Self-Sustained Hell

Summary: .:.:Ch. 9:.:. With delusions plaguing his every step, with memories destroying his sanity, with his will to live slowly slipping away, will Hatake Kakashi be able to trust his friends enough to let them help him save himself? .:.:Sequel to Black Day:.:.

Genre: Angst/Drama

Rating: T

Author's Notes: I am not a doctor so I apologize in advance for any medical mistakes I made. For the ease of research I've decided to use modern medical treatments and names for diseases/medicines for this story. It just makes it easier for me to keep track and find out information. So, I'm sorry if I royally screw up the diseases or the treatment – I tried my best to keep it straight and factual.

Oh, and please excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes...blah...blah...blah.

Disclaimer: Masashi Kishimoto owns Naruto, not I. I make no money from this story, please don't sue.

Please R&R…Thanks!

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I frown as I read the medical file on the shinobi that lays in the bed before me. Well, to be correct I'd have to call it the edited medical file of the shinobi… he's been in the hospital far more times then his file states. I know that for fact for I did treat him many times as a child.

I sigh as I flip back and forth between the first two sheets in the file. He was here for surgery not that long ago yet it doesn't state what kind of surgery. I close the file and place it on the night table beside the bed.

"What have you been doing all these years Kakashi?" I whisper to myself, "Because it doesn't look like taking care of your health was even on your priority list."

"Is he going to be okay?"

I take my eyes off of the prone, pale figure of the Hatake genius to look at the Third Hokage's son. "I'm not sure," I answer, "I have to get a hold of his actual medical file, if it even exists, before I can make a decision."

Asuma nods. "I wish I could help but I don't really know what actually happened between him and Itachi."

I shrug as I place my right hand on Kakashi's forward, channeling chakra into his body in an attempt to at least wake him up. My eyebrows furrow in concentration and worry – why won't he wake up?

"I'm going to have to come back later," I inform Asuma, "I'm going to take a look at Lee first and then find Kakashi's medical file."

"You can't wake him up, can you?" A sad chuckle escapes his mouth.

I take a deep breath. "Not at the moment but I should be able to after I examine him further."

He nods and I have to remove myself from the room. I can't bring myself to stay there knowing full well that I can do nothing for Kakashi at the moment.

And I can only hope I can help him when I get more information.

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A doctor enters the still room where Kakashi sleeps and Asuma, Genma, Jiraiya, and I stand.

"So you're the one who's treated Kakashi over the years I've been gone?" I ask him and he nods. "Your name?" I ask.

"Dr. Yoshida," he replies as he hands me a folder. "This is Kakashi's confidential file."

"I'll be treating Kakashi from now on, therefore I'll be holding onto this file." I open up the folder that's quite a bit thicker then the one I previously had on Kakashi. "Is there anything not mentioned in his file that I should be aware of?"

"His drug abuse is the only thing I've never recorded down," he replies.

I nod and then my eyes go wide in shock as his last report catches my eyes. "Why did he receive a heart from a Type A blood donor when he has Type O blood?" I don't bother to hide the anger in my voice.

"It was the only heart available at the time," Yoshida replies, "The previous heart had completely failed and had to be removed – his body was attacking it and breaking it down."

"Well that answers the question of what is wrong." I close the folder and set it down on the night table. "His body is attacking this heart and making him weak, which caused him to be more susceptible to whatever Itachi did to him."

I pull the blanket down to uncover Kakashi's body and run my hands just over the top of his skin, from his head down to his feet. With my eyes closed I focus chakra into him in another attempt to wake him up and find out what happened. If I know what happened then it should be easier for him to help him.

"When was the last time you did a blood test?" I question, my eyes still closed in concentration.

"Um… it was a long time ago. You'd have to check the file."

I stop my evaluation immediately, open my eyes, grab the file and flip open to the last report I ever made. I quickly scan the paper and find what I'm looking for.

"Come here," I say to the doctor and he walks over. "Read this out loud, for all of us here to hear." I point at the last sentence I wrote.

"Blood tests should be performed monthly to check for blood-borne diseases, autoimmune diseases, and genetic abnormalities," he reads.

I quietly flip through the folder. "The doctor that took over Kakashi's care after me did the blood tests every month but once you were given the job the blood tests stopped. Why?"

