Ok, I am quickly going to say that I posted this the other day. Or more so, updated it as another chapter in one of my other stories.
I kind of want to see how it will go as a standalone oneshot.
Looking back on it now, I am kind of mad with myself for updating it as a sequel. And I am kind of mad at myself that I am posting the same story twice, kind of feels like cheating.
So, if you have already read this already, please don't feel like you have to read it again, nothing has changed.
Anyway, I thought this story would be a good way of getting back into the swing of writing again. This sort-of-oneshot-sequel isn't great (and I wasn't sure about doing it) but I am rather happy that I managed to get to the end.
I know that a few people didn't like the ending to the first story/chapter and to be honest, neither did I. It wasn't concrete enough for me, and so I have this.
So please enjoy :)
Inevitable Death and Downfall
Memory. Memory was a key factor when trying to remember a certain situation. And in my case, not only did I need memory, but also a great deal of patience. That is all anyone ever told me. "You must be patient. Your memory will come back." But I had a certain feeling that it was easier said than done. For starters, I was the least patient person that ever lived; and second, I wasn't quite certain I was ready for the truth… if my memories ever did decide to return.
Not being able to recall the moment in which my life was completely changed forever was not a 'waiting game'. I was sick of sitting on my ass and letting my father, mother, teachers, and pretty much everyone else in the entire village, tell me otherwise. Of course, I would say friends, but they are not here. They are dead.
But she is still here. She is always with me, and she always will be.
No, she isn't
Yes, she is.
No.
Yes
No.
Yes.
No.
"Quit it would ya!" She slapped my hands playfully. The worn-out kunai fell from my grasp and made a soft thud on the bed. I stared at the weapon contemplating for a split second on how easy it was for her to disarm me. Not that I was paying attention, but one would think that the famed 'Hokage's' son would not be so easily caught off-guard. I raised my gaze from the marked blade to see her settling back on her stomach, nail polish in hand.
The rather dark pink I found in my sister's collection was delicately spread across five gentle fingers. The color almost matched her sleeveless shirt, which was bunched up just above her pale, purple shorts. I sneaked a quick glance at her ample bottom before her father's deathly stare reminded me that dating his daughter was a risk on my life. I brought my focus back to her hand, which she held up to her mouth, blowing softly to dry the paint. Sarada smiled sweetly at me and took a breath, using her free hand to brush midnight hair from her dark eyes.
"I can't help it," I groaned. My mouth moved to one side as I reached down to the kunai. Being alone with her was making me think – something which I had no intention of doing on a Saturday afternoon. And seeing as we were both off duty, a rarity in itself, I thought it would be nice just to hang out. Later that night I was planning on being all 'romantic' and taking her out for dinner, but for the moment, we were just happy to sit together in my room – her painting her nails, and me, trying not to think.
But that, like many other things, failed miserably. The more I tried not to think, the more thinking I did. And it always brought me back to the same argument I had with myself. Why couldn't I remember? It had been over half a year since their funeral, and I still couldn't remember how they died. Mitsuki, Shikadai, Sarada, and me – we all went on a mission together and then… and then… it was just me and Sarada. What happened on that mission? Diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder my ass, I was suffering from a severe case of memory loss, and it was driving me crazy.
Six months without them – my best friend, my teammate – they have missed so much. They were left behind while the rest of us all celebrated our seventeenth birthdays, while we became jounin, while we slowly moved on. My mother told me that the life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. I never thought I would lose everyone at sixteen, but I did. And as much as I hated myself for saying it, my mother was a liar. They didn't live on in my memory. Sixteen years of friendship, of fun and excitement and adventure suddenly meant nothing. But it wasn't easy remembering their lives when I couldn't even recall how they died. And what made it worse was that no one talked about it – like what happened to them was taboo – I couldn't get answers out of anyone. Not my father, my mother, not even sensei, Sasuke, would answer my questions.
"I said quit it." I felt a strong hand push my shoulder and I snapped my head up to look at her worried expressions.
