Disclaimer

Neither the characters nor the story are of my property, they belong to their respective authors.

This story is a dark stalker romance with extreme dubious situations.

Please proceed with caution.

Itachi

Vita Boarding School is a dirty little place on the outskirts of Chicago. The thing hasn't been renovated since the start of times.

I stride through the halls of the school, stifling the sound of small boys' giggles, laughter, and cries —the loud type. No one hears the small ones weeping quietly in dark corners. No one asks about them when they miss a meal, or two, or eventually disappear.

This place is labelled as a boys' school but is, in fact, the scum of scum. It's more like a transition phase before the children either run away or get taken in the middle of the night without anyone hearing a sound.

The lucky ones go into foster homes or, better yet, get adopted. But are they lucky, really? I was in a foster home once, and let's say it didn't end well, for them and me and every last fucker who pretended to not have seen anything.

I don't knock as I barge into the principal's office, Tojuro. He's still old and fat like a pig with blemished skin and half bald hair.

He's speaking with his right hand, Ikanago, still old, too, but more wrinkled and still wearing those ugly brown-framed glasses.

I'm tempted to shoot them both in the head, but I don't have time for pesky cleaning right now.

Tobirama is getting restless and if I don't bring him anything soon, all hell will break loose.

While I usually don't give a fuck about any hell, and would meet Tobirama's little gangbangers head on, the timing isn't good.

Jiga didn't only see my little Petal, but he's also showing a perverted interest in her. I've seen the way his knuckles tighten and his nostrils flare. It's the body language he has before raping and maiming people. So, if I mess up in any way, Tobirama won't hesitate to unleash Jiga on her and use her against me.

And while I can and would finish Jiga, life will only turn for the worse if I become the Senju's enemy.

I can always kill my little Petal and end my weakness with my own hands.

That idea keeps diminishing by the day, as if it were never there.

Ikanago stands up abruptly, her eyes bulging open. Tojuro clears his throat and wipes sweat off his bald head.

They recognize me. Good.

Considering they deal a lot with underground fuckers, it makes sense they heard of the name before.

After all, Tojuro is the one who gave me the name after I arrived here with nothing.

I pull out a chair, but I don't sit down, just shove both hands into my pockets. "Let's keep this short. Odd twenty years ago, Hashirama Senju or one of his men brought a child here. I need to know what happened to that boy and where I can find him."

"We don't know about no Senju." Tojuro continues wiping his sweat like an overheated animal.

"Try again, and this is your last chance, by the way." I retrieve my gun and point it at them. "How about you, Ikana? Do you know anything aside from locking young boys in a cellar for a week?"

Ikanago's face whitens and even her lips lose color. "I-I…"

"That's not an answer. Goodbye."

"I-I know!" Tojuro raises both his hands as the stench of piss fills the air.

I tilt my head as a big stain wets the front of Ikanago's light-colored skirt before dripping to the ground.

It would've looked better if it was blood.

"W-we d-didn't take care of high-profile kids," Tojuro stammers. "I can give you the contact of who did."

"Name."

"Ch-Chiyo, Chiyo Akasuna."

That's the same name Homura gave me, so this is adding up.

I motion at a Post-It block in front of him with my gun. "Write the info down."

"Of course, of course, Itachi." His fingers tremble as he scribbles in messy handwriting.

The entire time, Ikanago pushes against her chair, not bothering to hide her little accident.

"H-Here." Tojuro extends the note with trembling fingers.

I sheathe my gun and both of them release collected breaths. Before they can rejoice, I retrieve my knife and slam it in Tojuro's hand, pinning it to the table while snatching the note.

He screams, the sound loud and immensely satisfying.

"That's for spanking kids until they turn red, Tojuro. Don't let me catch you doing it again, or your life will gain an expiration date."

I jerk my knife and he screams again as his blood splatters all over the documents and the pens scattered on his desk. Ikanago shrieks too, begs falling from her lips like prayers.

She's such a fucking hypocrite. Not so high and mighty now, is she?

I point my knife at her, and she goes completely silent, tears streaming down her face. "P-please, Itachi."

"Did you stop when we begged, Ikana? Or did you lock us up?"

"I-I...I—"

"Shut the fuck up." I turn to leave then stare at her piss soaking the front of her skirt, her eyes bloodshot and filled with tears. "That's what happens when you're scared, Ikana, you piss yourself. From today onward, imagine how fucking children feel."

Tojuro's screams and Ikanago's quiet weeping stay with me as I step outside their office.

I need out of this fucking place before I burn it to the ground. There are children who receive care from this place, after all.

My feet come to a halt in front of the memorial wall. Several pictures sit side by side, commemorating the generations that came in and went out of that old door.

I find myself without having to search. It's not that I stand out, but more like I don't. I've always been the invisible type, the one who sneaks in the back and only becomes visible when he chooses to.

Being invisible helped me adapt to night patrol, the searches, the attempts of molestations.

Attempts, because I always got myself out of them, by force, by wit, by having Ikanago lock me in the dark room. I just managed.

Tojuro stood beside my class at the time. I'm the scrawny kid near the back, partially hidden from everyone, half my face is blocked by the kid beside me and my one eye is glaring.

Fucking glaring at the camera like I'm telling the world and everyone in it to go fuck themselves. My eyes were fucking mean since I was a child, evil and meant to screw up the world.

Unlike common belief, people like me are needed. We're the predators who keep the balance. Without us, it would all be old-fashioned chaos.

I'm about to leave when I notice the small boy clinging to my side. His short black hair is in a bow cut and he's hiding his face against my shoulder, not looking at the camera.

And I... let him.