"I was not informed of the suggested test times." He shrugs at me.

"Suggested?" My voice rises with anger that I can't quite control. "They weren't suggested. They're required! He doesn't have a healthy body – that's a fact brought on by the genetic mutations his mother carried and passed on to her children."

"I… I wasn't told," he stutters out, suddenly looking like he's going to piss himself.

I close the folder and place it back on the table. "You have eyes," I say, "Read the fucking patient file next time."

He nods nervous. "I'll make sure I do."

"You better. Now get out of my sight!" I snap, "And call a nurse to come in here to take a blood test!"

"Y… yes," he mutters and then leaves rather quickly.

I tiredly rub my eyes with my hand. "This is not good."

"His mother had genetic mutations?" Asuma asks in concern.

I look over to the Hokage's son and nod. "It never affected her but she passed them on to both her children. Kakashi's brother, Senji, died from complications brought on from an autoimmune disease – which his mother carried but didn't suffer from."

"Is that what's wrong with Kakashi? Does he have an autoimmune disease?"

"I don't know Asuma. It's possible." I sigh. "Which is why the blood tests were suppose to be carried out every month so that we would know, and could catch anything in the beginning stages."

"What is an autoimmune disease?" Genma asks from his position sitting on the window seat.

"An autoimmune disease is when one's own body cannot recognize its own constituent parts which results in an immune response against its own cells and tissues," I explain. "Basically the body attacks itself for no real reason."

Genma nods. "I see." Then returns to looking out the window.

The door opens and a nurse walks in with a couple empty vials and a syringe. She hands them to me and push up Kakashi's sleeve to draw the blood. My breath hitches in my throat and I'm forced to briefly close my eyes to hold back the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. I knew he was a self-mutilator but not to this degree – not this seriously. Many of the cuts on his arm probably should've been stitched up and I find it hard to believe that he hasn't died from blood loss from the deep cuts themselves.

It takes a couple tries but I finally manage to find the vein with the needle. I fill it up with blood and then remove it, place the tip in the vial and push the blood into it. I hand the filled vial to the nurse and she screws the lid on it. I repeat the process three more times in order to get four filled vials of Kakashi's blood.

"Is Kakashi on the transplant list?" I ask the nurse as I dispose of the needle.

"He's first on the list – always is when he needs to be," she answers.

I nod. "Send for me when the test results are back. I'll be in my office."

"Yes," she answers as she leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.

"There's nothing more you can do for him right now?" Jiraiya asks.

"Not until I can figure out more about his health. And even then, he probably won't wake up until a new, actually compatible, heart replaces the one he currently has."

At least, that's what I hope. But a little voice in the back of my brain keeps whispering at me. Telling me that I just might not be able to save him.

He just might not wake up.

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I rub my eyes in an attempt to relieve the headache that has now formed.

"I tested him for tuberculosis too and it came back negative," the nurse says.

I look up from the paper she handed me a few minutes ago and send her a quizzical look.

"Just incase you wished to prescribe a TNF blocker," she explains, "Then we wouldn't have to waste time testing for tuberculosis since TNF blockers increase the risk of infection and tuberculosis is the most common infection that occurs here."

I nod. "Very good… I'm glad you did that."

"So – what is it that you prescribe?" she asks.

"I only want him on an intravenous drip for his dehydration and malnutrition right now. Until he has a heart transplant I'm not risking putting him on an immunosuppressant."

"What about the NARTIs or NNRTIs?" the nurse questions me.

"I can't give those to him without his consent because he's not in a life-threatening condition… well, not involving those—"

A knock at my door interrupts me. "Come in," I call out.

Dr. Yoshida walks in, looking a little nervous.

"Yes?" I ask.

"I was sent to tell you that a new heart has become available for Kakashi and to ask if you wish to perform the surgery yourself."

"Who would perform the surgery if I don't?" I stand up from my desk, handing the results paper back to the nurse.

"I would." He replies.

I smile. "Well then, I'll definitely do the surgery myself."

He nods. "I'll inform the hospital that you're on your way."

He bows, as does the nurse, and they both quietly leave.

"Is this wise Tsunade?"