I am doing it again, damn it.
"Sorry," I muttered softly.
Her petite frame was leaning over my unstable one, and she came to rest her forehead on mine. I felt the rim of her glasses press gently into my brow, and her dark hair tickled my nose. I was almost afraid to look up and see the fretful glance glistening in her onyx stare. I tried to relax under her warmth and concentrate on the calming scent of ash and lemon coming from her midnight locks.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows – a task which was not so easy when leaning on pillows– and sat upright against the wooden bedframe. Sarada retreated, crossing her legs and letting her head fall into her outwaiting palm.
"Boruto, you've got to stop," she put sternly, concern cracking in her voice.
"But," I began, "I just–"
"Uhp." She raised her pointer finger, cutting me off, and closed her eyes. "I said stop." I did not protest and I did not resist. I gave in, knowing that I could never win an argument with her. After nodding with an awkward smile, I looked down to watch my clammy hands fidget.
I was so lucky to have her. Since before I could remember, she had always been a part of my life. Our parents were all close as children, so it made sense that we would grow up together as well. It was the fact that we liked each other in more than one way that caused my father to almost have a heart attack and for my sensei, her father, to give me a death note. It was clear to see that they hated us being together, which made disobeying them so much fun. All the nights we spent trying to sneak out of our windows without our fathers catching us. We succeeded most of the time – after all, we were much better ninjas then they were.
I was lucky to have her. I was lucky not to lose her on that mission. It was hard enough losing my friends and not remembering – I couldn't even begin to image what it would have been like if I had lost Sarada. But she lived with me now – despite the looks I received from both sides of the families. As soon as I mentioned her name, gestured to where she stood beside me, their faces turned solemn and pale – as if they had just seen a ghost. I remember asking my father whether Sarada could stay with me for a while. The series of emotions that swept across his face, I would never forget. The confusion, the blankness, the worry, and the pity – it only made me hate him more. But Sasuke and Sakura had the same look before they too agreed, as if they were trying to make me happy, or to just shut me up.
Even the village seemed odd around the pair of us. They would look at me as if I had grown two heads and a tail. And after thinking a man had bumped into Sarada without apologising, I got angry. He looked at Sarada, or more so, past her – as if she wasn't there – and then hurried away and out of sight. The way people were acting around her made me so frustrated – especially considering everything that had just happened with Mitsuki and Shikadai. But Sarada never seemed to mind. It seemed I was the only one getting worked up about it most of the time. She would just smile, and laugh, or distract me with her genius remarks about how she was going to surpass my dad as Hokage.
Not even my nightmares answered my questions for me. I saw them die over and over, even Sarada, but as soon as I woke up, it is all just fog. But she was still there, comforting me while I sweat, and shivered, and screamed. She held me close to her and cradled me in her arms – stoking my blonde locks soothingly. Eventually I would fall asleep, and the process repeated itself.
She was at the funeral, I told myself while she cradled me. She watched as their caskets were lowered beneath the earth and she acts as though nothing happened. She is alive. She was at the funeral. She is here with me now. She is real.
No, she isn't.
Yes, she is.
No.
Yes.
No.
Yes.
"How 'bout something to eat?" her innocent tone chimed in on my thoughts again. I could help but be grateful she wasn't yelling at me. The last thing I wanted was for her to send my flying through a wall – a feat which I knew she was more than capable of doing. But her question was enough to pull me away from myself for the time being. I swung my legs off the bed and planted them on the floor before turning back to her.
I took in her familiar sculpted face and wide forehead, sharp yet feminine eyes and long hair. I thought back to when we were younger and how it used to just graze her shoulders. Looking at it now – a long, single braid that flowed down her back – it seemed as if she were part of another world. Of course, her curved bangs still hung down in her eyes, which she was constantly tucking behind her ears.
