medical ninja is so powerless to halt the progress of my disease, but the other, more masochistic half is too pleased for words. I'm glad that he's failing so utterly. I don't want him to save my life. In fact, I wish he would end it all as I slept. I'm impatient for this sickness to slowly waste me - I want it to stop now. If only I had the strength to thrust a bone through my heart...
"What on earth are you thinking about that has you looking so depressed, Kimimaro-kun?" That voice, with its mock concern and poorly-hidden disdain, makes me want to vomit. Slowly, I lift my eyelids halfway to stare wearily at Kabuto. He stares back from behind his spectacles, eyebrows raised. I move my lips to speak, but my voice is hindered by the tube forced down my throat. I cough against the hollow plastic, the wet rattling furthering my feelings of nausea. A smile - no, a smirk - curves on the iryou-nin's lips and he nods. "I see." My fists clench against the bedsheets, soaked through with my fevered sweat. I wish I could strangle him. He seems to sense this - as he does everything - and clicks his tongue in false disappointment.
"Now, now, Kimimaro-kun... No need to get angry. Orochimaru-sama is on his way to see you." In surprise, I give an involuntary gasp, and the tube in my throat causes me to gag and cough again. I feel bile rising, but I struggle to push it down. Even though I'm more convinced now of my master's contempt of me, my Judas heart still leaps with a grasping, optimistic hope that maybe...just maybe...
I don't have time to think before the dark-haired Sannin fills my view. I look at him far more mildly than I did Kabuto, because a piece of me still feels that inscrutable need to submit to him, to want him to love and praise me. He looks away, and turns to that bastard medic, and they converse briefly in tones too hushed for me to hear. He glances back to me again, and I catch revulsion in those snake's eyes of his. A pang of grief twists my heart, and I feel useless tears well up in the corners of my tired eyes. Helpless to stop them, they roll down my face in silence, joining the sweat-stains on my pillow. Both of them leave, oblivious to my internal torment, and I am alone again. I haven't the strength to wallow in my misery, so my eyes slip shut and I fall into the merciful oblivion of sleep, hoping faintly that I will not wake..