I look over to Shizune. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't performed a heart transplant in a very long time… is it wise to do one now?"

"I did multiple heart transplants for Kakashi when he was younger, it is not something that is easily forgotten." I smile reassuringly at her. "Don't worry about this – it will work out."

Oh god I hope it works out.

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I heard the breathing of one other person here long before I had the strength to open my eyes. I could also smell the signature antiseptic smell that is characteristic of hospitals long before I even heard the breathing of the other person.

Eventually I realize that my chest, specifically my heart, doesn't hurt at all – not even a little bit. The dull ache that had been constant for so long is now gone. I know what that means. I know that I've had a heart transplant – again.

"I know you're awake Kakashi," a familiar female voice breaks the silence.

I smile underneath my mask and crack open my right eye to find Tsunade sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. "So Jiraiya manage to persuade you, neh?"

She chuckles. "Naruto helped too."

"He's a hard one to refuse, isn't he?"

She nods but her face sombers slightly and she sighs. "I haven't sat here all night waiting for you to wake up for no reason."

I push myself up into a sitting position, noticing for the first time the I.V. line in my arm. "What is it?"

"When I looked in your file, your actual confidential file, I notice you had not been given a blood test for a very long time. When I specifically noted on my last report for you, all those years ago, that you were required to have a blood test every month if possible." She pauses and I can feel the nervous ball in my stomach start to form.

"I did a blood test and unfortunately the results were not that good." She drops her gaze to the paper in her hand, unable to look at me. "You are dehydrated and malnourished, which is why you're on an intravenous I.V. line."

"That's not all." I say after the silence stretches on for, what feels like, a couple minutes when it was probably only a few seconds.

"You also tested positive for the autoimmune disease Ankylosing Spondylitis, which was passed to you from your mother." She pauses and takes a deep breath, her eyes still focused on the paper shaking in her hands. "And HIV, which I can only guess came from your drug use and using dirty or shared needles."

"Ankylosing Spondylitis," I repeat. "Isn't that what Senji had?" I whisper – it's still hard to talk about him. Still difficult to remember my brother without the emotional pain.

"Yes… but fortunately it's in the early stages and with medication and proper physical therapy we should be able to control it."

"But what is it exactly?" My voice sounds foreign to me, like I'm not really saying it, like I'm not really here. "I can't remember."

"It's an inflammatory arthritis disease that primarily affects the spine and sacroiliac joints," she explains, "Causing the eventual fusion of the spine which results in a complete rigidity of the spine. A condition known as bamboo spine."

I nod, unable to find the words to ask the questions that I don't really know if I want to know the answer too.

"HIV, there's no cure for that, is there?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Unfortunately not. But it is treatable too. If you consent to the treatment then we can begin it right away, for both diseases."

"What is the treatment? What do I have to do?"

"Well… for the Ankylosing Spondylitis I recommend the TNF blocker etanercept, which is an immunosuppressant. However, etanercept will increase the risk of infections which means you have to be careful with any injuries you sustain… including your cutting."

"My cutting?" I question, completely surprised that she knows about it.

"I'm not an idiot and I'm not blind Kakashi."

I nod. "What about the HIV? What do I need to do for that?"

"That's more complicated and will require a strict schedule of different pills at certain times. Which your used to from your heart medication but you don't always follow. This time you're going to have to, with both the HIV medication and the heart medication."

I push my hair back and off my face. "What do I have to take?"

"You need to take two different nucleoside analogue reverse transcriptase inhibitors, or NARTIs, and either a protease inhibitor or a non-nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitor… in this case I'd recommend a protease inhibitor. So the drugs themselves are Zidovudine and Tenofovir – the two NARTIs – and Fosamprenavir – the protease inhibitor."

"I'm never going to be able to keep that all straight," I mutter in frustration. "I can barely even keep on top of my heart medication, now this too."

"Don't worry about it," she says, standing up from her seat. "Just come see me every month and I'll give you your medication already organized in containers for the days and times you have to take them. All you'll have to do is just read the labels and swallow the pills."

"Thanks," I whisper as I desperately try to keep my emotions hidden.

She sighs. "There's nothing more I can tell you except that for now you are healthy. As long as you take your medication, and eat, then you should be fine."