Before I could ponder on what her dark eyes looked like before she activated her clans Kekkei Genkai, I stood up and started walking towards the door. She was right. Food. Food would make all worries disappear – especially instant ramen – a meal which made even the greatest worries fade away for at least a while. The thought of the delicious noodles overlapped everything else I had been concerned about – completely obliterating it from my mind. I told myself that I would not think about it again – at least not today. Now, I had to think about the important things – Sarada, romantic dinner, ramen.
"Do you want anything?" I asked, half out the door. She had a smile so bright that even the sun couldn't compare.
Picking up the pink nail polish again and using the back of her had to push her red glasses up the bridge of her nose, she replied, "Na, I'm not hungry." Cheerfully, I beamed back, already feeling better. That's how these things worked. I try not to think, I end up thinking, and it all gets far too much.
I am so lucky to have her.
I walked down the hall, leaving her behind on my bed. But it was not until I was pouring boiling water into the instant meal that I start thinking again. This time, assumption which never occurred to me before, were triggered by seeing a half-eaten meal on the kitchen counter.
Na, don't be stupid… I dismissed my thought; you just never pay attention to these things. Simply overlooked is all.
But as I continued staring down at my food, the issue of trying not to think caused it to bubble to the surface again.
For the past six months of her being here, I had never seen Sarada eat or drink anything.
.
X.x.X.x
.
Just as I began to ascend the stairs, my nose started itching. I already knew what was coming and I quickly turned around and hurried back to the kitchen. I owe it all to my speed that I made it in time to grab a tissue. Rather loudly, I sneezed into it.
I could hear my parents sitting in the lounge room talking to someone. Actually, I think Ino and Sakura might be here.I didn't bother looking at our guests or saying hello. As I walked up the stairs I could hear Mom whispering something to the other two women, but couldn't manage to make out the words. Dad's voice was louder, though, with his awkward sigh. I felt the corner of my right eye twitch with annoyance and I shook my head. What is he even doing here anyway? Doesn't he have work to do? I didn't particularly feel like getting a headache by thinking about my father's lack of parenting skills. And so, I brushed him, my mother and my two aunties out of my mind, and pushed open my bedroom door.
It took a moment for my mind to register that Sarada had moved – and for a split second, I stared at the bed wondering where she had gone – a sudden lonely feeling churned inside. But relief flooded over me when I quickly spotted her feet swinging in the air. I turned my face to look at her on the floor. Her hair was spread like black water on my carpet; and her legs were vertically upright, leaning against my bed. She held a book up in front on her, inspecting it with a crooked mouth.
I carefully stepped over her, careful not to spill the food, and sat down on my bed. I brought my legs up and crossed them, letting my back hunch lower until I believed my muscles had relaxed. I grabbed a pair of chopsticks off my nightstand and pushed the kunai away with my foot. My mother's badgering voice came into my head about how I should clean dirty cutlery out of my room, and I couldn't help a smirk.
"Does your Mom nag you about leaving your stuff lying around?" I asked without thinking down to Sarada on the floor. She pulled her line of focus from the training book briefly, before returning to its somewhat interesting content. Her mother, Sakura, had always been a 'clean freak'. I couldn't remember the last time her house had anything more than a speck of dust in sight.
Even when we were young, Sarada and I were constantly helping the pink-haired woman with laundry or shopping. Heck, I even remembered one day being dressed up in Sakura's cleaning outfit. Sarada was the one who had put me in the black and white frilly outfit and knowing her, I wasn't about to put up a fight. So there I stood, like a girl, fluffy dust cleaner in hand. I was just so thankful that no one saw. It didn't matter though. Neither Sakura, nor Sarada ever let up about it.
"Yeah! She was always upping me for leaving my shoes scattered, or, leaving my towel hanging over a chair." I smirked at the Uchiha girl, who laid the book across her chest and had a mix of sour and annoyed spread over her face. It didn't even occur to me that she used past tense – like it no longer happened at all. "Although, I remember Nan telling me stories about Mom when I was little. She would say that Mom was always leaving her crap around the house. So maybe I have picked up her bad habits somewhere along the lines." She giggled and picked up her book again.
