Summary : Oh, baby, you're a classic.
Notes: i dunno what this was.
Drunken Pastels
• I'm such an animal •
The sparkles of glitter and stench of blood awakened Sakura from her dreamless slumber on a dirty, carpeted floor, and, not for the first time in her nineteen years on this world, she wonders where in the hell she is. Though, a few moments later, she finds that she doesn't care too much about where she is—she can always find her way home, anyway. Dizzy and disoriented, the barely legal adult lifts herself from the floor that smells like tequila and vomit and notices her surroundings—a shitty apartment, probably on the East end of town. Seeing the multiple bodies on the floor, some familiar, some not, Sakura assumes it was a party—she must've had fun. She doesn't attempt to remember, she knows she was too high, too drunk, too fun to remember more than what she had for breakfast yesterday morning, if that.
Is Miki here? she asked herself, but knew the answer was no.
Gaining some clarity, Sakura notices she's without her pants and missing a sock, but doesn't make an effort to find them. With a muffled groan, she stumbled across the floor, cold against her bare foot, and shuffles to an open door, which she prays is a bathroom. Her breath tastes like gin and her veins feel as if they'd rip through her skin and float away from her body, and she desperately needs to check her reflection. The red dots sprinkled across Sakura's arm itched and ached, and the girl hated it. "The ugliest part of this," she muttered to herself, closing the door behind her and twisting the lock, "is the fucking needing part."
Checking her surroundings again, she finds that she's not in a bathroom like she'd hoped, but it's a room with a mirror and that's perfect for right now. It sat atop a vanity, covered in bills, bottles, and powder—must be Temari's place. Sakura stares into the mirror and is slightly disgusted, her green eyes are tired and her lips are blue and she wonders why her skin is so pale. "At least my eyeliner didn't smudge," she said, reassuring herself. A constrained cough reached her lungs and she hacks for all that she's worth, and nothing but air comes up. Gently, she muses with the pink tresses on her head, wondering why God gifted her something so pretty.
Was it because she was pretty, too? Or was she ugly, and he felt bad? Did God feel sorry for her?
Closing one nostril and inhaling a thin line of the powder, Sakura shook her head with a soft moan. Sniffing, she said, "God isn't real," and walked away from the vanity and toward the closet, intent on finding a pair of pants and leaving. She picks up a pair, she regonizes them as Ino's and promises herself to give them back sooner or later, even though Pig has at least fifty pairs of Sakura's pants hanging in her closet. Her veins are anchored to her body now, sewn into her circulatory system and promise not to run away – for now. The small red spots don't itch as much, and the acheing subsides, but promises to be back later. Tugging the dark jeans on against her pale legs is rough against her skin, but the girl doesn't complain. Instead, she marches towards the door and grabs her shoes and runs down the apartment stairs, intent on getting home and looking clean enough to get to work.
.
.
• I'll leave you hurting every night •
In the end, the pink haired anti protagonist was only able to do one of those things. Realizing she left her keys in the pockets of the pants she'd lost, Sakura climbed the fire escape and 'broke' into small, homey apartment. Her window was always left unlocked, due to a white and grey cat making itself a semi-permanent home underneath her bed. Fumbling, she coughed into her phone—after losing three cell phones in four months, she learned not to take it with her when she paints the town—sputtering pathetically, "I-I've caught a cold." Explaining her symptoms—the coughing, weightlessness—without describing the cause—alcohol and herion, she secured herself three days away from work—three days to get cleaned up.
If TenTen at the office knew her secretary was a junkie, she would have a field day.
Sakura chuckled to herself, blue lips regaining their pink color as the heat kicked in, and drew herself a bath. Closing the curtains, the girl peeled off her clothes from the night before, covered in glitter and sprinkels, and deposits them in her hamper, to be washed later in the day. Walking free of any bindings, the pinkette switched on the television and turned to the news station, looking for any changes in the city.
"—Seven degrees out today, and traffic moving slowly down Interstate Twenty-Two," the perky blond said, her red lips smiling brightly. "It is now eight fourty-seven in the workday, April eleventh. Three ye–" The television was switched off, with a sad sigh.
"Poor baby's probably dead already," Sakura said witsfully. A dull pain racked through the girl's body, and she clenched her teeth, grating against them with enough force to break a tooth. She pushed herself up from the chair, her arms weak and her legs fighting against her, and unwillingly pulled her to the bathroom, where she switched the water off and gingerly stepped in.
Quickly, Sakura scrubbed at her body, finding dirt and glitter melting from her skin. Grime washed away easily, but the girl found herself scrubbing her skin harshy, white, foamy bubbles appearing easily. White skin, delicate and distressed, turned red and raw under the force of the soap cleaning it, and it wasn't long before it burned. "Fuck!" she yelled, letting herself slide into the soapy water, rinsing herself. The warm water held her veins captive, and the aches all but disappeared. Closing her eyes gently, Sakura let herself sink deeper in the water, deeper, just a little more...
Water filled her nostils and mouth, and slid down her nasal passages, where they started to intrude her lungs. Just a little more, she told herself, a little bit deeper, for a little bit longer. Gently, she forced herself do go deeper into the water, letting it fill her insides and steal away her breath. She sucked in the water, letting it overflow her lungs, hoping, praying, that it'd be over soon.
Just a little more...
A loud knocking bought her out of her transe-like state and she pushed herself above water, stepping out of the tub and into a towel. Her face was red and flushed, and she was dripping wet, but the girl answered the door as quickly as possible, frantic. Small, pale hands turned the brass door knob and she stared at her guest, standing in the hallway with a concerned look upon their face. Her red dots were out in the open and she felt their dark eyes staring at them, but didn't say anything to take away from their gaze. Heavy bags were under a thoughtful gaze, and a bundle of white and grey was held securely in strong arms.
"You didn't come home last night," he said, concerned laced in his aloof voice.
"Yeah," she said, stepping aside, silently asking if he wanted to come in. He answered by marching through the door and setting the white bundle down, who scurried across the floor and into Sakura's bedroom, where he made himself at home. "You miss me, Sasuke?" she asked, a light smile teasing on her lips. He didn't respond in words, but wrapped his arms around her waist and touched his forehead with hers.
"You scared me," he said, nearly whispering.
"I scare a lot of people," she said, in the same hushed tone. "Told you I would before this started – but it's too late to get out now." She pushed herself upon the tips of her toes, and pressed her lips to his. "You're stuck with me."