I nod and watch as she folds up the paper that was in her hand and quietly leaves. "Oh, and also," she states, pausing at the door. "You've been discharged since you'd leave anyways. Just report to my office in the morning, which is only a few hours away." She opens the door and closes it softly behind her.

How could I have done this? The Ankylo… whatever the fuck it is… is something I couldn't control – that I know. But the HIV. That disease, that's my fault. My mistake. My carelessness. My refusal to be careful.

My fault.

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I stare at my rippled reflection in the river – a part of me wondering exactly why I agreed to go on a mission so soon. I probably shouldn't have.

But that isn't something I can change now.

I sigh heavily as I remove my bloody gloves and slowly dip my hands in the river. The water feels cool against my skin and turns red as it washes away the dried blood.

I'm too old for this.

The water runs clear again and I dry my hands off on my pants. I put my gloves in a pocket in my Jounin vest and stand up, leaning heavily on a nearby tree. I can see Konoha from here but I don't really feel like going back there – even though I know I need too. This is too much, this life I have now. Just missions and medication – just killing and pills. It's not something I wish to partake in. Now, more than ever, I feel the hopelessness that weighs down upon me.

My fucked up health and Sasuke's fucked up revenge. Will I be able to save him? I don't know, I just don't fucking know anymore. I fear going back to Konoha, I fear being told that Sasuke has left to pursue Orochimaru – to pursue power and vengeance.

My legs start walking on their own. Taking me to the village I'd rather avoid. But I know I must go, I know I must face what awaits me there. I have a feeling that I already know what I'll be told but I still must hear it. It doesn't become truth until the words are spoken. It doesn't become truth until the lies are discarded.

I find myself in the Hokage's office. The time went by quicker then I thought; probably because I don't remember. Tsunade speaks the words I knew she would. Sasuke is gone. Genins have pursued him. I leave. I tell her I will return. Pakkun finds his scent. I follow as fast as I can. Time is running out. Time is growing short.

It's hard to breathe around the lump in my throat, but I must. It's hard to see through the haze of memories that shroud my vision, but I must. It's hard to concentrate when the emotions won't leave me alone, but I must.

I reach the clearing. Pakkun sniffs the Hitaiate. Tells me it's Sasuke's. I want to pursue him, I want to drag him back. I could do it, I know I can. I have the strength too. But I can't. Naruto comes first. His health is more important.

Fucking morals.

His body in my arms. I watch as he breathes. I watch as he heals. His body is remarkable. The demon inside of him gives him strength beyond what I would've ever imagined.

He looks so much like Sensei. So much like Yondaime. I wonder how I ended up as his Sensei. It's odd really. The demon that killed my Sensei lays within him.

It still hurts.

It's hard to see through the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. I blink them back. He wakes up. He says something. I reply. It's an automatic reaction. I'm good at that. Good at carrying on conversations without really paying attention. We reach Konoha. I take him to the hospital. Tsunade talks to me. Asks me questions. I answer. She tells me to go home. She tells me to rest. She tells me not to blame myself. She says it's not my fault.

But it is. Because I failed him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Sorry.

Sorry.

Sorry.

So fucking sorry.

I get home. I punch the wall. Another hole to patch up latter. My knuckles bleed. It stings but I don't mind. I never mind. I figure I should eat. I don't. I take my medication. Pills upon pills. Never ending. It will never stop. I curse my parents for giving birth to me. I hate them both.

I don't really.

I drink. I know I shouldn't. I wish I had drugs. I don't. I want to buy some. I don't. Instead I drink. Drink. Drink. Drink. Drink.

Drink away the memories. Drink away the failure. Drink away the emotions. Drink away his face, his voice, his everything. It's not just Sasuke either. The Sandaime is still in the forefront of my mind. His face burned into my skull. His limp and dead body just lying there. Orochimaru killed Sarutobi. Orochimaru stole Sasuke.

I hate Orochimaru.

Another glass. Another empty bottle. Another hole in the wall. Another cut against my skin. Another one. And another one.

Drink and cut. Taste the alcohol, see the blood. Does it calm me now? Am I better now? Am I numb now? Another drink, another cut. It doesn't help. Nothing will help.

Tears blur my vision. Another failure to add to the list. Another failure among the many. Will it ever end? Will it ever be over? Will it ever be enough?

I try.

Try.

Try.

And fail.

Fail.

Fail.

I just can't do it. I just can't help. It's never enough… it's never what's needed. I'm always too slow, too weak, too something.

Another drink. Another cut. Another hole in the wall. Another tear. Another scream. Another failure. Another mistake. Another lost one. Another end that comes too soon. More empty bottles. More blood. More tears.

Fall to me knees. Sobs rack my body. I can't stop. I can't stop. I'm sorry. So fucking sorry. Beg for it to end. Hope to forget. Nothing stops. Nothing changes. I mutter under my breath. Words I don't pay attention too. Words you can't understand. Mutters of a crazy man. It just won't end. It just won't stop.

I'm sorry. Another one lost. Another one to add to the miles and miles of names I already have. Another face to mix with the thousands of others. Another one gone. Another one to add to my pain; my grief and guilt. They will all say it's not my fault. They will all tell me not to feel guilty.

They all lie. Lie right to my face. They think I will believe them. They think I will understand. But I don't. I never do. I know the truth, I always have. I always will.

It doesn't make sense. The reasons why. The fact it's always my fault – it doesn't make sense. It's always my fault. It's me who ends up sorry. Me. Me. Me. Me. Always fucking me.

I drink. I cut. I cry. I sob. I try to forget. I can't. Can't forget. Can't stop. The pain never heals. Never fades. It's always there – for eternity. I will never forget. I will always remember. I wish I didn't.

Take more medication. Know I shouldn't. Don't have drugs so I take the pills instead. Still no number. Just sick now. Throw-up. Can't stop. Haven't eaten so it's just alcohol and stomach acid. Hurts. Burns my throat. Take more pills. Don't know why. It doesn't help. Maybe to die?

I don't want to though. Or maybe I do. I actually don't know what I want anymore.

Curl up in the fetal position. Pakkun crawls up against my chest. I hug him. He doesn't say anything. Just licks my face. I feel his love. I can tell he cares. At least someone does. My body shivers. I'm cold. The alcohol and the medication mixes up in my stomach. Makes me feel sick. I don't throw-up – nothing left to throw-up. Throat is raw. Cried so much it made my throat raw. Hurts.

It hurts everywhere. The pain. I don't know if it's emotional or physical. Maybe it's both. I don't know. I don't care. It just hurts. Want to die. Know I can't. Failed. Failed. Failed.

Close my eyes. Will my heart to stop racing. Body shivers.

Finally I fall asleep.

Failure.

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I've been crying so much that my throat is bleeding. I'm grasping and clutching for some attention. Anything to tell me I'm alive. That I'm still fucking alive. I've been crying so much my fingernails are bleeding. I gnaw at them. I gnaw at my knuckles. There's a spot on the back of my calf that I scratch as I stare into oblivion.

I've chewed and torn my fingernails and cuticles down to raw stubs and sucked on them until they stopped bleeding. The spot on the back of my left calf grows each morning as I shower. I'm ashamed of it. It's humiliating, The groove of my life line traced over and over by that kunai, knife, whatever sharp object is near me. My boney fucking fingers feel. The inside of my lower lip tastes like a penny. My cheeks are shredded. They have little kelp strands of skin that spin in little circles as I run my tongue around them.

I was laying in the shower this morning and filled my mouth with water, wondering what would happen if I gasped it in like it was air. I threw up when I tried. But I hadn't eaten again in four days so I guess it was just left over sake and stomach acid. It tasted terrible. I ate vitamins when I got out of the shower. Try to take care of myself anyway. There's a callous forming on my upper lip. It's creepy. For some reason I thought I might be able to drown. Wouldn't that be funny? I knew I couldn't. I knew I wouldn't. I don't want to die. But I was just wondering. I also wasn't trying to puke. That doesn't count either. I'm trying so hard to prove I'm good. Listen to me try to defend this stupid shit. I sound like a damned ventriloquist. Something taught me to pretend like this.

Yes. I puked. Yes. I inhaled water as hard and fast as I could. That is what it is. I am so fucking alone. I think like this sometimes, even though I would never act on it – not now. If I died right now, I would probably have three days before I even missed a phone call. That's depressing because gross things happen to you after that long and I would want to look nice.