I stared down at her for a second. "So you don't get it from your dad then?" I gave a short chuckle and watched as she began laughing.
"Dad was probably a bigger worrier about dirt and germs than Mom was." Sarada wiped her eyes from under her crimson spectacles.
"Ya know, she is downstairs." I said, scratching the back of my head. I knew for certain that she had seen her parents sometime throughout the past several months of her staying at the Uzumaki residence. At least I thought so.
Sarada's expressions turned grim, like I had caused her to remember something sad and dreadful. "Mn, I know. Better not disturb her if she is talking with your mother and father."
"Ino is here too." I figured that Mom probably wanted to catch up with her friends and invited them over for tea. I know for sure that Saki and Himawari would have disappeared together. The idea that my sister and the youngest daughter of the Yamanaka clan were off wreaking havoc on some poor old ladies market stand scared me. She is such a little trouble maker. I tried not to recall the last time they got into trouble - busted for peeping into the boy's locker room. An achievement which was only achieved because Hima had used her Byakugan, and Saki had transferred her mind into one of the boys, causing him to do all sorts of embarrassing things. Yamanaka and Uzumaki, the 'Two Devils of Konoha' as they were known.
A short whimper came from the raven-haired seventeen year old on the floor. With a soft moan, she pulled herself up and rolled over so that she was resting on her elbows and belly. I shovelled a mouthful of ramen into my gob and begin chewing as she stood up. Her shirt fell back over her shorts and her hair – which she had undone from her braid while I was downstairs – cascaded down her back like an inky waterfall. After tucking a bang behind her ear, she turned to me, eyes closed and a smile spread wide from ear to ear.
"What is it?" I questioned quickly. "Do I have something on my face?" I wiped my black sweater across my mouth and stared at her with confusion. But despite that she continued to smile – the same way she had always done. I watched as her eyes teared up and repeated my question, "Seriously, what is it?"
She walked over slowly, stopped at the base of my bed and bent down, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead. Without my Konoha hitai-ate tied around my forehead, her warm lips pressed delicately, and again I breathed in the comforting and familiar waft of lemon and ash. I could never forget that scent, I told myself.
"You are so annoying, Boruto." She smiled sweetly again before turning around and walking towards the door. My confusion had reached its peak, and I threw my bowl of ramen onto the nightstand stood up.
"Wait," I called out, just out of reach of grabbing her slender, bare arm. "Where are you going?"
Sarada pulled her hair over her shoulder and I saw it. In her nimble left hand was my journal. You little pervert. You read it while I was downstairs. I convinced myself that I was not mad, rather shocked that she would do something like that – read someone else's private thoughts. Not that what I had written in there was anything different than what I had been telling her for the past six months.
Pages upon pages filled with all my thoughts and feelings since Mitsuki and Shikadai had perished. The anger I felt at myself for not being able to recall how they died, despite knowing I was right beside them at the time. The guilt from remembering every single detail about my life apart from those couple of days was eating me day by day. The frustration I had because no one would put my mind at ease as to what happened – why my parents, my family, not even Sarada would tell me – was killing me. Other pages spoke of the dreams I had where she would die, but still be there when I woke up.
There was nothing in that book that she didn't already know. Apart from a section – towards the last pages of the journal – where I had written the way of I was planning on surrendering to my miseries. I figured that it would be easier to die than to live on with the pain that I felt. But I couldn't bring myself to go through with it though, no matter how dark my thoughts got. I couldn't do that to Sarada, it just wasn't fair to her.
The doorknob squeaked as she turned it, and the hinges whined as she pulled the door open, taking a step out into the hallway. I could see her finger was marking a spot on the last page. It was the final section where I begged for an understanding, or at the very least, some closure. Questions like 'how did they die?' and 'why can't I remember?' and 'who killed them?' were scribbled so many times across the page, it was almost unreadable.