His small fingers dig into the sleeves of my T-shirt as if it's a lifeline. The most bizarre thing is that I haven't beat him to shit or smashed his face for touching me.

Sakumo. Little Sak.

He was too scrawny, too small, and too weak. He was several years younger than me when he came in and all the other boys wanted to bloody his perfect porcelain skin and blue —or were they grey— eyes.

He's hiding his face, and I can't exactly paint a picture of him. It's been decades now.

Being small and pretty, he was adopted a few months after he arrived. Stepford housewives loved his type a bit too much. Perfect boy, perfect face, perfect grades.

And he was young, so he could've been molded to anything they wanted him to be.

As I stare at his small fingers, a memory hits me as if it happened yesterday.

PAST

Rob stares at Sakumo from across the playground as he throws a rock in the air then catches it.

I snarl at him from my position on the bench and the other boy makes a motion of cutting his throat before he disappears around the corner.

We'll see who will cut the other's throat. I'm going to smash his face in his lunch later.

Sakumo, the source of all this unwanted attention, is oblivious to everything going on around him as he picks on the daisies scattered around us.

He's hunched over, his white shorts clean and immaculate. His silky dark hair catches in the sun, making it have a weird reflection of red, almost magenta.

Such a weak little boy.

Even his skin is too white, it bruises when I catch him by the arm.

"Ita, look!" He points his little fingers at the daisies, his mouth falling open in complete amazement.

"Stop playing with flowers like a girl," I reprimand him as I watch our surroundings.

It's because he's too weak that everyone preys on him. I shouldn't have tackled Rob that first day when he put Sakumo's head in the toilet, I should've just walked away. Maybe he would've become stronger if he wasn't so sure I'd save him every time.

Ever since that day, Sakumo has been following me like a shadow, and as a result, no one dares to touch him, knowing he's under my protection.

He pouts, playing with the flower, but still not turning around. "I like it. I can tell if you love me or not."

"How can you tell, genius?"

His tiny chuckle fills the air as he plucks one petal at a time. "Itachi loves me. Itachi loves me not. Itachi loves me. Itachi loves me not. Itachi loves me…" He trails off, a tremor in his voice.

"What is it?" I lean sideways to look at his flower, but he hides away. "Sakumo?"

"It says you don't love me." He throws the flower to the ground. "I hate this game."

I laugh and pick another flower for him. He can be cute sometimes.

Throwing the daisy at him, I say, "Try again."

"What if it also says you don't love me?"

"Then I'll bring you all the flowers until you get the answer you want."

PRESENT

A small smile lifts my lips.

After Sakumo left, my life somehow turned for the worst, until Tobirama found me that night.

And Sakumo can't possibly be a coincidence. His age matches, too. He was around seven when I was twelve.

I pluck the picture from its frame and tuck it into my pocket.

No idea where Sakumo is, but he better be far away or dead. If he's Senju's heir as I suspect, nothing will save him.

I protected him back then, but no one will protect him from me.

My little Petal has called me today.

The missed call stares back at me like some sort of a sign.

I haven't seen her since the show with Tobirama yesterday. Not directly, anyway.

I've watched her through the window as she hugged her fat cat and tried to sleep with him tucked beside her. Naturally, the cat escaped her clutches and glared at her from the door like she'd gone crazy.

Fucking cats.

She didn't sleep well last night, tossing and turning until dawn.

I might have watched all night, sue me.

When she went to work, I travelled to the boarding school.

Now, I'm back and she's nowhere in her apartment. She should've finished work by now. I know, because I take pictures of her calendar every week when I pick her up.

Obsession. Fucking google it.

I call her, but she doesn't pick up. I try again and when it goes to voicemail, I grip the phone harder.

Considering how she was rattled by Tobirama's appearance; she could've had some sort of a girls' night out. But that one is scheduled for next week, not this one.

Standing at my balcony, I dial Ino. She picks up after two rings.

Loud music bursts through my ear before it slowly fades away. "Itachi?"

"Yeah, Ino, how are you?"

"I'm awesome! A night without the kids for once." She sounds drunk.

"That's great. Is Sakurs with you?"

"Yes! We're having so much fun."

I smile without humor. "Mind if I join you?"

"Absolutely not! The more the merrier."

Half an hour later, I'm at the club. Loud music thumps from the speakers and sweaty bodies grind against each other. Neon blue lights are the only break in the darkness, and it's enough for the party-goers.

I climb the stairs and stand at the middle of the balcony where I have a complete view of the club.

Ino and a nurse are clinking glasses of some purple liquid at the bar and laughing so loud, I can almost hear them over the music.

My little Petal isn't with them.

It takes me five seconds flat to find her. She's like a magnet, I can always figure out her pattern and where she's going next.

She's on the dancefloor, wearing a short, tight dress that outlines her tits and her ass as it falls to a little above her knees.

Even from here, I can tell she's wasted. Doesn't she remember what happened the last time she did something like this?

Her hair covers her back as she rolls her hips to the music, fingers disappearing in her pink strands as if she's putting on some fucking erotic show.

Two guys dance close to her, one is a nurse and the other some technician I saw at the hospital. She appears oblivious to them, to the hunger in their fucking eyes as they devour her flushed cheeks, the slight opening of her mouth, and how her tits and ass stand out in that goddamn dress.

My feet are moving of their own volition down the stairs. My muscles strain and it takes everything in me not to retrieve my knife and carve up every fucker's face who looked at her tonight.

When I'm within reach, my little Petal is still dancing, slightly swaying on her feet.

The male nurse who's been dancing around her like bee to honey, reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

She giggles, fucking giggles, as she grabs his arm for balance.

A red mist fills my vision as I storm between them and slam my fist into his face.