Author's Note: Hello. Here is the second part of the story. Thank you to the super readers who added this story to alerts and faves, plus a huge thank you to my reviewers. Thank you kindly! Anyway, please read and review.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto because Masashi Kishimoto already does.

WARNING: This part contains emotional anguish and acts of self-harm. Reader discretion is advised...

Scars

Part Two: Opening the Wounds

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I wiped away the steam that hid my reflection on the glassy surface. I saw my face, noting the similarities of how I looked as a kid and how I currently look as a 19-year-old. My hair was still the same blue-black shade and my skin was still pale. I did, however, notice one key difference. My eyes. Sure, they were the same color, but they seemed more... emptier somehow than ever before. It was strange, but not entirely unexpected. After all, my life itself is empty. For the past two weeks, I've done nothing but work odd jobs and get dirty looks from the villagers. I'm avoided like I have the bubonic plague, but to tell you the truth, that doesn't particularly bother me. People piss me off. The further they are from me, the better.

Continuing the inspection of my image in the mirror, my gaze fell on the straight pink lines that adorned my wrists. They were the remnants of a hobby I picked up in prison; cutting.

Yes, the supposedly 'emo boy' cuts himself. Big shocker, huh? Of course I'm being sarcastic, but yes, I have cut myself.

Why?

The answer is simple; I was bored. Being in prison is excruciatingly boring and one day, I found a loose scrap of metal attached to the base of my cot. With nothing else to do, I started working to remove it and ended up cutting my finger in the process. Watching the blood fall from my fingertip was interesting to me and for some reason, I wanted see it bleed more. I used the sharp metal fragment to open the wound a bit, drawing more blood. After that, I ran the makeshift blade across my palm, slicing it open and starting a bizarre habit. Whenever I felt bored or when I would think about the circumstances of my incarceration, I would pull out my trusty 'razor' and start carving at my skin. For me, it was a stress reliever. Messy, but effective. I always felt better afterwards even though the injuries hurt and bled. The pain was bearable as long I was careful to avoid cutting myself too deeply.

For the most part, I was able to keep my 'hobby' a secret until I cut my left wrist so badly that it wouldn't stop bleeding nor could I hide it. A prison guard who brought me food that day almost had a panic attack when she saw it. For more shock value, I showed her all the slice marks I had given myself and flashed my Sharingan, startling her even more. She tossed my food up in the air and took off running as if she had just seen a ghost, screaming all the while. Despite the fact that I was losing blood at alarming rate, I couldn't help but laugh at the scene. Of course, the prison warden wasn't happy when he saw what was going on and the prison doctor even turned pale at the bloody scene. I could only imagine what they saw that day; a teenage murderer soaked in his own blood laughing maniacally. After that incident, my cell was inspected thoroughly each day and all potentially sharp objects were kept away from me. With nothing to keep them open, the cuts healed but the evidence of what I had done was still visible in the form of scars.

Scars...

The word danced around in my mind as I continued to stare in the mirror. In addition to my self-inflicted wounds, I couldn't help but notice the others scars on my body. These ones were from my life as a ninja. My battle scars decorated my arms, chest, and back. They served as an eternal reminder of the things I done, the people I've fought, and the lives I've taken... including Itachi's, my own brother and the last member of my family.

Remembering this, I shivered involuntarily as a wave of nausea came over me. I was used to this. Every time I thought about Itachi, I felt like this and knew what it was; guilt. A lingering sense of guilt that has never left me since the day he died. I knew the role I played in his demise and it haunted me, especially the knowledge that when I had spent so many years hating him and striving to surpass him in power, Itachi had spent those same years worrying about me and praying I was safe and happy. Because of what I didn't know about the night of the Uchiha clan massacre, I hated my only brother and wanted nothing more than to see him dead. But now that he was dead and I knew the truth, I wasn't happy. All I felt was this horrid sense of remorse caused by the knowledge that I ended the life of someone who had loved me.

Closing my eyes, I sighed loudly and leaned on the counter near the bathroom sink. I felt sick. Worse than sick. It was as if my guts were being ripped out and tossed in a blender set to puree. I panted as my heart beat painfully in my chest and uncomfortable prickling sensation appeared behind my eyes. I tried to focus on the cold granite beneath my fingers and the tile beneath my bare feet. Anything but this horrendous feeling. I needed a distraction. I didn't care what it was. Anything that would take my mind off of this feeling...

"Sasuke!"

Startled by the sound of someone calling me, I quickly pulled away from the counter, my eyes locked on the bathroom door left ajar. I could hear someone impatiently pounding on the front door, calling me once again. "Hey, Sasuke! Are you in there?"

Recognizing the voice of a certain dobe-turned-Hokage, I sighed in relief, realizing my distraction had just arrived. I shouted back my reply, "Yes, you idiot! Where else would I possibly be?"