I went to ask her where she was going, afraid that she was about to walk downstairs and show my parents. Before I could stop her, however, she curled her thin, fragile lips into a grin. She tried to hide it, but I managed to catch it easily – the flicker of sadness that shined in her glossy black eyes. It was subtle, but still there nonetheless.
Her final words were so soft it was a miracle I was able to pick them up at all. Maybe I was better off never hearing what she had to say. As she walked out of my room, all she said was, "You."
.
X.x.X.x
.
I stared blankly at the closed door for a few minutes, wrapping my head around what she had uttered. "You?" I muttered, holding a fist to my chest. "Me? What?" I glanced at the kunai before realising that Sarada was downstairs showing my parents the journal.
Oh no. I ran for the handle until a shadow caught my eye moving from the corner. When I turned around, it was my reflection facing me. I never liked having that mirror hiding in the corner and I was always getting tricked by its images. No matter how many times, I was always thinking I saw something there. But I guess it was just plain, old, boring me in the end.
My lips pressed to the side of my mouth and my brows came together tight as I stared at the man looking back at me. No, not a man. A boy. A childish, stupid boy. I moved my hand and my reflection copied; I moved my head to the side and it mimicked that as well. And yet, it was not me – the person staring back – I was not that person. It may have been wearing the same jacket, V-neck shirt and black khakis, but the imposter was not me. My face did not look hollow, with dark circles under my eyes and lacking the even slightest presence of color from my ghostly cheeks. I was never this sick looking. Oxygen flooded from my body and I clenched my chest as it tightened. I didn't have time to give into the dark stars that blotched my vision. I had to stop Sarada. I had to know what 'you' meant.
Pulling the doorknob, I flew out of my room and downstairs, sliding across the floors, grabbing hold of the walls as I went. Panting with anxiety, I sprinted over to where my parents and our guests sat in the living room. Sarada was nowhere to be seen. I ignored their pause and dismiss my father's questions, quickly glancing around the space for the Uchiha girl. Nothing, empty – I searched the entire house franticly and only found dust and air.
In the background, I heard Ino say she should leave. Neither Mom nor Dad stopped her, but Sakura stayed. But I was not worried about them, I needed to find her. Where the fuck is she? Why did she just disappear? Could she have gone out? No, she hasn't left the house in… months. It dawned on me, the stacking statistics that were extremely abnormal. "Upstairs," I said out aloud, trying to think of possibilities of where she could be. Of course, I thought, racing back to my bedroom again, she might have just gone to the toilet. She is probably back on my bed, painting her nails.
I threw the door open so fast it's a wonder that it didn't come off its hinges. "Sarada!" I called breathlessly. She didn't answer and when I opened my tired eyes, I found more than just her missing. Everything was unaccounted for – her clothes, her shoes, her weapons – all the little trinkets that were scattered in my room had disappeared. I dropped to my knees and ran my hands through my blonde hair. When shadows formed in my doorway I stood excitedly thinking she had returned to me. When I came to see my mother and father's pitiful looks staring back, I frustratingly gripped my hair in my fists.
"Where is she?" I spat out fearfully. They glanced at each other and my eyes twitched, and I followed their gaze to the pink-haired kunoichi standing behind them. "Well," I demanded again, "where is she?"
"Boruto, what happened?" My father was the first one to speak. He was trying to remain calm – pretending to be the adult of the situation – pretending that he cared. Naruto – the Great Hokage – who is legendary and adored, and chose that over his family... over me.
"Don't be stupid, Dad, her stuff is gone." I yelled at him, pointing back to the dark room. "I thought she would be back, but she isn't. She never goes anywhere without me. Why isn't she here, she should be. Where is she?" I could hear myself in a hysterical ramble, my words fighting over each other as they spilled out my mouth. Palms were sweaty, head was spinning, vision was blurry – I was freaking out. From behind, Mom started crying and Sakura wrapped her arms around her soothingly. I watched a single tear run from the emerald eyes of the pink kunoichi before it landed on her yellow, long-sleeved shirt.