I just screamed as loud as I could. I said the 'f' word. I want God to hear me. It's so repulsive when a person is reaching out as hard as I am right now. Clawing for love. Clawing even for attention. Grappling for any fucking mite of value. Nobody cares if I'm alive. They would cry and hurt if I was dead, but nobody gives a shit that I'm alive. I'm a fucking burden. There's no room for grace. Not yet anyway.

I'm a bad friend, didn't I tell you? Didn't I tell everybody? I'm a bad friend. That's just part of the package. I try. I try and try to be a good friend, but I am a bad friend. Hold me accountable for that, if you would. I'm terrible. I'm destructive. I'm a goddamn bottle rocket and you just can't stay close to me. Nobody can. I know it. Everyone I've ever cared for has died. You think I don't notice my trend? I'm volatile. I hurt you. I hurt each and every one of you. I'm a terrible person. You think I don't know that? If I have any prominent quality, it is that I observe things. How would you think I don't know how awful I am? Do you think I like it? Do you think I like who I am? I hate who I am. I always have.

I hate these gummy fingernails. I hate my copper lips. I hate my shit-stain eyes. I hate my gaunt cheekbones. I hate the empty sockets under my eyebrows. I hate my concave chest, furry like a pervert. I hate my twiggy fingers and brittle arms. I hate the blue-green roots that run under my skin on the back of my hands. I hate the things I said to you. All of them. Ever. I could have done better for myself to shut up and chew a clump of my tongue. You may not have liked me as much as you did for a while, but at least you wouldn't have such fierce contempt.

I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I hurt you. God fucking damnit. I'm sorry I hurt you. Do you hear me? Do you believe me? Do you know what I mean? I'm sorry I tortured you. Sorry I hurt you. If I drowned this morning – I'm sorry I hurt you. It's frustrating because I know how bad that hurts too. There's no win for me. There's no escape either. It's drowning without the payoff. Weary. Heavy. Sadness. I'm so smart, aren't I?

I'm so capable of making people feel loved. I have made so many. So many. So many people feel loved. So I'm a let-down. At least I've done some good. I'm not going to kill myself. I promise. But I'd like you to forget me. I'll leave you alone now. I'll be a Kakashi scattered to the wind. Forget me, and remember me well. I did some good. Some tiny fleck of good. Please. From the mouth of horror, remember me well.

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A knock on the door. How long has it been? A week? Two? I don't know. I don't care. Another drink. I can't taste anymore. On my knees. Tears that won't stop. It's been too long. That I know. Time to move on.

I can't.

Knock. Knock. Knock. I don't reply. Whoever it is should leave me alone.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Another drink. Another pill. I don't even know what day it is. Don't care either. Something in my mind tells me that I'm going to die if I don't stop this.

Don't want to die. At least. I don't think I do. Maybe I just don't care.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Get angry. Stand up. Yell at the person. Tell them to leave. The person screams back at me. A man. His voice is familiar. He tries to open the door. It's locked. I scream at him. Hope he leaves. Take another drink.

He asks me to open the door. I tell him to fuck off. He kicks it open. I scream at him. I wonder what I look like. Take another drink. He stands in shock. More yelling. Both of us now. He tells me I need to stop. Says I need to get help.

Scream at him. Tell him to leave me alone. Tell him I'm fine. We both know that's a lie. He says I'll die if I keep this up. I punch him. He falls back. Gets up. Shakes his head at me. Tells me it's not my fault. I say it is. Tell him it's all my fault.

Cry. Take another drink. He tries to take the bottle from me. I push him off. But he's stronger than me – for once. Over powers me. Takes the bottle. Smashes it on the floor. The alcohol soaks into the carpet. Scream at him. Tell him he doesn't understand. He asks me what my problem is. Says it's not my father, but his, who died. He doesn't understand why it hurts me so much.

Scream some more. Can't get rid of the pain inside of me. Failed. Failed Sasuke. Failed Sarutobi. Tell him I couldn't help them. Couldn't protect either of them. Tell him I failed. Tell them it's my fault. All this pain that everyone is feeling, it's all my fault. He screams at me. Tells me it's not. Tells me to stop blaming myself. I can't.

