AN: So sorry I didn't get round to posting a new chapter last week - here's a nice extra long one that should answer some of the questions that keep popping up about Sakura's past.
Also a huge thank you to all that have reviewed so far – it really makes my day to know that people are enjoying this enough to leave a review. So thank you to Weetziebat613, Fashion Fairy 26, Misspokey 101, Enilezah and Rinail for leaving reviews over the last 6 chapters – I hope this lives up to your expectations.
And to everyone else who reads and doesn't review – thank you for just reading and not flaming me for my terrible ramblings :)
So on with the story
Damaged Goods
Chapter 7
Sakura
The light is too bright and it makes my eyes sting. I can smell the harsh aroma of antiseptic and the sheets that cover me scratch at my skin. The room slowly starts to come into focus, white walls, white ceiling and I have no idea where I am. My head is throbbing. What happened? Where am I? My mouth feels like someone has shoved cotton wool in it, my arms are heavy by my side, unresponsive to any commands.
"Oh, you're awake," an unfamiliar voice perks up. "Now don't worry love, you're in the hospital, you had a bit of an accident but we've stitched you back up."
"Thirsty." I manage to force out past the barbed wire that's lodged in my throat.
The woman I assume is a nurse hovers over me, a glass with a straw in it and lets me drink. The water is cool and refreshing and I have to stop myself from gulping it all down. "Slowly," she admonishes as I choke and start coughing. I dart my eyes around the room, how did I end up in hospital? I can't remember what happened before I woke up. The nurse turns to leave, muttering about fetching the doctor to check me over.
I watch the rain pounding against the window, remembering the walk home. It was raining and I was soaked to the bone. I can remember it so clearly that I shiver as though I'm still in my wet clothes. What happened next? I huff in frustration and try to sit up, my back screaming in protest. Man that really hurts, was I hit by a car? No, it wasn't that. Holding my hands up I look at the bandages. They are stark and white, almost blending in with my pale skin. I move my fingers, checking that they're stilll working. They are. My arms are stinging beneath the bandages and I wish I could rip them to see what's lurking underneath.
The doctor comes in next and shines a pen light in my eyes, the sudden assault on my senses causing my head to throb uncontrollably. A flash of memory assaults me, lying on the hallway floor, my head spinning and throbbing almost as badly as it does now. But them I'm pulled back into the present by the doctor asking me questions.
"Ok Sakura, how are you feeling?"
I shoot him a questioning look. "I feel like I've been hit by a bus. What happened?"
He deliberately avoids my question. "Any dizziness, blurry vision?"
I shake my head slowly, "no but my head is killing me. What happened?"
"That's because you have a concussion as well as a nasty cut above your eyebrow. What do you remember?"
The doctor is starting to piss me off with his evasive answers. "I don't remember anything." I snap. "That's why I keep asking you what happened. Where's my mom?"
A look of pity crosses the doctors' face and my heart plummets. Where is she? What's she's done now? I'm battering against the block in my memory that's stopping me from remembering what happened.
The doctor is droning on in the background. I hear him mention mother, residential psychiatric ward, sedation, but his words are jumbled together as I cling to the few flashes of memories that I've remembered so far. I was walking home, it was raining, I got caught in the rain. I must have made it home because I remember lying on the hall floor, my head throbbing. Did I slip? No it wasn't that, a slip at home wouldn't land me in here unless I'd fallen down the stairs and somehow I know I didn't go upstairs. I look at my arms encased in bandages, ok so what happened to my arms? I hold them up slightly, looking at them intently as if my memories are going to jump from them and tell me the truth. I remember holding my arms up, then there was pain, what happened to cause the pain.
My eyes widen as I'm the floodgates to my memories open. I had gotten home; Mom was going mad at me because I'd dripped water all over the floor. Then she pushed me, the damn bitch pushed me, and I hit my head as I fell forward. I was dizzy, confused and she dragged me to the kitchen, by my hair. I put my hands on the back of my head where I feel I lump; I wince as I probe at it with my fingers. The doctor is looking at me with wary eyes as I silently inspect my injuries. Ok so my throbbing head I can explain. But the bandages on my arms, and on further inspection the bandages covering my upper back - what happened there? My skin itches and stings bandages, scrapes from the fight? No it feels deeper than that, the skin feels tight, like it's been stretched over a wound.
A flash of silver in my peripheral vision makes me start, it's the light reflecting off the Nurses nametag, but my reaction triggers another memory. I was bent backwards over the table, my mother was straddled over me, and she was angry, furious even with a mad glint in her eyes that I was familiar with. I was sobbing, begging her to let me go, trying to get through to her and explain that I wasn't who she thought I was. She raised her right arm up, and the light glinted off the knife she held in her hand. I'd started screaming, terrified that she was going to kill me this time. I raised my arms as she started to swing at me wildly, the knife cutting through the skin on my forearms, the pain searing through me, making me scream louder. I'm so trapped in my memory that I don't realise that I'm shaking violently until the doctor touches me. I flinch, scrambling backwards on the bed until I'm curled up by the headboard. I'm screaming, half trapped in the memory, half in the present. I start pulling at the bandages. I need to see what is underneath them, what damage has been inflicted on me. I'm going into full blown panic and both the doctor and nurse move to restrain me. I start thrashing around, not caring that I'm causing myself more pain trying to escape them. I'm screaming bloody murder, I can hear the doctor calling for some assistance and two burly orderlies run in to restrain me. I feel a scratch on my arm and suddenly I feel like I'm swimming through mud, my limbs have turned to jelly and I stop struggling just as the darkness engulfs me.
"Sakura, wake up," a voice penetrates through my sleep-addled brain. My limbs ache and I know I have been struggling sleep. I force my eyes open, it is still dark, the TV is still on, the sound turned low. My heart is pounding, my breathing fast and panicked. I take a moment to get my bearings, I'm on the sofa, the blanket is tangled up around my legs and I'm leaning at an odd angle. I scramble backwards when I realise that I've been leaning on Syaoran, my body protesting at the sudden lack of human contact.
He eyes me warily from his end of the sofa, keeping his distance, making sure not to invade my personal space. "Are you ok?"
I start to nod just as the tears start to well up, my vision blurring. I end up shaking my head, I'm really not OK, and I am so tired and so fed up of constantly being stuck in the past. I'm fed up with never being able to sleep or interact with people normally because I don't trust them. All in all, I'm just tired of the whole charade of pretending that I'm ok when I'm really not.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out, "it's not normally this bad, I don't normally break down crying and I don't make a habit of passing out in the hall wearing nothing more than a bath towel."
Syaoran sighs and shifts so he's turned around facing me, one leg up on the sofa, bent at the knee with his arm casually resting on it. "Will you please stop apologising, you've got nothing to apologise for."
His words set off another round of tears and I press the jumper-covered heels of my hands into my eyes trying to stem the tears. I feel so helpless, I've not cried in ages, and I've definitely not cried in front of anyone since I got out of hospital. I choke back a sob that threatens to erupt out of my throat.
"Sakura," he starts before sighing, obviously struggling with the right words to say. "You don't need to worry about any of that, I just need to know when things are getting really rough so I can be there for you. I know you're not much of the touchy feely type, but you're still a friend and I don't want you hurting yourself unnecessarily just because you're too stubborn to ask for help."
I smile weakly at his concern before my face creases into a sob. I bury my face into my knees and wrap my arms around myself as if I can hold the pain in, that I can stop the sobs from escaping. But it doesn't help, not really. I've been bottling it up for far too long, pushing myself to close to the edge, hell I've practically been dangling over the edge, grasping to the ledge with my finger tips.
Syaoran shifts closer and gathers me into his arms, forcing me to unknot my limbs from around myself. I press my face into his chest, breathing in his scent as I bite back the wave of tears that threatens to break through. He puts his chin on my head and runs his fingers through my hair, my body responding to the simple touch by sobbing. I don't remember the last time someone held me when I had a meltdown – probably no one since my father ever has. It makes me cry more, knowing that someone other than Eriol cares for me and my wellbeing. This is why I don't let myself get close to anyone, especially those that threaten to knock down the walls that I've thrown up around myself. I can feel them being chipped away at by his kind, attentive nature. I feel like he's undoing me.
He holds me until I peel myself away from him, grimacing at the wet patch I've left in the middle of his t-shirt. Wiping my face with the sleeves of my jumper I sniffle, determined not to break into fresh round of tears.
"Don't even think about saying sorry." He starts with a smirk, "a wet patch on my t-shirt isn't something you should be apologising for."