"Where is Sarada's stuff?" I shouted, on the verge of screaming. From the trio, I received no answer, just horrified looks that I seemed to get whenever I mentioned Sarada's name around anyone. I don't get those looks when I talk about Mitsuki or Shikadai.
"He's…" My mother stuttered, almost as if she didn't want to say the words. And as if I didn't exist, she continued to say, "He's gone. It has finally happened." Mom reached out for Dad to hold her. I watched as she buried her face in his chest.
My head wobbled and I shook it softly at the sight of the adults. Whatever it was they were doing, it was frightening me. Mom's words were terrifying me just as much as Sarada's, and again, my chest tightened and my breathing became rapid. Without hesitation I turned around and, in my darkened bedroom, turned everything upside-down looking for a clue, or at least, something that would give me an answer.
"Sarada, Sarada, Sarada, Sarada," I repeated in a soft chant under my breath as I moved from my room to my parents' bedroom. I heard their footsteps follow me and they stood quietly in the doorway as I tore their bedroom apart as well.
"Sarada, Sarada, Sarada, Sarada." Again, I clenched my fists in my hair, pulling tightly. My father's study was just down the hall, and I headed determined into it after not seeing anything out of the ordinary in their bedroom. I didn't turn the light on and instead, stood silently in the middle of the room. I glanced around at the desk, at the walls, at the shelves. Bingo! The seventeen year old Uchiha was nowhere to be seen, but on the top shelf, hidden behind books and a binder, was a box. It's was not until I picked it up that I realised something wasn't right. Standing there momentarily, I couldn't think of a reason why my father was hiding a box in his study that was sealed with chakra.
Holding it in my grasps, I could feel the sealing jutsu that was so cleverly placed on it. If I hadn't of been in a panicked state of attention, I might have never seen it. And lord knows how long it had been up there before I spotted it. I really hoped that it would just be confidential content about the other villages or problems arising in the shinobi world – I really hoped.
I focused my energy to the tips of my fingers until they glowed blue and sliced them into the centre. "Release." That was all that needed to be said, and the force slowly faded, revealing something even more terrifying. If Dad is trying to hide something, he should have used a better seal. As the final remnants of the jutsu dissolved, black writing began to appear on the cover. My heart sunk when I understood that what I was about to read wasn't going to have anything to do with politics or the chunin exam crisis in Kirigakure.
UZUMAKI, BORUTO
CASE FILE #24601
MENTAL INSTITUE
I dropped to the floor and ripped the box open, pulling out a thick manila folder. My hands, shaking, caused the loose content to fall out.
"Boruto," I heard Dad's firm voice behind me. Mom touched my shoulder, but I shrugged her away. I couldn't tell whether I was scared, worried, annoyed, or shocked; and I didn't bother figuring it out. I know that after Mitsuki's and Shikadai's death I needed therapy, but enough to fill a whole box. I didn't remember that, and I didn't think I was that crazy. Pages were strewn across the floor and I scrambled through them trying to make sense of their medical mumbo jumbo.
Pages with days of the week dating back to before the funeral are filled with diagnostics confirming my mental state. Most of them stated information about my severe case of PTSD, and others confirmed that I had pretty much lost my mind.
"I don't understand," I muttered under my breath, holding up a white piece of paper. "This is all wrong." A scorching sensation filled my lungs, my chest tightened, and I tried to understand why the casualty list contained not only my best friends' names, but also Sarada's. I pressed my palm hard into my head until the friction burned my forehead. Tears swelled as my eyes fell upon the words 'hallucinations' and 'delusions'.
She was not real.
No. Sarada was dead.
I reread those words over and over. The words that said she died along with Mitsuki and Shikadai, and that for the past several months, I had been having hallucinations of her – or more so – living in a fantasy where she was still alive.
She was dead.
Sarada, my best friend, my soulmate, was dead.
