Hahaha! I am back! Yay! With an INCREDIBLY! long chapter! Yeah, real sorry about that... So, I'm finally having Gaara in this chapter though it's not for a very long part, but I love the way they first meet, it's just so… squeals
Readers: God, she needs to get a life, and calm down.
Me: I have a life, I just find it rather boring! smiles
Readers: …
Me: IT'S GAARA FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
Readers: …true.
Me: I win!
Readers: sweatdrop
So, I think this is a long enough intro, TIME FOR MEH CHAPTER! MWUHAHAHA!
Readers: Yay. waves flag "enthusiastically"
Me: pouts
A white canvas.
A small world full of openings for those with imagination.
A never ending book of pictures, and of dreams…
A place where you have the opportunity to create a world you long for.
I bring the brush down across its clear surface, scarring it with a single thin line, dripping as the liquid overflows from the action.
It slides down, carving its path through the endless white, leaving a trail like dark blood along its side.
Each individual path twists and turns, slow and unmoving, then falling and running the next.
The paint flows, creating a cobweb of lines, a pattern of freedom.
When I paint, I do not tell the colors where to go, instead, I let them choose their own destination.
Each drop knows where they wish to be on their own, so why should I change that?
I have seen many portraits made by many famous artists from all over the world. Their works are beautiful and perfect, yet they give off no emotion, no feeling of peace.
This is because those artists tried to play God, creating a picture of beauty out of nothing.
They have not even realized that each drop of paint has a will of its own, and that is why…
The soft bristles of my paint brush dip into the can of dark red paint, saturating it in its bloody color, then delicately, gently, I return the brush to the smooth canvas, press it lightly to its edge, and watch as it creates its own life.
…the perfect painting, one that rivals that of the work of God, has never been brought into existence.
A soft tapping rings from the door blocking the hallway.
"Yes?" I ask sweetly.
The door opens hesitantly, and soon a small round face, encased in chocolate silken curls, pokes itself into my room.
The face opens its lips nervously, letting out a shaky, uncertain voice. "Young Miss, dinner is ready. Please follow me downstairs to the dining hall."
"Of course." I say pleasantly, allowing a truly peaceful smile to grace my lips.
The maid gives a small sigh of relief at the fact that I am no longer angry at her from yesterday's first meeting.
The door opens more, and she allows her uniformed self to come completely into my room.
"I'll be ready in just a minute." I inform politely as I let one more stroke stain itself on the canvas.
"Of course, Young Miss."
She walks forward respectfully, making her way toward my side.
She stops and bows her head slightly when she's still a few meters away form me, signifying that she still understands our difference in rank. Something I actually wished she hadn't remembered. "Shall I help you with your attire, Young Miss?" she asks, head still bowed.
"No, I think I'm good by myself." I say jokingly, allowing another smile to brighten my face.
She stares at me with her honey eyes looking directly into my own. When she realizes that I am truly fine, she lets a smile of her own reply to mine, not as sincere as my own, but still showing her true feelings.
"Is there a special occasion for your happiness, Young Miss?" she questions, tilting her head to the side, which only makes her relief more noticeable.
A wave of relaxation washes over me.
I return my gaze toward my canvas, resting the handle of the paintbrush on my leg, carefully avoiding getting paint on myself. "Not really, I've just been painting is all."
I blush slightly.
I've never really told someone something so personal. Sure people know that I paint, but I never tell anyone what it truly means to me. I feel better now that I have.
At first the maid is taken back by my sudden openness, but that is soon replaced by an eager curiosity. "Is that so? Would you mind if I take a look, Young Miss?" she pleads, though she tries to hide the excitement from her voice.
I spin my gaze to her, barely retaining my laugh.
Her face is so childishly expectant that it's near impossible to resist her request.
"Of course, you can look all you want. I'll just be changing into my clothes for dinner." I voice, though it's fluttering with my concealed giggles.
"Thank you, Young Miss!" she nearly snaps in reply.
She must have been really excited.
I smile again, setting my still-wet paintbrush on the ledge of the easel, and gently stand up from the stool in front of today's painting.
My legs carry me toward my walk-in-closet, while my arms shift through the endless styles of clothes residing there, trying to find a proper outfit. "Am I late?" I ask.
She replies as I hear her footsteps walking toward my canvas. "No, you still have around fifteen minutes before the meal actually starts, Young Miss."
"Oh, that's good." I say for the sake of conversation.
Not wanting to be too picky about what I should wear, I decided on a bright sapphire blue button up cotton blouse (it sounds expensive, but it's really quite a simple looking thing), and a pair of dark navy blue jeans.
I cross my arms in front of my chest to remove my dirty paint-shirt, and then let my hands slide down to remove my shorts.
A moment of fear crosses my mind. "It isn't supposed to be a very formal dinner, is it? Like the meeting today was?"
"No. It's just dinner." she says absent mindedly.
I smile.
She forgot to say Young Miss.
I inspect myself to see if there's any paint visible.
Sure enough, there's a few splotches of it on my arms.
I sigh.
"And here I was so careful too." I say to myself.
I walk over toward my bed to find my paint-remover, the kind that works great on skin, though I'm only in my bra and underwear.
I pass the line of vision of the maid, but she either doesn't care or just doesn't notice my attire, as she never looks up from my painting.
Finding the small bottle I was looking for out of the twelve other bottles on top of the head board, I lather some on my hands, then proceed to apply the substance to my arms.
Not even a minute later the paint is no longer visible, man, I love that stuff!
I return the bottle to my headboard once again, and return back to the closet to get dressed.
The fabric of the shirt is cold against my skin, giving me a slight case of goose-bumps.
The jeans on the other hand, were room temperature, so I had no problems with them, besides the fact that the fabric of them was a little scratchy, but that's only to be expected since I haven't broken them in yet.
I sigh at the small amount of exercise, turning to return to the maid.
She's been staring at the canvas for a long time.
"Excuse me…" I say quietly, not wanting to startle her in her moment of intense concentration.
No response.
I work my way toward her side, trying to see what she was so focused on, at an awkward angle.
The canvas has been marked with countless streams of lines, some crossing, others going strait, while others are jagged and unpredictable.
I look at her face, as if that would help me figure out why she was so interested.
Her eyes were weaving back and forth through the different patterns, making sure not to miss a single spot. Her jaw was set firmly, though she was slightly biting her lip in concentration.
She's really starting to worry me.
"Something wrong?"
"Wha-" she jumps startled.
I let out a small giggle.
"Y-Young Miss!" she exclaims, trying to calm herself down with a comforting hand to her chest. "You startled me."
"I see that, forgive me?"
I jut my lip out childishly, tilting my head slightly to the side, while I move my shoulders forward to half heartedly cross my arms near my wrist.
My all-famous Puppy Pout.
Her eyes fill with my adorableness. "Of course, Young Miss, I was just amazed by your painting." she quickly informs.
"That's good." I say, returned to my normal self, "You were so focused that I thought you had lost consciousness or something."
"Oh, I'm sorry, it's just that…"
"Yes?" I inquire.
"Did you paint this stroke for stroke, or did you just let the paint drip?"
"The latter."
Her honey eyes stare at me, trying to see whether I'm telling the truth or not.
"If you don't believe me just look at the paths the paint took." I remind boredly, crossing my arms. "I don't have a brush small enough to make those paths, nor do I have one to make the hardened paint drops near the top and bottom of the canvas."
She returns her eyes toward the painting.
"That's what I thought too…but, it's just not possible!"
"Is something wrong?"
Seriously, it's just a painting, it's not like it's a detailed map to El Dorado.
"Can't you see it?" she asks desperately.
"See what?" I say from her shoulder.
"Here," she says directing me to where she was standing. "Look at it from here. There. You see it right?" she asks with even more desperation, begging me to tell her that she's not crazy.
So I look.
And I see.
From an angle you couldn't tell any kind of difference in the patterns of the paint droplets, but from directly in front…
"It's a flower."
She nods franticly, happy to see that I, too, realized what had happened.
The crisscrossing of the paths were everywhere, with random openings of white, but in the center of the canvas were larger openings, which, coincidentally, looked like I had purposely put them there to make a perfect replica of a pure white flower.
"It's not that strange. The paint merely went where it wanted to."
She gives me a strange look while I'm too busy inspecting how two pathways had run along side each other, only millimeters from each other, to form a stem, while others had run in a near circle, causing each individual petal on the flower.
"You have an amazing talent, Young Miss. It's almost supernatural."
"Go."
"What?" she yelps worriedly, thinking she had insulted me and that I was sending her away.
I correct myself for her.
"It's time for us to go. You know, dinner?"
"Ah! I almost forgot!" she cries in both relief and depression at forgetting her job.
She scurries toward the door, while I follow closely behind.
"Do you have any hobbies?" Fugaku asks suddenly, breaking the silence of the dinner table.
He's staring at me, cold eyes intensified by the small glow given off by the overhanging chandelier, demanding to know, while his voice was pleasant and businesslike.
"Painting." is all I tell him before I shove another forkful of some unpronounceable French cuisine into my mouth.
"I see."
Another moment of silence…
"She's quite good actually." the woman at the other end of the table informs suddenly, not liking the returned silence. "She's even had a few of her canvases sold to museums and private collectors around the world!"
That earns a look from Fugaku, as well as a shocked stare from Sasuke, and an unreadable gaze from Itachi.
I wish I was invisible…or was at least able to shrink…
I slouch back in the chair to get away from all the attention, poking my Sterling sliver fork at my barely-touched meal to move the strange food around my plate, making it look like I was eating more than I actually was.
Fugaku does something, the woman giggles.
He must have smiled.
It's sad actually. The woman does not realize that his smiles do not reach his eyes.
Oh well, if she doesn't realize it she can't get hurt.
I continue to push the food around my plate, fingers of my unoccupied hand drumming away on the gleaming Oakwood table.
As my irritation and humiliation increases, so does the speed of my finger tapping.
"Mai tells me that you've apprenticed under Lady Tsunade. Is that true?" Fugaku demands suddenly, masking his orders with his businesslike tone.
Another wave of silence, this one more intense than the last.
This time there isn't even the pleasure of forks screeching across plates.
I look up hesitantly.
Sasuke's mouth is hanging open out of shock, even Itachi's is slightly open.
I turn toward the woman. She's smiling proudly.
I drop my fork onto my plate, letting its clank echo throughout the silence.
The woman just had to tell them that I had apprenticed under the most famous medic ever known.
I now have an aching wish that I would have been born as a chameleon.
Itachi and Sasuke still won't say anything, though Itachi had the decency to close his mouth. Sasuke still hadn't caught on.
"It's impolite to not answer a question, Sakura." the head Uchiha says seriously, a slight cruel coldness to his voice, though it's still hidden by his cleverly created tone.
I feel myself sweating under his intense gaze, grateful that I was able to shield my shudder.
I even catch a sympathetic glance from Sasuke. He must be just as wary of his father as I am right now.
"Yes." is all I manage to say in reply.
He places another bite of French food into his mouth as proof of his contentment.
He swallows, then sends me another serious gaze, one that chills me to the bone.
"Sakura, as of now you are living with us, but you are not an Uchiha." he starts seriously. "I will not adopt you until you have proven that you are able to represent the Uchiha family. I have already called and set up an appointment with Tsunade, there we will arrange your return as her apprentice."
"Wha-"
"You will be driven to and from school along with Sasuke and Itachi in our limousine. You are still a Haruno as of now, so in no way should you flaunt, or make public, the fact that you are living with us."
Who does this bastard think he is! Ordering me around! No fucking way will I abide to this! And no way in hell will I be going back to Tsuande!
My hands are clenching into themselves so tightly they've gone numb.
I bite my lip to conceal my hatred.
"Also, though you have had paintings sold to museums and private collectors, painting is not seen as a respectful job. You are to quit that pointless hobby and join some other activity. You could join Itachi on the Student Council or join the Debate Team, both of which are thought highly of in today's society. There is also the option of-"
I slam my clenched fists onto the table, making everyone jump.
"Don't fuck around!" I scream, standing up in fury.
"Darling!" the woman snaps in horror.
I ignore her and send my heated glare to an angry Fugaku.
"Return to Tsuande, quit painting, join the goddamn Debate Team! Are you out of your fucking mind!? I'm not an Uchiha yet you get to order me around and control my life when no one even knows about it! That's the most idiotic bullshit I've ever heard!" I scream.
"Excuse me?" the man hisses, trying his best to control his boiling anger, which is apparent in his red face.
"Baby, apologize!" the woman cries out to me.
I unclench my hands and lay them flat on the table, breathing out a sigh to try and calm me.
"I'm sorry. How inconsiderate of me." I say with full sincerity. I send the red faced man a small smile to back it up. "You must not have understood what I just said. Let me sum it up. I refuse and you're an idiot."
With that I shove myself away from the table and storm toward the exit of the dining hall.
"Where are you going!?" the hysteric woman demands of me.
"I'm tired, I'm going to take my meds and go to bed. Duh." I say irritably.
She slumps back into her chair.
The last thing I hear is the aftermath of my performance. "Please don't think badly of her, she's just edgy because she forgot to take her medication. She's really not like this! I swear!"
"Sasuke, Itachi, it's late. Go to bed." Fugaku orders.
"Yes, Father." is their only reply.
Why?
I'm slumped against the cold wood of my door, securely inside my darkened bedroom.
I don't want to be owned. Why can't people just let me be myself!?
My knees bring themselves to my face, and I bury my head in them, trying to stop the tears threatening to come out of my eyes.
Just because of my name…
I squeeze my legs tighter until I can't stand the pain.
My shoulders start shaking and a warm sensation is rolling down my cheeks.
My pale hand cups the skin, then reveals itself in front of my face.
Water.
These are…tears…
I let my hand fall, and more water flows from my eyes.
And for the first time in two years…
…I cried.
I hate this! I hate this! I hate this! I hate this! I hate this!
All of it! I HATE IT!
I pick up a blank canvas and throw it off of its easel and anything else I can get my hands on.
Nothing matters right!? As long as I obey your goddamn orders everything is fine! You'll get what you want! But I'll hate it! I'll hate every single fucking minute of it! And I'll be sure to make your life a living hell! I SWEAR IT!
A magazine is lying on the floor, I pick it up and rip out all of its pages.
I'm in front of my new painting now.
That damned thing.
I'm not supposed to paint right?
Talent my ass! It's all just a goddamn hobby!
I HATE IT!
The can of dark red paint is still almost completely full.
I'll show them.
I pick it up and fling its contents at the dried painting with so much force that half of it comes back and drenches me.
Go wherever you damn well please! I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE!
With all my strength I throw the empty can across the room.
Why?
I'm not sad. SO WHY THE FUCK AM I CRYING! I DON'T GIVE A DAMNED SHIT WHAT THEY THINK! THEY COULD ALL DIE FOR ALL I CARE! A GROTESQUE BLOODY DEATH!
Suddenly all my anger has gone away, leaving me panting and tired, and still completely depressed.
I don't want to be here.
I can't stand this place anymore!
I look around frantically, looking for a way out.
There!
I run toward my freedom, open its gated doors, and leap from my cage.
I'm falling.
An excited feeling erupts in my stomach, and a massive jolt of adrenaline burst throughout my veins.
I land on the ground with a painful, yet manageable, dismount.
I look back toward my open bedroom window, located on the second floor.
Thank God that window was located in the front of the house!!
Seeing an empty dirt path, I pick myself off of the ground, force my legs to move, allow the adrenaline to completely overcome me, and I take off, running faster than I ever have before.
It's raining.
I'm cold.
How long have I been running?
Everything hurts…everything…
My running starts to slow and soon I'm barely walking.
Where am I?
I look around through tiredly glazed eyes at the unknown streets surrounding me.
Both sides of the street are lined with shops and restaurants and incredibly bright lights. Far off to the right is what I think is a …
I squint to make out the sign.
Lucy's Hotel and Lodge
This must be a…
…town
Strange…
…I thought the nearest town was fifteen minutes away by car…
I'm exhausted.
Dark is starting to take over my eyesight and everything feels cold.
I get the vague feeling that I'm falling, but it doesn't matter.
Nothing matters anymore.
Something as cold as ice washes over my chest…what is it?
Searing pain engulfs my entire head.
It hurts…
A loud ringing replaces the pain, and I can no longer hear the sound of the rain. Everything is muffled, diluted…quiet.
Am I drowning?
My eyes slightly open, but I'm so tired I see no point in letting them see, for everything around me is a blur.
I know I should keep moving but my muscles no longer listen to me.
Prickles of cold no longer pinch my skin, instead I am completely…
…numb.
I am so…tired…I just want to…sleep…just for a while…
A little bit of sleep…won't…hurt…
"Are you alright?"
Who's… there?
"What's your name? Can you answer me?"
No…you…idiot…I'm too…tired…
"Dammit, she's all covered in blood… Where are you injured? Does it hurt anywhere?"
You're so…annoying…can't you see…I'm… sleeping…
An odd sensation occurs, and my arms and shoulders are entangled by a thick rope.
It's so…warm…
"Open your eyes." a gruff voice orders. I can barely hear it over the ringing.
No…I don't want to…I don't take…orders…
Something forcibly opens my eyes.
It…burns…
"Follow my finger."
What a…pointless…statement…
"Shit!" the voice says.
How…funny.
My eyes are clearing…but only a little…
…yet all I see is red…
…red and…
"Why the fuck does this always happen to me?" the voice growls.
…two pools of aqua.
How…strange…
For some reason...the word...love...
...just appeared...in my...head...
…now…
Just let me…
…sleep.
GAH! FREAKING LONG CHAPTER! Yeah, I didn't mean to make it this long, but the whole maid scene lasted longer than what I expected it to be. SORRY!
Yeah, told you Gaara was in there, but he was jus little… PLEASE DON'T BE MAD AT ME!