He says I need help. I tell him it's too late. Tell him I'm too far gone. I don't care. I just don't fucking care anymore. Tell him I'm sorry. He says there's nothing to be sorry about. Heard it all before. Never believed it before and I don't believe it now.

Asks me when I last eat. I tell him I don't remember. Says that's bullshit. Tell him that I think it's been over four days. Asks how much I've drank. I tell him constantly. He gets angry. Asks me why I threw away all the work I did. I scream at him again. He doesn't understand. Will never understand. He tells me he can't keep being around me like this. Says he can't keep enabling me.

Really he just thinks I'm too much of a fucking failure to be around. I tell him that he should leave. I tell him I can't change. He tells me I can. Scream at him some more. Tell him that I'm a horrible person, that I'm a horrible friend. Tell him this is who I am. This is part of the package. He says I can change. I can't. I know I can't. I tried and I couldn't. I put in the effort and it didn't do dick shit.

Want a drink. Tell him to leave so I can have one. He won't. Says he's afraid I'll die. I tell him I won't. He doesn't believe me. Says I need to go to his place. Tell him no. Tell him I'm not a child. He says I can't be left alone. I yell at him, get angry. He tries to calm me down. I don't let him touch me.

I grab a discarded kunai. He freezes. I place it against my neck. He begs me to stop. I tell him that I'm fucking tired of this life. I scream at him. Saying I can't do this anymore. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the pills. I don't know. But whatever it is I just can't handle this anymore.

He begs me not too. I push the knife against my skin. It starts to bleed. He moves forward. I put more pressure and cut. It hurts. He reaches me. The kunai drops from my hand. I start to shake. He cries. The room goes blurry. I can't speak. I try but my voice won't work. The blood is warm against me. Pours from my neck. Runs down my skin. Covers my chest. Soaks my clothes.

I grow weak. He screams at Pakkun to get Tsunade. He lays me down. Rips off part of his shirt. Presses the cloth against my neck. I close my eyes. I feel my pain, all off it, run out of my body with the blood. My life is slipping away. I wonder what I'll miss. Is this the end? I don't know.

They've always managed to save me before. Would they be able to this time? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. A part of me feels regretful. Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at Asuma so much. Maybe I should've tried a little more. It's too late now. Failed again. Failed Sarutobi. Failed Sasuke. Failed to help myself. Failed to get better.

I hear other people come in. A female voice barks out orders. Tsunade maybe. I'm not too sure. Another female gasps. Asuma says something to her. It must be Kurenai. I wonder how much blood there is. I wonder how dramatic of a scene I've made. I really didn't mean to be dramatic. It just happened that way.

Wonder if I'll live. Probably not. Make a promise to myself; if I live through this than I have to get better – I have to really try. If I live then no more fucking around. If I live then I have to fix all that's fucked up with me.

I make myself sick. I've fucked up again. Hurt them all again. I'm a horrible friend. A horrible human being. All I can do is kill and hurt. It's all I know. The sounds fade away. I can no longer hear. Cold. So very, very cold.

I'm sorry. Really -- I'm sorry. So fucking sorry that it hurts. So fucking goddamn sorry I can't even begin to fix it. And now it's probably too late. Too late to fix it. Too late to even say I'm sorry. But I am.

I'm sorry.

The End.

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Author's Note: Wow! I'm finally finished this story. Sorry for the cliffhanger, I just couldn't help myself. :) //evil laugh// I actually really like this chapter. I love the last three scenes I wrote…something about them that I just really like. Maybe the lack of dialogue (I really suck at writing dialogue). And yes…there will be a sequel…eventually. But for now I'm off to finish Fade to Black! Hope you enjoyed this roller coaster of a story and I hope to see some of you when the sequel is posted. I want to thank every single person who has reviewed or sent me a PM. I love you all. It is for you guys that I write. It is you guys that get me off my lazy ass and force me to update. I feel guilty when I leave stories un-updated for long periods of time. So thanks to all that have reviewed and you all deserve some sort of prize (a medal, or perhaps a cookie) for sticking with the stories and my sporadic updating. So thanks for sticking through to the end!