I don't own Naruto or the song Little Sister by Jewel.

Little Sister

Hey, little sister, I heard you went to Mr. So and So, knock knock knocking on his door again last night, said you needed it bad. You know that ain't right. 'Cause so many times you've come to me cry crying, trying to stop. You said it hurts so bad, but please don't let you go back for more.

Sometimes I hate Hanabi. I hate her for making me into the good sister, the one person she can run to with her troubles. Her personal savior. She never wonders about whether or not I want to be her savior.

One of these days, when she comes to my door looking haggard and hungover, with no cash and junk in her veins, I should close the door right in her face.

But should and will are two completely different things. I know that I would never be able to do something like that to my younger sibling. Everyone tells me I'm too soft, and that I never hold grudges. Well, that's one out of two right. I am too soft, but I hold on to grudges like teddy bears.

"What's wrong with you?" Temari asks me when I go down to the café in which she works. I don't answer right away, and I sip my coffee instead, buying myself some time. It's times like these that I wish I hadn't made friends with her. She's too perceptive for my liking.

We met one day when her boyfriend and my boyfriend had a guys' night out and had the bright idea of having their girlfriends meet each other while they did that. Maybe it was just a clever way of making sure we didn't cheat on them. Either way, I found myself putting up with two loudmouths that seemed to know each other to begin with, a less rambunctious brunette with an odd fixation on her pocketknife, and Temari. Needless to say, Temari was the only one I found interesting enough to befriend.

Or better said, vice versa.

I'm not the outgoing type. If none of those girls had spoken to me, I probably would not have spoken to them. Eh, for all intents and purposes, they didn't, except for Temari. If I had had the nerve I would have said something snide about the outfits they obviously thought were adorable. Stupid idiots, caring about clothes so bloody much.

"God, these little skanks wouldn't know up from down, would they?" Temari asked me from the side of her mouth as we sat slightly apart from the other three at the bar.

Ah, we get along pretty well, usually, though. I guess I'm just used to people completely ignoring me and my painfully obvious emotions, so I never really learned how to hide them, like most teenagers.

"Nothing's wrong," I lie through my teeth, and I know Temari's not going to fall for it.

"Ah, my dick, nothing's wrong," she answers crudely, but doesn't push it.

My little sister is a zombie in a body with no soul; a role she has learned to play in a world today where nothing else matters. But it matters, we gotta start feeding our souls, not our addiction or afflictions of pain to avoid the same questions we must ask ourselves to get any answers.

When I answered my door yesterday, my sister was standing there. Now that is a sight I see far too often for my taste. As usual, she looked completely stoned, her clothes half on, her makeup smeared and a bright, sideways grin on her face.

"Hello Hanabi," I greeted her dryly, but I don't think she got the message.

"Oi, Hinata! How are things going? Still with that bastard boyfriend of yours?" Actually, no, I'm not. The last time she came around, she got drunk and when I came home with Kiba she got a little crazy. She started playing around with him like some kind of whore, which both of us thought was completely inappropriate. She's my sister, though, so I couldn't lift a finger. Kiba, on the other hand, shoved her off when she ignored his warnings.

She called him an abusive bastard and kept screaming that 'she was just playing around' and 'have a bit of fun, is all'.

Yeah, that little bit of fun made Kiba break up with me the next day. He said he liked me a lot, and all, but my sister was just too much. He had met her several times before then, and I guess this time was just one time too many. Yes, what fun, my sister had stolen something else away from me.

"What is it you want now, Hanabi?" I asked her directly. I didn't want to beat around the bush that day, not in the slightest. I just wanted her out as soon as possible.

"What, I can't just want to see my older sister in her prime?" She grinned at me toothily, but I didn't smile back. This was getting ridiculous.

"How much do you need this time, Hanabi?" I asked tiredly.

She looked a little irritated that I was not buying her shit, but she plowed on. "Well, as long as you're givin' out cash and all . . . a hundred bucks?"

I was about to walk to my wallet and pull out five twenties for her—which would cause me to look a bit thin that month—but I actually look her over. Oh, Jesus, this happens to me every time. Even when I vow that I will not pity the girl, I can't help it.

"Fucking hell, Hanabi, come in and take a damn shower. It looks like you need one." I leave the door open for her when I head toward my wallet and she stomps in with her big healed bitch boots as if it's her home.

"Very astute of you, sis. I do need a bath. I got kicked out my apartment, again." She doesn't wait for me to answer and rushes into my room to pick off what part of my closet she's going to walk off with this time. Damn it all to hell.

We gotta start feeding . . . our souls have been lost to the millions with lots who feed on addiction, selling pills and what's hot, and I wish I could save her from all their delusions, all the confusion of a nation that starves for salvation, but clothing is the closest approximation to God. And he only knows that drugs are all we know of love.

"Hello, have you see Hyuga Hanabi?" I ask the man leaning coolly against the wall, and he nods his head towards the big mist of cigarette smoke at the end of the hall. I should have known. I nod my thanks to him, but I doubt he notices.

I try to make my walk confident and firm, but I don't know if I quite pull it off. I step into the room and I am immediately engulfed by the sounds of a bunch of drunk people and some hip hop music. Ugh, I really hate being here.

I hate Hanabi for making me come here. She was supposed to show up at the door, but of course, she didn't.

"Have you see Hyuga Hanabi?" I ask a group of people nearby, and one girls giggles.

"Upstairs with Nathan, prolly." More giggles, but I keep my temper and ignore them. Nathan? Oh, god, I hope she hasn't gotten herself into too much trouble this time.

"How do I get upstairs?" I ask, and one of the guys gives me an odd look before answering.

"I hope you're not expecting to get an audience with Nathan." Okay, I'll make this oneclear: I am not especially good looking. My figure's alright, mostly because I like being fit and not out of desire to look attractive, but I'm just plain by nature. Hanabi got the eccentric streak, which I've yet to decide of whether that's a bad thing or a good thing. I guess I'm not sexy enough to be with 'Nathan.' Oh, how my heart cries.

Sarcasm.

"How the hell do I get upstairs?" I repeat, my tone voicing more than a little bit of my annoyance. He complies, though reluctantly, and I follow his instructions. Upstairs I find it much less loud, and reeking of booze and sex. Damn.

I don't know which room I'd find Nathan and my sister in, but I doubt most of these people will be aware of my presence anyway, so I begin peeking into the rooms one by one.

I finally happen upon one where a girl with long, bluish hair is kneeled over a man, who's lying down, and . . . I think you can figure out the rest.

"Hello, Hanabi," I greet her from the doorway, gazing at her face only, to avoid seeing anything that wasn't appropriate for me to see.

"Fuck! Hinata, what the hell do you think you're doing here?" It seems she has already forgotten that she called me for a ride home.

"You called me, remember? I'm here to take you home." I state this easily, although inside I'm boiling with anger. How dare she do this to me every time?

"Eh, can't you see I'm busy? