When she wakes up the next day, her eyes hurt. Her throat feels raw. Her body aches. She's in no mood to get out of her bed, let alone force herself to school, especially since she will be forced to face Naruto and Sasuke. Itachi did say that he wouldn't tell Sasuke, but could she really trust him? Stop being silly, she thinks to herself, he has nothing to gain from lying. He isn't your mother. He stayed with you, for the entire evening, while you cried like a baby; that alone should be worth something, shouldn't it? These thoughts distract her from the sound of knocking at the door of her bedroom. She doesn't even notice when, upon receiving no answer, her visitor enters the room.
"Sakura," her visitor says.
Startled from her thoughts, she abruptly sits up in her bed. Her head spins. Through her blurry vision, she can vaguely identify the outline of her mother at the foot of her bed.
"Sakura, why are you still asleep? You should be getting ready for school," her mother says.
"I'm sorry," Sakura says.
"Sorry. You're sorry," her mother says. "Maybe you wouldn't have overslept if you had come home at a normal time yesterday, hm?"
"I'm sorry. I lost track of the time," Sakura says.
"Listen, Sakura, I don't care. You will do better next time. Things in this city have been going good for us. I can't have you, staying out all evening doing God knows what, ruining this for us… again," her mother says.
"I understand, mother. It won't happen again," Sakura says.
Her mother flinches slightly, before moving to the side of the bed. She slaps Sakura across the face.
"Why did you call me that, Sakura? You should know better," she says.
"I'm not feeling too well this morning," Sakura says. "It was a mistake."
"I do not accept mistakes," her mother says.
"I understand," Sakura says.
"Good. Get ready for school," her mother says while exiting the room.
Sakura, having held her tongue for the majority of the exchange, lets out a deep breath. She ignores the sting on her cheek. Refusing to think about the exchange, she gets up from her bed to dress for the day. She views herself in the mirror, noting that she may need makeup to cover the bags beneath her eyes. The thoughts of her mother attempt to push their way through; she fights them back. She fails. I wonder, she thinks, if she would be happier if I were not here. Her hands move on their own accord, wrapping themselves around her neck. She applies pressure. Her breath comes out in short, pained puffs. As her eyes water, she attempts a laugh.
Oh, she thinks, how easy it is to die. If only it were this easy to live.
She ignores Naruto and Sasuke at school. They sneak glances at her throughout the morning, she knows, but does not hold the energy to deal with it. She does not want to be questioned for her poor mood. Some part of her wishes to confide in them, but the other part is still convinced of their betrayal. Her hormone-driven thoughts, mixed with the memory of her mother, make her feel like vomiting. She excuses herself from class to do just that.
When she exits the bathroom, the hallway is still empty; apparently, classes hadn't changed yet. It didn't matter much to her. She walks through the hall, listening to the sound of her footsteps echo and bounce off the walls. She walks to the front doors, opens them, and steps outside. Her mind holds no worry about being seen. She has no destination in mind, but her legs keep moving. They seem to have a mind of their own. She lets her legs guide her, paying little attention to her surroundings. Thoughts trickle in and out of her head, nothing seemingly good enough to stay at the forefront of her mind. One word, however, remains prominent among the rest: Itachi. She remembers thinking about him, earlier, before her mother interrupted. What would he tell me now, she wonders, would he still be willing to help?
As it turns out, her legs have guided her back to the forest from the previous day. She stops walking, allowing her senses to reach out upon her surroundings; she breathes in, noticing the smell of dirt and leaves and water. There is greenery ahead of her, trees and bushes as far as the eye can see. She hears the swish of water from the creek. She feels a feather-light touch on her hand.
"Sakura," he says.
"Itachi," she says.
"You should be in school," he says.
"I know," she says.
Sakura moves to sit on the ground and Itachi next to her, similar to their positions from yesterday. They sit in their usual, comfortable silence for several moments before he speaks.
"Why," he says, as if it were a statement rather than a question. She takes no offense.
"I cried too much yesterday," she says. "I don't feel well today."
"Is that all?" he asks.
"No," she says.
"Tell me," he says.
"My mother doesn't want to be my mother," she says.
He doesn't respond immediately, instead choosing to carefully consider the words. His eyes close. Sakura watches him, uncaring as to whether or not he catches her; she is too tired for that. He eventually responds, though does not open his eyes.
"How does that make you feel?" he asks.
Sakura moves her eyes away from him, choosing to instead stare at the sky. "It doesn't make me feel anything," she says. "Not anymore."
"Yet, you are in pain," he says.
"Because these feelings are not my own, I am not my own self. I am a mixture of what everyone else wants me to be. I am my mother's anger, my father's neglect, Naruto and Sasuke's suspicion; they combine to form pain, to form despair," she says.
"I do not agree with that," he says.
"Why?" she asks.
"Because I saw you cry. Those tears were your own," he says.
The corner of her lip curls up to form a lopsided smile. She closes her eyes. This time, Itachi is the one to look at her. A lone tear runs down her face, and he resists the urge to wipe it away.
"Why do you always find me at my lowest?" she asks.
"Fate, perhaps," he says.
"If this is fate, then I suppose living isn't so bad after all," she says.
