SS AND HER FRIEND- IF THIS SUCKS DO NOT JUDGE ME! I never read KushinaMinato fics, so I don't know if this is good or not…
I limped offstage, collapsing in a folding chair just behind the curtain. I slipped my black dancing shoes off of my swollen feet, grimacing as the worn-out wooden bases chafed my scraped skin.
I stared at my feet, shocked by their appearance. They were swollen, red, bloody, scraped, and they hurt like hell. I tried to flex my feet, and had to choke back a gasp of pain, as it shot from my over-worked ankles up my aching legs.
"What the hell have you done to your feet, Shina? They're a mess!"
"Thanks Chess, for making me feel so much better."
"Teehee….you have an accent."
"I am aware that I have an accent. You don't have to comment on it every time I say something, Francesca."
"Sorry, sorry. But your feet are a total mess. You're going to have to ask for a break off from work."
"Chess, you know I can't do that."
"Yes you can," She reprimanded me, sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding bandages, pain medicine, and a water bottle, giving me the medicine and water before she began wrapping the snowy white bandages around my feet, quickly turning the cotton pink.
"You are the lead role in a huge ballet that cannot be postponed because the show is already sold-out. You may think that you can't take off because opening night is in a week or so, but that's why you can. The director can't afford to fire you and recast your role this late in rehearsal. He'll have to let you go for a day or two, seeing as you're the lead. Like I said, he can't afford to lose you this close to opening night."
"But, Chess-"
"No. I am going to go tell Director Tapp that you're going home and won't be in for a couple of days. "
"You can't do that-"
"I can and I will. Now shut up. I'll be back in a few minutes with your bag."
"Chess, don't-"
"Shut up."
"You Americans…."
"Well, you're Asian. Shut up and take of the wig, Shina."
She stamped off in the director's office, and I glared at her back. I yanked at the glistening blonde bun, the platinum-blonde ringlets bouncing as they fell down my back. I pulled at the ends gently, and the wig slipped off, catching at my hair with bobby pins. As the white-blonde cover fell on my lap, I shook out my real locks. They fell in a cascade of fiery red hair, straight as bone. I shook it, pulling my sweat-drenched hair away from my forehead and neck, and tying it up as best I could with ribbon and wire, half of it off my neck, the other half falling on my back.
"Here."
Chess dropped my duffel bag beside my chair, then dragged me back to the dressing rooms, along with my duffel.
"Chess, what are you doing- HEY!"
She began to yank of the black tutu, leotard, and tights, and redressing me in my own long, high-collared, dark blue dress. She didn't even bother with putting my shoes on, opting instead to carry me out. I was so exhausted I didn't even pretest. Training had never been this hard, and it's one of the most grueling processes a person can be subjected to.
Chess accompanied me home, not leaving until she had made absolutely sure that I had taken medicine for pain, and was asleep in my bed. I was unconscious in minutes, having been at rehearsal 12 hours every day for the past two weeks.
I woke up at 2 p.m. the next day, having slept for over 15 hours.
I stood, wincing at the dull ache in the balls and heels of my feet. I swallowed some Tylenol, and washed it down with water, moving to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat.
Not feeling like actually making anything, I stuck a pot of water on the stove and set it to boil, before taking a package of instant ramen out of one of the cupboards. I looked at it for a moment, remembering when I could get a fresh bowl of this stuff, steaming hot, not from a plastic-wrapped block of noodles and a packet of seasonings.
I sighed, and said to myself, "Stupid ramen…." Before breaking the noodles and dropping them in the boiling water.
I wandered into my small dining-room adjoined with the kitchen AND the living room, and sat on the couch, blowing on the steam from my instant ramen. I used mmy chopsticks to put the noodles in my mouth, and sighed in content.
"Thank Kami for Maruchan Ramen….. The most delicious instant ramen ever made."
I flipped through the channels, still eating my ramen, letting the noodles slide down my throat. I stopped on a show I had never seen before, something about deadly warriors. Aha. Deadliest Warrior. Figures.
As I watched, I realized they were comparing ninjas and Spartans.
Ha, ninjas win, hands down.
-20 minutes later-
Spartans.
Beat.
Ninjas.
No they wouldn't. Not where I'm from they wouldn't- Stop. Shina, stop.
I will not let myself think about that, about my home, my parents, or Flash…
STOP KUSHINA STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT.
I left my empty bowl on the table, and limped back to my room, collapsing on the bed just as the tears came, pouring down my face like a waterfall.
I'm sorry Kushina.
I just don't love you anymore. Maybe i will again, someday. But right now, I just need some space. You understand, right? Now you can have fun with your friends, you don't have to go everywhere with me anymore.
I'm sorry…..
I yelled, and threw a picture frame with my mother's picture in it at the wall, the glass shattering into a million shards. I watched as the pieces clattered on the top of my dresser, and noticed the blinking message light on my phone. Picking up the phone, I pressed the voicemail button and played with the cord absentmindedly.
A businesslike woman's voice came on the line, "Collect Call from Japan, made from the individual named Furawā Yamanaka."
Furawā? I hadn't talked to her since I left Kon-Stop Kushina.
Furawā's girly voice came on the line, frenzied and excited.
"KUSHINA! Oh my goodness, it took me forever to find you, and when I do find you, you're in America? New York, no less. But back to the point, Minato has been in a really bad accident."
Oh god….Minato.
"He's been slipping in and out of a coma for the past three days, and he's been saying your name in his sleep. I thought it was urgent for me to call you, and I hate to be so brash about this, BUT YOU NEED TO GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE AND SEE HIM, KUSHINA! I don't care what happened between you two that made you leave the fucking country, but you need to get your ass back to Konoha.
Oh, and by the way, I'm pregnant. Call me back the minute you get this."
I didn't know what I was more shocked about, that Furawā had finally gotten knocked up by Inoichi, or that Minato had gotten in an accident. He never gets hurt. Ever. Its like a rule that he's a great ninja.
Crap. The performance.
Minato.
The ballet performance.
Minato.
The ballet.
Minato.
Those were the only two things that ran through my head for a few minutes, clawing around my mind, shredding any sense I had, since I decided to go to Minato.
But the damn performance is in just over a week, I cant just up and leave and go to japan.
Yes I can.
Right?
I picked up the phone, dialing collect, and calling Furawā.
"Furawā! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MINATO?"
