A/N: I do not own Naruto or the characters therein. I do enjoy writing stories for them, though. I'm not sure how long this one is going to be…as you may know, you start going in one direction and the tale pulls you entirely in another.
Enjoy
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Heart Broken
Chapter 1: First Pain
The first time Neji experienced the pain was just after becoming a chunin.
He woke up clutching his chest. The pain was crushing, cold and terrible, wringing his heart from the inside. He lay on his futon in the dark and quiet house writhing silently, his face twisted in agony.
He rolled over and pushed up onto his knees with one hand, the other hand pressed into his chest. His head hung down and his usually well-ordered locks fell over his face and tangled in his fist. He couldn't move beyond this position. The pain held him in a grip so tight that he could hardly breath, but panted softly, choking on what little air he could scrape into his lungs.
If he could have called for help, there was no one to hear. The house where he had lived with his father was empty now of other people. Servants came from the main house of the compound to clean, take care of his laundry, supply the small kitchen with things to eat. Whatever tasks they performed usually took them about a half-hour. He was not an untidy person. He rarely saw them, only knowing they had been there by the new food and clean clothing and spotless bathroom.
He would have laughed bitterly if he had enough air to spare. He didn't want to die. He had escaped death a number of times in battles that tested his training and abilities to their limits. Dying now, in the merciless grip of this ignominious pain, was humiliating. He could feel burning tears of anger and fear drop onto his fist. His body gleamed with cold sweat and his jaw muscles started to cramp.
The pain suddenly disappeared and he sprawled untidily on the floor as if dropped from a giant hand. He turned slowly to one side drawing his knees up, wrapping his arms tightly around them. He was shaking uncontrollably, gulping air into his lungs in hitching sobs. He had to endure this for several minutes before he could move. He crawled to the doorway of his room and pulled himself up shakily using the door jamb for support. He slid the door open. He wondered for an irrelevant moment why he even shut it. Did he need that extra insurance of privacy when there was no one else in the house?
He staggered into the dark living room, his arms out like a blind man, his pale eyes wide. He ran into one side of the sofa, knocking it askew. He leaned on the sofa back until he got his balance, his head down, dizzy and nauseous. He heard something fall over and crash to the floor on the other side of the sofa. There would be something for the servants to clean up in the morning.
His head cleared a little and he pushed off from the sofa, shuffling his feet as carefully and slowly as an old man fearful of falling. He reached the kitchen counter with relief and used it as support to make his way to the sink. He leaned over it, resting heavily on his forearms. He waited until a wave of nausea receded, spitting bile into the drain, then continued pulling himself to the refrigerator. He made several attempts to struggle weakly with the magnetic pull of the refrigerator door, feeling a small rush of triumph when he finally pried it open. The light inside the refrigerator blinded him for a moment and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he could see again, he pulled a juice container out and held onto it tightly, pressing its coldness against his chest.
He slid down the cabinet front, wincing when a shoulder blade snagged on the drawer handle, and sat on the floor, his head hanging down. He couldn't find the energy to shut the refrigerator, but sat in its cold light with his legs stuck awkwardly out. He opened the juice container and swigged down some of the liquid, not caring that only half made it into his mouth. He could feel the juice dribble, cold and sweet, down his throat, down his neck, pooling inside and outside.
He sat quietly, a pulse pounding in his ears, until his heart rate slowed to a steady rhythm.
He fell asleep leaning his head against the cabinet. The juice container dropped from his hand and juice poured out onto the floor in measured gushes, spreading around his feet, like blood emptying from a dying heart.
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A/N: No, he's not dead. I couldn't kill Neji, he's just too cute and uptight for his own good. Tell me what you think about this beginning. I'd like to hear your thoughts. =D