"I wasn't going to apologise," I mumble as I grope around the coffee table looking for the box of tissues, I need to blow my nose before I snot all over my jumper. That coupled with my puffy eyes isn't going to win me any beauty awards. To my dismay they're not on the table so I push myself off the sofa, wobbling as the blood rushes away from my head. Syaoran shoots up to steady me, but I wave him away, he's done enough for me today and I'm pretty sure I can manage to stumble through to the kitchen on my own.
I grab some kitchen towel off the holder and I brace myself against the counter as another dizzy spell assaults me. Stupid dizzy spells are starting to piss me off now, all I need is some coffee and enough time to gather my thoughts together and I'll be fine. I'm staring at the kitchen wall, trying to piece everything together, but the only thing I can remember clearly was the expression on his face. I can't remember anyone but Eriol ever looking at me with that much concern, and this is someone who's a near stranger to me, in relative terms anyway.
"Sakura, are you alright," Syaoran says softly from behind me. "You're staring a little bit too intently at the wall."
"I'm fine, was just thinking about," I pause, unsure of what to say. How do I try and explain that I was about to start thinking about all the ways that this flat sharing may be going down a more complicated route than I can deal with. "nothing," I finish lamely, not willing to entertain the thought that's pushing at the forefront of my mental barrier. I grab a glass of water, wishing it was coffee but knowing that I won't get away with it in my current state. Turning round, the glass shaking slightly in my hands, I lean against the counter, the cool sharp edge biting through my sweats, giving me something to focus on.
I raise my chin, defiantly, knowing that I've been skirting the conversation that I couldn't avoid forever. His face is shrouded in shadows, the dim light filtering through from the living room the only source of light. His features are soft but hard at the same time, his posture tense. It's almost like he's gearing up for either the mother of all arguments or to stop me from bolting. But I'm too tired to deal with either and for the first time I'm considering just sinking down on the floor, burying my head in the sand and hoping that it just all disappears.
I can feel myself sagging more and more against the counter, the weight of all my secrets driving me down into the ground. But still he stands there, patiently, not harassing me or making small talk to fill the emptiness. I will not start crying again, doesn't matter how many pity filled looks he throws at me when I tell him the story, I will not cry.
Syaoran
Sakura looks broken, and it's tearing at my heart, even though I know it shouldn't. She looks so small and the spark that was there when I first met her seems to have dimmed over the course of the evening.
"As fun as it is having a staring contest with you, you need to sit down before you either fall down or fall apart." I say gently, shepherding her back into the living room and back to her next on the sofa. She practically falls onto the sofa, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her feet under the blanket. I sit down next to her, mindful to keep my distance so she doesn't feel crowded and hand her back her glass of water from earlier. She accepts it, her hands are still shaking.
We both start talking at the same time, out words tangling up so neither of us hears what the other is trying to say. She waits, letting me go first.
"Look Sakura," I say, trying to fathom the right words to say. "I know that at some point some shit happened to you, shit happened to me too but I think I got off lightly in comparison. You don't have to tell me – it's not a prerequisite of our friendship or of you staying here. But at the same time I can't stand to one side and watch you turn yourself into a zombie over something I don't understand. I'm not asking for the nitty gritty, I don't need to know every details, but I need to know what I can do to help you. I know I've already said this to you this evening, and I know I'm just repeating myself, but I need you to know that I'm not going to chuck you out. Sure I'm going to freak out if I find you lying sprawled on the hall floor or when you're obviously having a bad dream that I can't get you to wake up from, so I need you to help me out here, tell me what you need me to do." I take a deep breath, grateful that she's let me say my piece without interrupting. Already I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and I can see the same in her now she's safe in the knowledge that I'm not going to throw her out.
"The scars," She start, obviously forcing the words out. "They were inflicted by my mother." I can't help but take a sharp intake of breath at the shock that a parent could do something like that to their own child. "She wasn't a bad mother for all intensive purposes, she just had really bad days some of the time. She has paranoid schizophrenia and one day she just snapped. The scars are her gift to me to carry around for the rest of my life. They remind me that I can't let my guard down around anyone, even those people that I'm supposed to trust, that are supposed to love me unconditionally and never hurt me." I stop myself because now I'm babbling at him. She stops, looking up at me through her eyelashes, a look of resignation at the obviously shocked expression that's currently plastered on my face.
We sit in silence for a while as I try to absorb everything she's just told me. I knew that something bad had happened to her, and I knew that she'd been in care, but knowing the whole story is heartbreaking.
"So the scars, on your arms and back, they were because of your mother?" I can hear the pity in my voice, and I know that she hates it when people feel sorry for her, but I just can't help myself. "How bad was it?"
"Fourteen lacerations that required stitches, 109 stitches in total, a cracked rib, severe concussion and too many small cuts to count," She say dejectedly, recounting the injuries from memory. "Plus the mental damage as well, PTSD, night terrors and chronic insomnia due to my fear of sleeping because of the night terrors."
She's avoiding looking at me, and I know why, it's the same reason I avoid looking at people when I tell them about what happened to my family. She doesn't want to see that look of pity that people have when something so terrible has happened to you that they count their blessings. I exhale, a long slow shaky breath as I try to work my way through everything she's just told me. Looking over at her I can see her poised to bolt at my next question
"Where's your mother now?" I ask hesitantly.
"She's serving time in maximum security psychiatric ward for aggravated assault. Last I heard she's staying on her meds and showing some positive progress." She says emotionlessly.
"Do you ever go see her?"
She sucks a short breath in through her teeth, making a high whistling sound. "No – I've never been to see her. The last time I saw her she was being restrained by two policemen screaming that she had to kill me as I lay half conscious in a pool of my own blood. The doctors think that if I visit her that it might set her off again, she's never shown any remorse for what she did to me and I'm not all that keen on spending time in the same room as a woman who would quite happily see me dead."
The silence in the room is deafening, all I can hear is the blood rushing through my ears and the uneasy rasp of Sakura's breathing. I know what I'm about to ask her is a big ask, but part of me needs to know just how bad it is.
"Will you show me the scars?" I try and keep my voice gentle and soothing. "You don't have too, but I want you to be comfortable in this house and not feel like you have to cover yourself up if it's just the two of us here."
She lets out a deep breath as she turns slightly. She keeps her arms in the sleeves but pulls the neck of the jumper over her head so that it's bunched up around her chest. She leans forward, and even in the dim light of the apartment the scars are obvious. I can see the goose bumps erupt across her shoulders as the cool air hits her skin.
I shift so I'm sat right behind her and my eyes trace the lines that mar her pale skin. I can count 8 large, thick jagged scars, the edges puckered from the stitches that put her back together. Then there are countless thin spidery white lines that radiate from the larger scars, too many to count. Hesitantly I raise my hand up to the largest scar, the pads of my fingers tracing the thick line. She jumps at the sudden and unexpected contact and I withdraw my hand quickly, worried that I've crossed an invisible line.
"Sorry," I mutters, "I didn't mean to startle you."
She turns her head and offers me a weak smile. "It's ok, it's just that no-ones touched my back since this happened, I just wasn't expecting it."
"How old were you?" I ask, wondering how long she's gone without human contact.
"I was 14." She says resignedly, a sad expression crossing her features.
"There's more isn't there?" I question. She nods my head in response and slowly shifts so that she facing me. Gingerly she removes her arms from her jumper, pushing them forward so I can see them in the dim light.
I look at her arms, in some respects they seem worse that the ones on her back. There are only a few deep ones, one running from elbow to wrist, but the number of small silvery scars that span her arms are impossible to count.
"People sometimes assume that this is self inflicted. I spent years having people call me an attention seeker, suicidal, crazy, so in the end it was just easier to keep them hidden." She says quietly, offering me some insight into how difficult things got, even after she's fully healed. She won't look at me, her head is tilted down, her hair creating a veil between us.
"Sakura," I start slowly, putting my finger under her chin and forcing her to raise my head and look at me. "What happened wasn't your fault and you don't have to hide them if you don't want to when you're at home."
"I know I don't have to hide, but it's easier that dealing with all the hushed whispers and sly looks. That's my choice that I've made." She states effectively closing the conversation.
I sit back and cross my arms, looking pointedly at her. "Ok I know the end of a discussion when I hear one, but I'm being serious when I say if you want to wander round the house in a t-shirt or bath town or whatever takes your fancy I'm not going to judge you.
"Thank you Syaoran – that means a lot." She sniffs and rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to erase the tears that are welling up. "Look I'm going to turn in for the night, sleep or no sleep I need to lie down and let my brain process everything for a while so I'll see you in the morning."
She shuffles of to her bedroom, closing the door behind her and leaves me sat on the sofa. I put my head in my hands and wonder how it is that two broken people like us ever have a chance of leading normal lives.
AN: If I'm being honest (and I usually am) - I found that a really difficult chapter to write because I was constantly welling up (I'm a massive sap).
As always - please R&R
dk