As I frantically searched through the box and the contents on the carpet, more and more documents claimed I was suffering from all sorts of mental illnesses. I am not crazy, I told myself as I read down the list. It was hard to convince myself I wasn't insane, however, when PTSD, dementia, and finally schizophrenia were popping up in almost every paragraph. I refused to believe any of it. I refused to believe that I was the boy who, for the past six months, imagined that his dead girlfriend was still alive.
But she was alive. She was just here.
No, she isn't
Yes, she is.
No.
Yes
No.
This couldn't be true. Sarada was real – she was alive. We had been together for months – living together, training together, eating… no, Sarada never ate – not once. Getting up and using whatever strength I had left, I bolted angrily from the room, taking the manila folder with me. My parents and Sakura were not standing there when I turned around, but I found them in the living room. I thrust the file at my father's chest as hard as I could manage and he didn't even try to stop it from hitting him.
"What is this?" I yelled at him, trying to hold back my anger, violence, and tears. The sadness in my mother's pearl eyes when she looked up broke my heart. But Dad just stared at the folder, now in his lap, and I almost hated the pathetic, hopeless expression moulded across his tired face.
Mom grabbed his hand. "We tried our best to help you," she stuttered through whimpering sobs. My mother was trying to remain strong and she wiped away the emotions that blurred her vision.
Sakura had her head in her hands, but she was not crying. She pushed a fringe of pink out of her eyes and added, "You were so happy believing she was still alive that we…" she sighed and wrapped her arms around her thin frame, "that we just played along."
I could feel my world crumbling down. It was a horrible feeling – learning that for all this time, Sarada was nothing but my imagination fucking with me. I slammed my fist against my head. "So it is true?" I asked quietly, my voice breaking at the end. "I am crazy." I began to pace and muttered very inaudibly, "She's dead, she's dead, she died, she died, she died with them. Shikadai, Mitsuki, Sarada, all dead, gone, bye-bye. No, no, no."
They didn't even try to deny it. Both Sakura and Mom looked down, and Dad sadly nodded. "I am so sorry, my son."
"No, Dad, please," I begged quickly, "you're lying." I laughed, and immediately they all sat back silently. I couldn't stop laughing though – and I might have been frightening them – but I was petrifying myself. "No," I chuckled, "this isn't funny. Whatever joke you are pulling, stop it! Stop it! She's alive! She is! Where is she?" I screamed, knowing I won't get the answer I so desperately desired.
"She's dead," I said, a tear falling onto my cheek. I looked at Sakura. If I couldn't trust my parents, at least I could trust her. She will tell me the truth. "She's dead." I repeated – not so much a question, but more a validation. Sakura stood up and halted in front of me. Her eyes were glossy and as I looked into them, it was clear to see how empty she was. But Sakura was a strong woman and she smiled in an attempt to cover the suffering that I was seeing in her. She reached her hand up, gripped my chin gently, and answered – "Yes"– basically confirming what I had read and tried so relentlessly to deny.
I am broken. "So, I am going insane."
"No." This time her answer took its time, and I knew that she was lying.
I am shattered. "And all this time, she was never there, was she?"
"No."
The moment before Sarada disappeared played back in my mind – standing tall and resilient in the doorway, with my journal held tightly in her hand. Her finger was marking a page where I had asked over and over what happened on the day that Mitsuki and Shikadai died – the past I could never remember. It was a complicated question I had written down in my book: who killed them? And it was an obscured answer she gave me: you.
"Sakura Oba-chan…" I gulped a deep breath, glanced at my parents, and then back to the pink-haired medic nin. "Did I really do it? Did I kill them? Did I kill Sarada?" I already knew what her reply was going to be, but I didn't think I was prepared for it to be confirmed. Again, Sakura's answer took its time and a long stare at my parents, but I knew this time, when she nodded her head desolately, she wasn't lying.
