I apologize a thousand times over for not updating in God only knows how long! Year 12 has been a thorn in my side for too damn long...
For starters, this piece was a creative piece that I wrote for Literature, hence why it's different from my usual writing style. Anyway, I completely fell in love with this story when I wrote it that I knew I just had to post it on FF!
I changed the original title and summary for this story because I thought it wouldn't catch much attention.
Make sure you review if you want this to become a full-fledged story!
Icy wind and rain battered the synthetic shades of his black umbrella mercilessly. He walked with a purpose, with a means toward a destination. He could feel said destination nearing as he craned his head up to read the street sign. As he turned the corner into the neat, modern street, he admitted inwardly that it still looked beautiful, despite the terrible and gloomy weather that had befallen the town that day.
Leather suitcase tight in his hand, he hastened his pace. He was desperate to be rid of this weather. House upon house passed as he searched for the correct number. Said number should be displayed proudly on a mailbox that should be out front of the house. If not, this was going to become troublesome.
His chin length, raven forelocks whipped at the sides of his face as the wind continued to howl in his ears.
202… 204… 206…
At last, he had reached the house with—what he assumed to be—the correct number. Quickly, he shoved his hand into the left pocket of his big, black trench coat and fished out the small, crumpled paper. He smoothed it out before checking he had the correct number.
208 Punt Street.
A sharp, low rumble of thunder caused the girl to flinch uncomfortably. She didn't mind thunderstorms, but they always caused her to be jumpy and, yet, feel some sort of contentment at the same time. It was silly, really. But she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the thrill of being caught unexpectedly by something you already know is right there with you.
Or maybe she was just being silly.
She tried to ignore the—now constant—sharp and loud rumbles that continued to bore from the outside. She was alone in the questionably large house. One last time, she wandered around to make sure the doors were locked.
The satisfying sound of the locks greeted her ears. She sighed and retreated upstairs to warm up her tiny frame with a quick, hot shower.
Hesitancy was an understatement and nostalgia was its partner in crime.
He had not a clue as to why he was hesitating. He was not one to hesitate. In fact, he was the typical professional and methodical person. He was never without some sort of purpose in mind. The large house loomed skeptically behind the trees and neatly kept garden that stood before it. Something about the current storm made him feel unwelcome.
He snorted loudly and dismissed the fact that he had the address written down. It was not like him to forget. This house was definately apart of him, whether he liked it or not. Years had passed since he had last laid his deep, onyx eyes on this house.
Mustering up what was left of his pride and courage, he raised a cold, pale fist to the large, mahogany door and knocked.
She continued to rub the soft towel through her long, pink locks, waiting for the last cold drop of water to be absorbed. She despised the cold. Even more so when she could not do a thing to warm herself up. This time, she did not mind it, so long as it remained outside. She stared at her steamy reflection for some time. Her skinny, wet locks stuck to the sides of her face, neck and shoulders. Her emerald eyes sparkled, despite staring back from a steam-covered mirror.
She did not like it when she was alone in the house. Paranoia was not her friend. It often bore its way into her skull until she could take no more. It had been almost a week since her parents left on their vacation. Not that she minded; Lord knows her parents deserved one. They worked relentlessly to provide for her. And she was grateful.
She knew too well that others did not have the life she did. Those others happened to be her friends. She had a close group of friends, although they were not from her school. She went to the best, most expensive school in town.
Her friends did not.
Maybe that's why she kept them around. Maybe she needed to be kept grounded. She didn't want her wealth to go to her head like the others at her school. Her close group of friends were genuine, in her eyes. They despised the wealthy. Although once she had gained their respect, everything fell into place. It seemed as if her friends are her friends for a reason.
Her friends still didn't like the wealthy, despite the fact they had one as a close friend. The typical stereotypes clouded their judgement. Countless times she had tried to convince her friends that stereotypes were only seen in movies; that they did not exist. However, portrayal of that stereotype by the other wealthy teens did not help her argument.
As she padded across the soft carpet toward the stairs, she stopped dead in her tracks. A cold, swift breeze brushed past her skin. It was faint, but surely it was there. Dread knotted in the pit of her stomach. Her heart began to race. That breeze was not meant to be coming from inside. The windows were shut. There was no way such a breeze could—
The doors.