"OK, I was just checking!" Naruto shouted back. There was a brief pause before he continued, sounding almost hesitant. "Can you come out for a bit? I want to ask you something."

I was surprised by his tone. It almost seemed like he was nervous or timid... I rolled my eyes at the thought. Naruto was never shy about anything. If he wanted to ask me something, he should just do it now. Why should I go out if I didn't have to? "No." I said loud enough for him to hear.

"Come on, you bastard! It's not going to kill you!" replied Naruto, growing annoyed with me.

I smirked slightly at how easy it was to anger him. After all these years, he was still the same person I remembered; a quick-tempered moron with an odd infatuation with wearing the color orange. Suddenly, a wave of something akin to happiness washed over me. I felt good, although I wasn't sure why. Because of this mood shift, I decided to humor the dobe at my doorstep. "I'll be right there. Just give me a minute to get dressed." I said loudly.

"Hurry up!" he answered back happily.

I rolled my eyes before leaving the small bathroom and crossing the hall to my small bedroom. I pushed open the door and glanced around at the plain little room. I'm not a decorating type of person so, naturally, I had few furnishings in my room. Aside from a nightstand and a table lamp, a neatly-made bed sat in the corner next to a decently sized wardrobe made of solid oak. I strode over to the wardrobe and opened it, the hinged door creaking lightly. Since I was already wearing a pair of black pants that I had put on after my shower, all I needed was a shirt. I pulled out a grey long-sleeved one with an Uchiha crest on the back and pulled it over my head, adjusting the sleeves. I was careful to make sure the sleeves hid my scars. The last thing I needed was for Naruto to see them. Knowing him, he would make a huge irritating fuss over them even though they weren't a big deal to me.

Once I finished dressing, I left my room and headed towards the living room. It was even barer than the bedroom. All I had was an armchair, bookcase with several books and a lamp, all bought second-hand with my meager salary. I didn't need any more than that, so why bother getting anything else?

"Sasuke! Did you get lost?" Naruto asked just before I reached the door. I opened it, greeting him with a glare. "Only a complete moron would get lost in a house this small." I said, closing the door behind me and locking it.

Naruto grinned broadly at me. "Don't you want to know what I'm going to ask you?"

"No."

Naruto wasn't fazed by my lack of disinterest. He continued blithely, "Anyway, I was wondering if you'd like to grab a bowl of ramen with me. I know you don't like it that much, but I figured it could be a nice treat. What do you say?"

I said nothing, only narrowed my eyes slightly.

"It's my treat." He added when I didn't respond.

I shrugged, "Whatever." As long as I didn't have to pay for his potentially ridiculously high ramen bill, I didn't care.

I expected him to get peeved over my lack of enthusiasm for his beloved ramen, but instead his grin widened. "Great! Let's go!" With that, he grabbed my arm and took off running towards Ichiraku, dragging me along with him.

Ten Hours Later...

"Well, that was fun. Don't you think so, Sasuke?" Naruto asked me as we arrived at my doorstep that night around midnight.

"Hn... I guess." I replied, fishing my house keys out of my pocket to unlock the door.

"I guess?" Naruto repeated in disbelief. "What kind of answer is that?"

I pushed the door open, "The kind I usually say."

Naruto frowned, "You know, it wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer."

"Maybe not, but why should I take the risk by trying?" I replied with a smirk, hoping to aggravate him a little.

Instead, Naruto grinned at me, "It's nice to see you haven't changed much after all this time. I'm glad."

"Hn." I replied simply, realizing that I felt the same as him.

Naruto shifted on the doorstep, "So, anyway, I guess I should go now. It's getting kinda late and I have a meeting with the council tomorrow at eight." He sighed, "I hate those meetings. They're so boring. That and all the paperwork I'll have to do after..."

"Well, you'd better get going then. I highly doubt the council members will appreciate you falling asleep during the meeting."

Stifling a yawn, Naruto nodded, "Yeah. They got mad the last time I did that." He turned away from me, but not before grinning widely at me once again. "Good night, Sasuke. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

I waved him off, "Later, dobe."

Naruto waved back and started walking away from me. I watched him for a few seconds before I entered my darkened house. Once inside, I closed the door and slowly felt my way to the lamp, switching it on. I plopped myself down in my single armchair, reflecting on the day's events.

After Naruto and I arrived at Ichiraku's, Sakura and Yamanaka Ino passed by and said hello. Naruto asked them if they wanted to join us and the girls accepted his invitation. Sakura was friendly towards me, but Ino kept her distance from me at first. She seemed uncomfortable around me and spent most of her time talking to Sakura and, to my surprise, flirting with Naruto. Naruto was oblivious to her advances and he was always sure to try to include me in their conversations. After an hour or so, Ino finally did start warming up to me a bit, and to my relief, didn't flirt with me. Just Naruto. In all honesty, I was surprised by that. When I was younger, Ino used to flirt with me shamelessly and would ignore Naruto. Today, the opposite was true. It was interesting, to say the least.

