When she awoke it wasn't the lazy, pleasant coming to she was accustomed to on her days off. She awoke quickly with a start and after a second of taking in the basics of her surroundings (the arm draped over her back and hand attached to it slowly drawing patterns on her right hip) she jerked her head up. She was lying on her stomach in a bed in a room she recognized yet didn't belong in. The body next to her stirred and experienced the lazy arise she should have had before a pair of seemingly black eyes met hers.
He was lying on his back next to her, his chest (and everything else under the sheet pooled at his waist) was bare with his left arm stretched across her lower back and his hand ceasing its drawing of patterns on her hip. Sakura felt a sense of familiarity wash over her that settled her on edge nerves as he offered up a gentle smile. His hair was all over the place, sticking up and defying gravity as it always did. She felt angry with herself for becoming so relaxed by merely knowing it was him with her, if anything knowing it was him should put her more on edge. Despite her denial of the calm he gave her, she was suddenly craving his touch and wanting his hands to again cradle her face in his palms like the night before.
Sakura knew last night things had gone very, very, veryveryvery wrong. Things had gone from a stress reliever to something far more intimate when the rough thrusts had become slow and sensual. When he'd put her face in his hands. When he'd kissed her.
Despite him initiating all of the actions that had made last night something she could never repeat, she had done nothing to stop him. She had done nothing to stop things from unfolding into something bigger so she held equal blame for the mess she found herself in again.
"I need to leave."
She had purposefully chosen her words, words she'd said to herself in practice alone in her one room apartment, to sever the ties. They left no room for hope. She didn't say 'I should go,' because when one says they should it's often said because one doesn't want to. She didn't say 'I need to go,' because in her experience going meant coming. Leaving, proven many times in both their lives, was far more permanent.
She had gained the ability to see and understand his little ticks. The little things he did most people brushed off that explained everything. Silently, his eyebrows twitched upwards momentarily and most people would interpret that as either a questioning surprise (as if he were saying, "Oh? I'll walk you out then.") or an accepting gesture (as if he were saying, "Oh, alright.").
She knew differently. The 'oh' the action conveyed could only be compared to the one a child makes when disappointed and let down. Like his hero had just told him they'd have to cancel spending time together because of something more important.
As she quietly slid sideways out from under his arm and off the bed to gather her clothes and head to the bathroom for a shower, she heard a gentle swish of air and knew that was the closest thing to a sigh he'd ever produce. He wouldn't try to stop her, he never did, because he knew if he used force he couldn't. If he tried to keep her there it would be worse than letting her be. He always won anyways.
So as she found her clothing articles one by one (black skirt, Haruno clan tank top, bra, her knee high boots, but no panties since she hadn't worn them in anticipation) she was upset to find they all seemed to smell like him. A child-like frustration swept over her and she simply wanted to crumble to the floor and cry. They shouldn't smell like him, because she shouldn't be with him. She should be at home waking up alone. She bed should be cold next to her.
But she knew that would likely never happen again whether he was there or not. Because, as she'd found once before when she'd managed to stay away for a single night, when he wasn't beside her she'd roll all night as if searching for him and wake up with the whole bed warm from her tossing. Like some animal she'd caught his scent and would not let go.
Despite the feeling of his eyes tearing holes in her back she managed to force herself to enter the hallway of his apartment. She turned right towards the bathroom which was in the direction that led back towards the main living area. She raised her eyes from the floor to spot the kitchen the hallway opened up into at the end and on the counter saw the mug that read, '#1 Sensei' on it in block lettering. That mug returned her to back when things were far less complicated, but she couldn't lie and say he was any less present in her life.
It had been on his birthday she'd given it to him. She, like every other female in the village, found him attractive and had developed a silly fan-girl crush on him in a time where distraction was welcomed with open arms. That is, any distraction that wouldn't lead to further trouble. So in an attempt to shake herself of it she'd selected the mug for his birthday. It was his 30th birthday, he had finally entered his thirties and Naruto had mercilessly teased him about it at every training session in the week before. The mug had been a reminder to herself to keep around until his birthday did arrive that he was her sensei and he was much older than her.
Instead of doing its job, they'd had sex for the first time that night. In fact, the mug had done the opposite of its job since it had fueled him to remind her he was no longer her sensei and they were both older and more mature. That conversation led to them deciding they were mature enough to have dinner together. Then mature enough to have drinks together. Then drunk enough to have sex together.
Snapping herself back to reality Sakura stepped into the bathroom and dropped her clothes in a heap on the tile floor next to his sink that was on the right wall and across from the shower-tub combo. Next to the tub on the far wall sat the toilet and she knew every square inch of the room by heart from hours of lying on the tub post-sex staring at everything and anything.
Sakura quickly turned on the water, much hotter than a comfortable temperature, before she stepped below the spray of the scalding water. Every time she ended up here she wondered how everything had moved so far so fast. It all came down to one thing no matter how much he thought about it.
She couldn't let the bastard go. For some god forsaken reason no matter how many times she left she came back again like some sort of sick yo-yo effect had control of her. But she promised herself, under the burning water's spray, this time would be different. She would stay away. Because after last night, she had much more to lose if she stayed.
The morning may have begun like many others, but she was certain it would end differently. It had to, because it was becoming some sort of sick and crazy addiction and she had to stop it before it became one.
But something inside her began to give when she heard footsteps in the hallway and then saw him step into the bathroom and into her line of vision. She focused her gaze on the shower knob in front of her as she began massaging shampoo into her scalp, but it was hard to ignore him when he climbed in behind her. When she felt his hands on her scalp, taking over and massaging the shampoo into her head gently, she wasn't surprised. That didn't stop a spark of anger from igniting in her belly as wondered if he was doing it on purpose. It being touching her and being upset about her leaving which made her want to stay all the more.
She tried to pull away once, pulling her head forward to try to escape his hands. She didn't try again when his hands momentarily tightened their grip on her hair and he pulled her head back. Instead of returning it to its earlier position, he pulled her head back against his chest causing her to stumbled back and brush against him with her ending position being standing back to front with him. The something gave a little more.
She sucked in a long breath and tried to remind herself of all the reasons behind the shouldn't. Why she needed to keep her distance, but with his hands fisted in her hair as he moved onto conditioning her hair it was becoming increasingly difficult to think. And the something gave more.
And then the something completely snapped and gave way to a flood of tears in her eyes that pooled there eyes before spilling over and pouring down her cheeks. She didn't attempt to cover her sobs and loudly cried, gasping for air and only being able to take in stuttering breathes. He made no move to stop massaging her hair, but instead took over the chore with one hand while the other dropped to her waist to pull it back against his.
She continued to sob, knowing she was only lying to herself because she'd finally realized she wasn't on the brink of becoming addicted to him. She already was.