no words needed
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Naruto and never will.
Notes (do read this):
To be honest, I wasn't going to post on FFN but, somehow, I feel it deserves to be here because – in spite of the criticism it earned from the people I shared it with – I don't think it's that much worse than what I usually write. And given how much shit and trash has been posted on this site, I don't see why this shouldn't be here (and among shit and trash, I also mean my own work XD).
Let's say I rather like the prose. And I feel it's been too long since I last shared anything (this is my way of saying I'm alive). I think I'm posting this because I really want to know what people think about this - even if it's negative.
The title is just a roundabout way of my saying that I don't know what to call this. Feedback-wise, anything goes. You should know by now that I'm not easily offended.
Warning(s): heavy angst, angry! Naruto, vulgar and offensive language – all the good stuff. Yes, there's a certain level of OOC in the language and characterisation. AND yes, I do go too far with my smilies, but then I'm giving you a fair warning now. Perhaps, this piece is less about Naruto than my trying to get a certain mood across. I don't know. Also, yay for abrupt endings. Unbet'd, so all mistakes are mine.
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It's dark out. He can't see from outside of the window, but Naruto knows it's night because the darkness – like a particularly vicious disease – has spread over the entire room, covering the dusty furniture (brown, marred with scratches and smelling like old leather shoes rotting away in a dusty warehouse) with its heavy veil.
He should light the candle – make it go whoosh and bring illumination to the place like a blood-coated assassin with the tip of his sword dripping blood brings a whore to an inn (to fuck and then discard like a used condom).
But he doesn't care; he doesn't give a fuck whether it's dark or light or anything.
Anything but that damned name that can be written out in three symbols – be it Hiragana or Katakana.
Clenching his fist, Naruto wishes this feeling of apathy could last, wrap him from inside out and make him forget – because what he's going through now is so unbelievably shitty that he'll -
- he stops.
Can't.
Think.
Anymore.
Mustn't.
(His heart is racing, pounding as heavily against his ribcage like a heavy gong resounding through a marble-floored palace).
"Just fuck it all," he says out to nobody, but that's fine because No One has always been the most comforting listener: never judging, always quiet and, what's most important, won't force him to come up with more explanations as to why and how and what.
This time, however, No One seems to have an echo (and it breaks the through the silence like a piercing scream of a child being torn in two by a monster with shark-like teeth and yellow snake eyes – gobbling, gobbling flesh and crunching through bone with his sharp canines).
"What a brilliant countermeasure against your anxiety. It's just like the books say, people always fall to cursing the world when things don't go the way they planned," Sai says in monosyllabic way, voice as unemotional and unmoved as if he'd been cared out of rock.
"What do you want?" Naruto asks, not bothering with finesse or politeness because he's angry and doesn't give a damn. Let Sai be insulted then; Naruto wonders whether this imitation of a human being can even be assumed to possess such finer feelings as anger.
(Rock can be crushed and spat on and tossed into water – yet it'll never bleed, or cry out in protest).
"To be there for you – as a friend."
Naruto snorts. Another empty word. Friend. Just as devoid of meaning as brother, lover or enemy. Since it's all the same – it's all nothing but lies and deceit. A friend will cut you up, a brother rip your heart out in shreds; a lover's kiss can be a poisonous stab and your enemies words the truest ever spoken.
"Fuck that," Naruto growls out, feeling that age-old monster of restless rage and cold-hearted spite churn in his stomach,"leave me be. Go back to your books."
Sai merely walks closer, his leather sandals slapping against the floor like the erratic beats of Naruto's heart. "I can't leave you alone. Not when you're like this-"
"Do you even know what I feel like? Do you even have the dimmest idea of what's going through my head?" Naruto asks, challenging Sai to come up with an answer. "And don't quote from your darling books because real life is nothing like that."
Let's see how clever you are, Naruto thinks and turns around to face the wall, bed creaking under his weight.
Sai sits down on the bed, uninvited. "I think you're in pain."
Naruto laughs hollowly. "Great analysis, Watson. I doubt Socrates could have come up with a better answer."
(The years, cruel and relentless, have made him just like that, giving his tongue the ability to spew out words that prick and pinch like fine needles).
"I'm not Socrates. Or Watson," Sai says in the ghost of a puzzled tone, but continues – still mechanically like a well-programmed computer," but yes, you are. The loss of Sasuke has made you-"
(Empty. Dead inside. Nothing but a rotting carcass in a field of mockingly bright sunflowers).
"Don't fucking say that name. And don't tell me what I feel. I don't think you could ever understand – or any of your jerkass friends – what Sasuke was, still is to me," Naruto spills out in a torrent of hatred – and disappointment, remembering years of chasing, and dreaming and loving.
(Remembers scorching hot kisses underneath a pale blue sky, fingernails scraping the inner of his thighs and a burning hot mouth on his cock; still hears the muffled moans as he fucked him, pounded again and again just to have something, anything of the man he needed so much that it tore him apart).
And it's not only remembrance, but all in his head: sequences and sequences of memories spanning before his eyes, all so vivid that Naruto nearly forgets that's just a figment of his imagination.
He can see Sasuke before him, can still taste him on him (tomato and sweaty skin), feel his hair brushing against his neck as -
(I love you, Sasuke whispers at nights, his body warm against Naruto's).
He suddenly springs from bed, unable to take it anymore and - smashes his fist against the wall, feeling skin rip apart and, when he brings his hand under close scrutiny, he sees blood gushing out from torn tissue.
But he doesn't feel any pain. It's more like a slight burn, an itch that feels like a shiver scuttling down his spine.
He knows Sai's eyes are on him, knows that maybe even a rock has a certain breaking point and that nothing in this good jolly world is safe from cracking.
"I'd like to help you," Sai tries again, this time pressing a hand on Naruto's shoulder – but he pushes it away.
(It burns).
"You can't help me. No one can."
He's already cracked.
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