After the meal, Ino and Sakura thanked Naruto before saying bye. I wanted to go home and told him so, but Naruto, being the dobe that he is, didn't get the hint. Instead, he dragged me all over Konoha to meet with everyone that I used to know. I didn't want to, but it's difficult to stop a ramen-fueled, hyperactive Hokage who had his mind firmly set on something.

For the most part, the impromptu reunions went moderately well. Hatake Kakashi greeted me as if he was still my sensei and treated me the same way he did when I was a kid. The other people I had known during my childhood acted differently. They behaved oddly around me. It was as if they didn't know how to act around a former Konoha shinobi turned missing nin, turned wanted criminal, turned prisoner, and finally freed prisoner given a second chance. But awkwardness aside, the day had been decently spent, and for the first time in a long time, I felt good about being in Konoha. In fact, I felt good in general, and because of that, I was relaxed and it wasn't long before I nodded off on that armchair, starting to believe I could have a normal life in Konoha.

At about 4 in the morning, I awoke with a start. My neck was sore from sleeping upright and I just had a very morbid dream. I had seen bits and pieces of all the battles I fought and the blood I had shed. All the images were blended together to form a gruesome collage of my past. The worst part of the dream was the fact that no matter whom it was that I fought, they always said the same thing, "With everything you've done, you don't deserve to be happy."

I will admit that I have heard worse things told to me, but the reason why this bothered me enough to wake me up was the fact that they said it with such a grave conviction. Even after I won the battles, the words of my opponents continued to echo in my head. Even now, as I slowly rose from the armchair, I could hear them. I tried to ignore the words as I flipped off the lamp that I had left on, leaving me in the darkness. I took a deep breath and exhaled, focusing on the silence in my house.

There's no one here except me. I thought, hearing nothing but my own intake of breath. It was enough to calm me and I made my way to the bathroom.

I felt for the door to the bathroom and pushed it open wide enough to slip inside. I flicked on the light switch before facing the sink and turning on the tap. The clear water flowed freely and I lowered my head over the sink basin to wash my face, closing my eyes. Once I started splashing water over my skin, I began to forget about my dream. The water was warm and even comforting in a sense.

Warmth and comfort…

For a split second, an image of Naruto entered my mind, wearing his brightest grin. It was the same look he had on his face right before he and I took off to get ramen. I don't know why he was so happy for something so simple. Even though it didn't make complete sense to me, it was still nice to be a part of that moment of his happiness.

Realizing my thoughts were straying in an odd direction, I turned off the water and reached for a hand towel I knew to be nearby. Even with my eyes closed, I found it and drew it towards me to dry off my face. I rubbed at my eyes for a few seconds before glancing in the mirror.

I dropped the towel and gasped, my sharp intake of breath too loud in the near-silent room. Without thinking about it, I curled the fingers of my right hand into a fist and launched it into the reflective surface, shattering the glass into dozens of razor-sharp shards that flew into the sink basin and broke against the counter and floor. I drew away in horror, backing up against the wall until I could go no further. I slid down the wall, clutching my now-bloody hand. But the injury is not what bothered me.

In the mirror, I did not see my reflection. I saw Itachi's. My dead brother's face was peering back at me sadly, as though I had done something that had severely disappointed him in some way. I knew I had only been seeing things but the question refused to go away. What had I done?

Forgetting the pain of my bloody knuckles, I thought about my day and how I had spent it. It hadn't been anything bad, right? Just spending it with Naruto, then I had fallen asleep… happily.

My mind reeled from the revelation. That was it; I had been happy to be in Konoha… and I didn't deserve any of it. I knew I didn't. How could I forget everything that I've done these past years? I shouldn't have been allowed to forget, even for a minute, and Itachi had simply been reminding me of that fact.

I needed to do something that would serve as a reminder of my past that would never go away…

My eyes fell on the broken glass that was scattered on the floor. I picked up the largest shard and examined it. The piece was about six inches long with a flat base that tapered off into a needle-sharp point. It was perfect for what I had decided to do.

I set the glass shard onto my lap and pulled up the long sleeves of my shirt. My bleeding right hand trembled from pain, but I ignored it. I transferred the piece of glass to my undamaged left hand and gripped it tightly, the jagged edges cutting into my palm slightly. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for what I was about to do.

Slowly, I brought the make-shift razor across my skin of my right wrist. A line of blood appeared at the surface. I applied more pressure and dragged the glass across the old scars on my skin, the flesh splitting easily, once again opening the wounds.