Cursing, she paused and thought for a moment. She definitely knew she had locked all the doors. She thanked her gnawing paranoia for making sure of that. The breeze was not felt again. The dread in her stomach lightened, but then grew dense once more.
Was someone in the house?
A nostalgic smirk quirked at the corner of his lips as the familiar smell of the house invaded his nostrils.
He knew he shouldn't have entered without waiting for a reply. But honestly, he too despised the cold. He knew he should have driven somehow. But he had no car, and not enough cash money for a taxi. He should have caught a bus that would have dropped him off closer. He wasn't thinking clearly.
He was thinking about her.
It had been three years since he had left everything behind. Friends, family, school, and her.
He had not chosen to leave her. His family chose to pack up their bags, roll up their sleeves and leave her. His father's company needed him to move across the country to be within easy access. It was not easy running a billion dollar company when you are hundreds of miles away.
Truth be told, it ate him alive, down to his very core, when the news was given to him. But, forever stoic and impassive, he dare not let his façade shatter.
His father said it to be wise to move. His father wanted him to run the company come the day he dies. The family business was all he and his father had left. His mother and older brother dead, his father also needed a desperate change of scenery. They both needed a change of scenery.
She cried when she had found out. Oh, how she cried. He wanted to cry too. But he did not. He had to be the strong one, despite the fact he was crumbling from the inside out. He actually thought he felt her heart break that day as he held her close for the first time since they became friends.
They tried to keep in contact. They tried not to let the different time zones and their separate lifestyles get in the way of their friendship. But soon, it had. All contact between him and her had been lost. It dwindled down to nothing. He knew she was hurting inside. He, too, was hurting inside. At times, he would pick up the phone and dial those numbers just to hear her voice. Just to hear that she was okay. But before he would punch in the last number, he would hang up. What was she to say to him after all this time?
What was he to say to her?
Quietly, she crept. Toe, heel. Toe, heel.
Despite the fact she was walking on a hallway rug, the floorboards underneath would creak with the slightest touch. She hoped that nobody was downstairs. Hell, she prayed to every God out there. She pleaded that this not be the case.
A floorboard creaked underneath her. She stopped, sucked in a breath and held it. She heard nothing. She continued on, determined to be quieter.
As she neared the top of the wide, wooden staircase, she cursed her self. Her best friend had offered her a place to stay while her parents were away. Respectfully, she declined. Now, she wished she hadn't.
The paranoia festered and gnawed at the back of her head. Her heart began to beat faster. Soon, the sound filled her ears. Her breaths came out shaky and shallow. She hated feeling paranoid. It honestly bugged her to the world's end.
Determined to get over her fears, she continued. She sucked in another breath and forced her legs to move. She was careful to not let her toes get hitched on the bottom of her long, grey tracksuit pants. It had happened before. Due to that, she had fallen down the stairs and fractured her arm.
Never again, she thought.
As she neared the halfway mark down the large, elegant staircase, something made her stop. A cough.
A familiar cough.
Her heart leapt in her throat as her ears perked up. She begged to hear that sound once more. But she didn't. She definitely knew that cough. There was no mistaking it.
He was here.
As he entered the kitchen, he thought this was beginning to feel like a mistake.
She may not even be home, he thought to himself as he gently placed his large black and umbrella by the wall.
But then again, why would she leave the front door unlocked? He remembered that she never locked the door unless she was out. That was her number one rule.
What if she wasn't home, but her parents were? What would happen then? Her parents loved him, he remembers. Their families were like family. They accepted one another, mainly based on the fact they were both wealthy. But what would they do if they saw him wandering through their house after all this time?
Suddenly, he heard a footstep. It was faint and barely there, but he heard it. He paused, his fists clenching in his pockets. Then, another. And another.
Whoever it was, they were definitely trying to keep themselves concealed from him.
Nonetheless, he waited.
As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she saw tiny puddles on the hardwood floor. They glinted in the overhead lights. But these were not just any puddles. These puddles took the shape of footprints. Big footprints. Long strides. She remembers that particular pathway of puddled feet from somewhere before. She remembered walking with him. Both walked through the puddles. Well, she jumped in them while he reluctantly followed. She remembers looking back on their tracks. His were long, simple and straight. Hers were closer together and they weaved left and right.
There was no mistaking that he was here.
She asks herself why would he be here, of all places? He left three years ago, and hadn't spoken to her in two and a half. Also, he was on the other side of the country. Why would he come this far just to see her?
Questions danced through her mind, begging to burst forth. She held them back with bravery. She breathed out, sucked in yet another one, and trotted down the remaining eight steps and entered the kitchen.
She let her held breath whoosh forth.
And there he stood.
He stood frozen in place. His calloused, pale hands hidden inside the deep pockets of his black trench coat. His pale face covered by his wet, windblown raven locks. His deep, onyx eyes—a deep, never-ending abyss of onyx—remained impassive, even in the light yellow light of the huge kitchen. His dark eyes stared on, his form not moving.
"Sasuke…" she murmured.
Never in the three years since she had last seen him, had she thought that his name would ever creep past her lips, ever again.
Sasuke Uchiha was the type who listened and rarely talked—quiet and thoughtful to her every word. He would listen when she would whine about anything and everything all at once. He was the one who would infuriate her by challenging her beliefs and theories, thus frustrating her and secretly amusing himself. He was the one who would show up at her house, unannounced, and then stay for dinner. He was the one who would question something she said when he did not understand. He was the one who listened when she had her heart broken. He was the boy who would always have her back, though never mentioned it aloud—not even to her.
He was her best friend.
Also, he was the type who would wrap one side of his red hooded jacket around her shoulder when she was cold. She knew that he never once minded the close proximity between them. After all, they were best friends. They shared everything; secrets, dreams and aspirations for the future.
And she was in love with him.
She would never confess this, of course. She cared too much for the friendship they already shared. She tried not to get jealous when yet another girl would ask him on a date. Sasuke is—or was—undoubtedly the most handsome guy in school. Girl after girl would throw herself at him. She promised herself she would never stoop to something so disgraceful. No matter how much she wanted to. And she would always welcome his decisions with open arms, no matter what.
Until he told her he was leaving.
Sasuke stared at the girl who entered the kitchen. Her eyes went wide at his sight. He expected that much.
She still looked the same. Although he did notice her hair was longer—much longer—with the same emerald eyes. He was disappointed to see that her eyes didn't seem to light up like they used to. And he knew it was his fault. He had seen that little sparkle diminish completely that day. He had hoped to see it once again, but was sadly mistaken.
He tried to contain the little flutter his heart made. She had actually become strikingly pretty. She was never considered the prettiest girl alive. The girls he took on dates would always question him why—of all people—was she his best friend.
Truth be told, he had no idea.
Maybe it was the way she smiled at him in the mornings. Maybe it was the way she would pout when he would give her a look that she knew he was making fun of her. Maybe it was the way he could be so comfortable around her. Maybe it was the way he was welcomed into her house nearly every day. And maybe it was the way she wouldn't throw herself at him like all the other girls did.
Emotions began to swirl violently within her.
There was anger, hurt, frustration, fear, happiness, joy and sadness. She didn't know how she should feel. She wanted to cry. She wanted to jump for joy. She wanted to punch him in the face. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream and yell until she would lose her voice. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to throw him out and never see him again.
She wanted so much. She wanted what she couldn't have.
He left three years ago and hadn't tried to contact her in two and a half. Their lives became so different in a matter of mere months. Everything they had once shared was abolished.
"Sakura…" he whispered.
And then Sasuke did something he hadn't done to her since the day he left.
He hugged her.
He walked up, and slowly snaked his big arms around her tiny waist. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled the terribly missed scent of her strawberry shampoo. He raised a hand, intertwined his fingers with her long, wet locks and breathed in again.
Sakura could feel tears welling in her eyes. They threatened to spill over. She bravely fought them back with her all. She was still angry at how he had just upped and left her. She admitted that she had missed him terribly. Her heart panged at the sudden embrace. The shattered pieces he left her with wanted to rebuild. Although, a hug could not repair what he had broken all those years ago.
Hands up; who wants me to continue with this story?
Rreview please!