Hmm. A bit far from my usual musings, esp. with the angst. But I hope you do like it.
Ino is the first to admit to herself that she loves something, and the last to admit it aloud.
The reasons, she reasons, is that there is no point in lying to yourself. You can lie and you can lie, and you will always know the truth. Truth has never been something Yamanaka Ino likes to handle – it's too sharp and double-edged – but she knows that keeping it hidden can only make it all the more clear. She's not all smiles and flowers, despite what others may think.
On the other hand, there is no point in admitting to others the truth. Lying can make a mess of things. It can weave a tangled, tangled web. But holding back the truth… isn't lying. And it certainly makes things less complicated.
Though not all the time.
She remembers finding Shikamaru with a cigarette the week after Asuma-sensei's death. She can smell the heavy scent of smoke rising into her mouth, choking down her throat. She sees the tiny red glow of embers, and the hot pulse of black ash that falls away from the shining white rod. She remembers looking into Shikamaru's eyes, and seeing the hollowness reflected back at her.
Sometimes, the simple act of holding back the truth can become a burden. Sometimes, the simple knowledge that you hold the truth in the palm of your hand can turn into a curse. Sometimes, Ino just doesn't want to have to figure out a path to walk in the overgrown forest that is the world. Sometimes she is so tired of trying to find her way that she thinks if she could just close her eyes and clenches her fists, maybe the world will finally just spinspinspin itself away. Maybe she will run, and leave it all behind. Maybe it will turn into oblivion.
Maybe if Ino drinks this next glass of sake in one gulp, the burning feeling in her chest will burn so fiercely that she won't be able to feel anything else. She does it. It goes down like fire, and she replaces the glass on the table with a clink. This was maybe the fifth glass. Or was it the sixth?
Maybe it was only the second. Or why else can she still see Shikamaru's face – still hear the lazy vibration of satisfaction and happiness and wonder in his voice when he told her – he'd proposed and been accepted? Why does she still have that heavy weight in her chest – the one that labors her every breath and mutes her hearing and blinds her vision?
The next glass almost spills when she pours it. Ino's hands are shaking just a little, which makes her teeth clench with anger. She wraps her fingers so tightly around the bottle that her knuckles turn white, and pours almost to the very top of the glass. Liquid sloshes out when she picks it up to drink.
At this point, all she wants to do is forget. To drown away her memories, because Ino knows by now that trying to drowning feelings is anything but possible.
When she squeezes her eyes shut, she hears the low tone of his voice that night so many nights ago. She feels the way his hands ghosted over her arm. She almost knows the exact way her mouth curved into a smile, and the exact way they froze the minute his lips landed on hers.
Shikamaru.
Ino opens her eyes. She pours another glass and downs it. She sits up straight, then leans carelessly to the side so that her right arm knocks into the man next to her. By the time he turns, she is already smiling. His eyes land on her: the long golden hair, the flushed cheeks, the blue eyes, the red lips. She can read his thoughts even in her blurring, hazy mind.
Ino is the first to admit to herself that she loves something, and the last to admit it aloud. But this time, it doesn't matter which she does, because truth is always a double-edged blade.
And even as Ino pulls herself closer to the stranger next to her, it cuts into her. Sharper. Deeper.
A scar that will never heal.