A/N: Hi. You might want to go back to the first chapter if you've read this when it was a one-shot. (I mean, it's not necessary, but you know.)
You
"I want to teach her how to be a ninja," your father declares from the kitchen, as you sit in the middle of the staircase and listen. He knows you're there, but he lets you think that you're being sneaky. "She needs to know how to protect herself."
"No." Your mother's voice is hard with resolve. It's much different than the soft murmurs of motherly love, you realise. "I won't have you choosing her future as a ninja."
You hear him scoff, and your tiny fingers grip the rails of the stairs as you scoot closer to it. "As opposed to you choosing her future as a civilian? Do you think you're any better?" is his quick and sharp retort. (It feels like it cuts you, and you wonder if your mother feels it, too.)
This is when you leave; you go back upstairs and enter your room because you've already heard this before. They don't realise that they should ask you what you want to do, but they do realise that if they were to ask, you would be indecisive.
You want to please them both. You can't.
The realisation hurts. Resentment begins to build up within your small body and you try to push away this negative emotion, along with all the other bad feelings that accompany it. (Because that's healthy, isn't it? Bottle up the emotions and hope they don't choke you.)
They disappear into the dark crevices of your mind; where I reside.
I reluctantly take your unwanted emotions. (Reluctant. Resigned.) I know that they will change me into something that will be pleasant for neither of us. But you can't hear me, so I can't tell you to learn to accept that you're not perfect and that you never will be. I can't tell you that you don't need to be perfect.
You are beautiful in your own way. You are your own existence. You shouldn't be ashamed that you are alive, you know.
I'm sorry that I can't do more for you. As you learn to perfect an insincere smile, I'll probably come to hate you. I don't want to, but I'm sure it's inevitable. With what little time I have, left to be an existence untainted by your darkest emotions, I will try to help you in the meantime.
I know it's not enough… I know. I will try, nonetheless.
(All we can do is try.)
. . .
. . .
He's very cute, I understand. He draws in your eye like he does with everyone else. There are many things to admire about him; he's an Uchiha, and the younger brother of the prodigious clan heir. Of course, there are going to be things to admire him for. He's talented and pretty and somewhat 'cool' in that special way that only children can be.
You focus too much on him, however. (It irritates me.) You're toying with the idea to enter the Ninja Academy just because you know that he will, rather because of any personal desire to become a ninja yourself. (Wow, Sakura. Wow.)
Your mother will be devastated, but your father will be pleased.
That is, of course, until you inevitably tell them that it's because you have your eye on a boy that's never even looked in your direction before.
There are times when the emotions you've forced into my space spill out, back into your space and it's the only way I can attempt ̶ (and only attempt because it rarely works out) ̶ to get you to rethink your decisions. It's unintentional, most of the time. Because you're the one in control and you're the one who seems to have developed an unhealthy habit of pushing down feelings that you don't want to feel.
(They'll be so disappointed to realise that you're choosing your future because of a boy who doesn't even know your name.)
You still don't know that I'm here, that I'm actually an existence with a thought process of my own. You understand that I'm a side of you that you don't want to accept, but you don't understand enough.
(It's never enough. You're never enough. We're never enough.)
So you think that it's only you who conjures all these words of discouragement and doubt, and so you become annoyed. Because you should be able to control yourself and your thoughts, right?
I laugh. It's a harsh, bitter thing that is swallowed by the dark and heard by no one; not even me.
. . .
. . .
You pride yourself on your intelligence; on your ability to think rationally and quickly. (If only I could be proud of you, as well.)
Somehow, you come up with the idea to introduce yourself to Uchiha Sasuke and get to know him a little more before you really decide if you want to enter the Academy for him or not. You smile to yourself, nodding with determination as your bottled emotions are forced back into my space.
(It's so cramped and I feel like I'm suffocating.
I would shout at you in frustration, but my screams would be smothered and consumed by the emptiness around me.
It's devastating to realise just how bitter and broken I am steadily becoming because of you.)
For all your proud intelligence, you don't realise that approaching your current object of fascination would put you on the radar of other little girls who are much more vicious than you are. You already have enough troubles with the few bullies already in your life, and you wish to add more on your plate by drawing the attention of others?
It's not because you can hear me that you take pause, but nonetheless, I'm grateful that you decide to think further on this. It's the small blessings that I have to appreciate, or I will be unable to appreciate anything. I don't need that, but I have quite a few things that I don't want nor need, so I'll probably get it, regardless.
You decide to learn more about him before you approach him, so that he's less likely to push you away as he does to others who are brave enough to approach. Your father would be proud, in different circumstances.
He would be proud if you were looking for the weaknesses of your bullies so that you could create a plan to cull them from your life. But you are too kind to do that to them, you often think to yourself. (Kind, you say. Kind? Is that it?)
And yet, you're somehow ambitious enough to pursue a heavily popular child of your generation.
You truly are a conflicting existence, aren't you? I already know, but I still manage to be surprised almost every time I'm reminded, even when I shouldn't be.
I'm here, after all, and I'm the biggest form of proof of your shattered being.
(I shouldn't be surprised. I shouldn't be anything.)
You
A/N: Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.