Well, let's just say that I had an epiphany. That's why you guys got an update today. For once in my life, I actually planned something out. Can I get a hell yeah? Normally, I don't plan anything out—I just go with the flow and hope for the best, ya know? But I finally realized that I won't get anywhere if I do that. That's definitely what my other stories that I failed to plan out told me, and they were left abandoned. Well, you don't have to worry about this fic being abandoned, I'll tell you that much. Too much work.

Well, I'll shut up now and let you get to the chapter. I'll have the third one up hopefully soon~


Chapter 2:

He hadn't any clue when he had fallen asleep the dreadful night before, but he woke up in the same exact position he last remembered from last night. That meant that his mother had never even came in his room last night to check on him. It was no doubt his father's doing.

He didn't get up from his position immediately though, knowing full well of the pain he'd be in if he did so from experience. So he slowly turned over, grimacing from the pain that shot throughout his back so suddenly. He already knew without looking at the many bruises that blossomed about his tiny back, and that he'd have to cover up the others that littered his upper arms in a purplish haze. His father had went overboard this time.

Once his feet touched the wooden floor beneath him, he automatically made his way to the closet on the opposite end of the room, seeking something to conceal his wounds effectively. Unfortunately nothing would be able to help with the obvious limp on his right side; he'd supposed he'd have to blame that one on rough training. She always believed him, never questioning him further. Though, if she saw the extent of his bruises, she would surely question that. Sometimes, he wondered... His father had her wrapped around his finger.

He glanced outside, trying to free his mind of the painful thoughts as he noticed the sun shining brightly about the Uchiha complex. It was undoubtedly hot outside, and the clothes he had chosen for himself were simply too much for late spring. It was practically summer already, and he knew that he'd receive several raised eyebrows at his choice of attire. No matter, they were all so gullible.

Extinguishing those thoughts from his mind, he slipped on a long-sleeved black shirt with the Uchiha family crest sewn onto his left shoulder and a rather long pair of khaki shorts, being careful not to show the previous fading bruises splayed about his legs. They were healing, but that didn't mean that people wouldn't wonder. He didn't need to run out of any excuses to tell. Saying that he simply got injured during training was starting to get a little old, anyway. He'd used that excuse for about a year now, and if he'd told anybody else then that'd put down his reputation and skills. He wasn't that clumsy; he was an Uchiha.

But then again, his father was too, and he was undoubtedly a bastard. Oh, well.

Once he was dressed, he began the dreadful trek to the kitchen for breakfast. If he was lucky, maybe he'd miss his father completely. It was about time for him to head out to work, anyway.

It was ironic, Sasuke thought. His father worked for Konoha's police force. The police. His father was a right bastard, indeed.

Before he even entered the kitchen, he heard the clang of dishes and silverware being washed up, along with running water. He stepped past the threshold and into the room, and his heart nearly stopped as he saw his father sitting at the table, sipping a cup of liquid he could only guess was coffee.

He hadn't a clue why he still reacted this way at the very sight of his father—he should be used to it. He supposed he'd be forever traumatized just by the simple site of him.

"Oh, Good morning, Sasuke!" His mother turned around from her work of washing a few dishes as she heard footsteps entering the kitchen, already knowing it to be Sasuke. She was always chipper, even early in the morning.

"Good morning, Mother...Father." He honestly hadn't meant to put strain at the mention of his father's name; that's just the way it automatically came out.

His father simply grunted in reply as he took another sip of his coffee. It was cold.

"Aren't you feeling well, dear?"

Where had that question come from? It certainly caught him off guard as he noted his mother's concerned gaze as he sat down at the table, his breakfast already waiting for him.

Oh, right. His clothes.

"I've been having the chills lately," he lied. What else was there to say? "But I'm alright," he added as an afterthought. He didn't feel like dealing with an interrogation at the moment.

"That's horrible, seeing that its about eighty degrees out today. Are you sure you're alright, Sasuke? That's not normal..."

Sasuke tried to hide the small smile that came about. Atleast someone cared, even a little.

"Well, I don't feel sick or anything, just cold every once in awhile. Since its the weekend, I figured I'd just wear this to help me out." As he was about to pick up his fork, he noticed the knowing smirk his father was giving him, obviously enjoying his struggle.

"Well, if you're sure, then..." She trailed off, not knowing whether or not to buy the short explanation her son gave her. Though if he said he was alright, what else could she do?

She turned back around, deciding to leave Sasuke to his breakfast while she finished the rest of the dishes from earlier. Though she couldn't help but to think that he was acting a little odd lately, hmm. Maybe it was just her imagination. Just maybe.

"Mother, I'm finished."

She turned around once more to find Sasuke getting up from his seat at the table, leaving behind almost a full plate of food. His father simply raised an eyebrow. What was Sasuke playing at?

"Whoa, where are you going, sweetie? You haven't even touched your food—"

"I'm going out to train. I'll be back in a bit—"

"Sasuke, I think you'd better lie down," Mikoto said worriedly, eyeing her son. "It's your day off, so you need to just relax."

"I only have 3 more days at the academy until summer break, so I'll have plenty of time off then." he politely informed, not wanting to worry her. Was she seeing through his lies finally?

"But, Sasuke, you—"

Without listening to what else she had to say, he quickly ran out of the house, just wanting to get away, away from their scrutinizing gazes. Especially his father's.He hadn't a clue how much longer he could of endured it in his presence. The air was thick and heavy in his mother's kitchen, like he was suffocating just being in the very presence of his father, and simply just couldn't bare it.

He knew of his lies, each and every one. And he knew that he was laughing inside, laughing at every move he made, every single word he uttered, daring him to say anything to his mother about the truth.

Because he knew he couldn't do it.

Everytime Sasuke had his mother alone, everytime he'd thought he'd have the nerve to talk to her about the beatings, he simply couldn't. He felt like a coward, and Uchihas were not cowards.

He had vaguely thought about telling Itachi about the incidents, but quickly shot that thought down when it occurred to him that Itachi would see him as a weakling for not being able to take care of himself, and that was exactly why his father beat him in the first place—because he wasn't like Itachi.

At age 7, he graduated from the Academy at the top of his class after only one year, mastered the Sharingan at age 8, passed the Chūnin Exams at age 10, and became an ANBU Captain at the age of 13. How could he compete with that? It was practically impossible on his part, even if he was an Uchiha!

His father absolutely could not stand that. He had already proved to Sasuke that he wouldn't stand that. He gets reminded about twice every week, when his mother and Itachi aren't around.

He continued to run from the house, surprisingly having a destination in mind. He was going to keep his word to his mother about training, so he headed towards the woods to practice throwing some shūriken. He wanted to avoid the others, so he completely bypassed the original training grounds.

He felt a trickle of sweat roll down his temple as he finally began to realize just how hot it was out here. Screw eighty degrees—it felt like one hundred!

He tried to ignore it the best he could as he finally approached a good clearing in the woods. He recognized this place—it was where his brother came all the time to train. Itachi would always take him here because he had asked to watch him practice his shūriken jutsu. Those were the good ole' days, when he didn't have to worry about his father.

It seemed as if everyday he was getting farther and farther away from his brother, and he desperately wanted to change that. He was getting farther away in skills, and from Itachi himself. It was like their bond was slowly cracking in the most crucial of places, and he hated it.

He was always away on missions. It wouldn't surprise him if in another 3 years or so he'd be nominated to become the next Hokage; everyone praised him. To say that he was jealous would be a bit of an understatement, to say the least. If only he were like Itachi, then he wouldn't have to suffer now. Maybe his father was right—he did deserve the beatings. He let everyone down, but more importantly, he let himself down. Why couldn't he be strong? Why couldn't he prove his father, and everyone else wrong? Why did it have to be this way?

So many questions, he realized, as he pulled out an arsenal of shūriken, grabbed the one closest to him, and threw it as hard as he could at the tree in front of him. He didn't aim; he just needed something to blow off a bit of steam.

Without thinking, he picked up the next one, and threw it with more ferocity than the first. Then, another—he grabbed it without looking, accidentally slicing open one of his fingers, though he continued on, blinded by an oncoming rage.

He continued that way until eventually he ran out of shūriken, and when he did, he hadn't a clue what to do. His body trembled and he was burning up, breathing madly as he could barely think.

He was never one for showing emotion, but when he walked up to one of the trees, teeth gritted, he eyed it down before giving it one of his hardest punches his tiny body could conjure up.

Unfortunately, that wasn't enough for him as he punched it once more, and again—his body growing terribly hot, drenching him in sweat. He was about to have a mental breakdown. Well, let's just say that he already was.

Half sobs left his throat as he felt himself becoming terribly light-headed, his racing heart starting to slow down by each second. He could barely feel the blood that trickled down his arm from his hand as his body slid down the trunk of the tree slowly, until eventually his body hit the ground with a force that shook him.

He felt himself starting to lose consciousness as he realized something.

Someone would find him here; someone would call the medics, and they'd check him. Someone would check his body, and see...

They'd see everything.