Screw, a naruto fanfic

(Sadly, I don't own Naruto.)

screw her, those lies that she had Said. screw him, those lies he Believed.

It's just another day in the path of life tomorrow, Sasuke-kun. his mother would whisper, bending down beside him to hug him every night before he went to bed. And in the morning, I'll be waiting for you, just as usual.

Well, screw her, because those were empty words to him now.

He lays in his bed, the covers pulled tight over him, listening to the wind roar outside from his open window, dancing so gleefully and around and spreading such cold that if it didn't defy the laws of physics or some crap like that (he never paid much attention in science), he'd reach out into the night air, grab the wind, and strangle it.

He didn't like the wind. It reminded him of everything he tried to leave behind. Tried was the operative word, though. Just because he tried didn't mean that he was actually going to get anywhere.

And, you know, he never really did all that much.

Almost instinctively, his head still pounding with those long-lost memories of long, sweeping black hair and gentle eyes that sparkled sweetly, his nose twitching with those long-lost scents of peppermint and lilacs, trembling fingertips that, yes, in fact, do belong to him (and he has to remind himself of this because the façade he puts up towards the world fades away just oh-so quickly at night), reach out, sliding over the blankets and moving softly through the air around him.

He knows that all his efforts are in vain, yes, oh, yes, he does, but haven't all of his efforts since that day been, at least, just slightly in vain? He knows that it's fruitless to keep reaching out at the air so desperately like he does, but he just can't stop. His memories pounding, just like they always do, and he can almost feel her presence leaning against him, her arms wrapping around him sweetly, pushing away every time his father ignored him or his brother did something that was just either downright odd, strange, or slightly mean. Or, sometimes, all three, depending on the situation and Itachi's current mood.

Nowadays, Itachi was always like that, and he knows this perfectly well. Snapping strands of sanity most certainly led to something like that. He doesn't need to hang around his brother constantly like he used to to know something like that.

But now, after all the events and actions that he's done that have piled up in his life, pressing down hard against him, nearly suffocating him, making him gasp for breath for a few moments as he lays there, he can barely feel her presence. He can barely feel his fingertips slide against her dress as he hugged her back, he can barely remember how she used to smile at him and tell him that everything was alright.

If he can barely remember such things most of the time, then had it all really been true to begin with? This thought pierces his mind with such force that it scares him for a moment before his eyes begin to narrow. If he can barely remember things that she did and said, was it really all that true? Had it just been a lie- a lie to placate him, a lie to shield him from the horrors that he could still see? Had it just been a lie- a lie, a lie, a lie, oh, had it just been all a downright lie, the lie that she used to help him not feel so much pain at the wretched horrors of the world?

Yes, yes it had. It had just been all a lie, all a lie that she had told him. All of those philosophical words she had used on him he had let tie around his mind tightly and lead him into a world of false beliefs. Was that what it all was- the lies she told him had turned into his reality? His goal that he believed so fiercely in- oh, Lord, was that just a lie too that had turned into his deep, impenetrable illusion of reality?

Yes, he thinks with a dark look twisting his features as he rolls over in his bed, pulling his arms close to himself. It had all just been a lie, a lie that he had just taken in, no matter what.

But his mother- her sweet eyes, her long black hair, and those soft little words that she had whispered to him all the time still haunt his mind, pressing against him, and he feels like he's seven again, and the world is not trying to suffocate him, the world is not trying to hurt him, nothing had gone wrong yet, nothing had turned against him yet, nothing was stabbing him repeatedly in the chest like his trusted sword and making his entire body tremble with this pain he couldn't take off no matter what (like some kind of weird sea creature stuck to his chest. He'd prefer an octopus. Just because, in his dark little world, he still seems to just like octopuses.). Nothing was trying to take away his breathing, take away his soul, take away whatever he still held dear to him. Nothing was continuously making him remember everything, every single- horrid- thing- that had happened in his childhood and was crossing over his mind fluently.

Nothing had gone wrong yet. And, even if it had all just been a lie, he missed that.

"Wait for me, then," he whispers, dragging his eyes open with more force then was necessary to look at the blank walls of his room. Gently turning to observe the windows again, the harsh winds ruffling his hair, he feels the need to cry but finds he has no more tears left. He narrows his dark black eyes, and he can feel his fingertips tremble once more.

"Wait for me, then, just one last time."