I stared at the ground and let the words process through my spinning head. Everyone always looked at me as though I was crazy whenever I talked about her, and now I knew why. It all made sense, but it wasn't fair – it wasn't fair to her and it wasn't fair to them. And it didn't matter how crazy I was, or how much everyone in my life encouraged or played along with my delusions, what I did was unforgivable. But what did I do?
Before I knew what I was doing, I had bolted up stairs, slammed my bedroom door closed, and locked it. And just for safe measures, I put one of my clan's fuinjutsu seals on it – not impossible for my father to break through – but solid enough that it would buy me some time. Black writing swirled out like chains across the door and the characters burnt themselves into the wood.
Looking around slowly, nothing of hers was there. There wasn't a single thing that belonged to Sarada, and it took me a second to realise that there was never any of her possessions in my room. She was no more, taken away from me by… me. Sarada was the one person who made me feel happy and loved – who gave me something to keep living and fighting for. She was dead, but now she was truly gone, and it was completely my fault. What the fuck is wrong with me? Was I so screwed in the head that my brain needed to tell me the truth by fantasizing my dead girlfriend? What about the other two? If I killed Mitsuki and Shikadai, why didn't I imagine them?
It was not the guilt of killing my best friends that was overwhelming me, it was the fact that if Sarada was not there anymore, I had nothing to live for. What's the point? She was everything to me. She was the sunrise and sunset – the most important person I cherished – my other half. She was the person who wanted to protect everyone and I was the person who wanted to protect her – even if it cost me my life.
So why do you get to live while she is dead? I screamed at myself. What cruel, sick joke is that? You bastard! You crazy son of a bitch. I punched my head. How could I have done such a thing? How could I have done it to her?
I didn't hear anyone at my door, only muffled speaking coming from downstairs. I came to the conclusion that the adults decided to give me some time to process, and that no one was going to bother me just yet. Time is all I need, I decided – coming to a decision. I will make everything better. You are broken, I told myself. Lifting up my head, I saw the sun reflecting off my kunai knife, which was still sitting on my bed. It was my first weapon that I ever received as a Konoha ninja – now old and slightly chipped – but still very sharp. I stared at my reflection in silver – watching the hollow eyes of the imposter stare back. "I will fix you," I said to it, a calm smile flickering at my lips. "I will make everything better."
At the funeral I said that I didn't want to be alone, and now I didn't have to be. I could feel the weight being lifted from my shoulders as I held up the kunai. The handle was pretty – with a small gold bell dangling from a red ribbon. Sarada was the only one in our team that managed to get a bell from our sensei. It was a gift from her – something to remember our first training days together.
Sarada... I closed my eyes and pictured her standing in a nice dress in the middle of a green field… my better half.
My smile widened when I saw Mitsuki and Shikadai join the raven-haired Uchiha in the field. Mitsuki's gold eyes shined eagerly, while faded blue hair whipped around his pale face. And the Nara boy had the bothersome look that he always wore, even when he was in high spirits.
My friends are dead, she is dead, and it is your fault. Why stay here and live miserable without them, without her.
Upon opening my stinging eyes, I still only saw the black and empty reflection staring back from in the metal. I brought the small, thick blade up and held it with steady and determined hands. Closing my eyes for the final time gave me a feeling of freedom, liberation and redemption.
I saw them again – running and playing in the luscious waves of green - beaming brightly. I took a step forward, ready to chase after them.
"I am coming guys."
I plunged the kunai into my stomach.
Sarada stopped, turned around, closed her eyes and grinned. Her eyes sparkled more than the stars and her smile shone brighter than the sun.
Ignoring the pain, I pulled the blade out and drove it as hard as I could back into my chest.
The raven-haired girl held out her hand for me to take.
Reaching out to grasp hold of it, I whispered, "Sarada, wait for me…"
Like I said, not my best work. I am getting over a tough time… so please be patient with me.
Um, as mentioned, I had posted this as a sequel, but I would love to hear what you thought of it as a oneshot?
Suggestions, reviews, thoughts and comments are welcomed and greatly appreciated :)
Thanks for reading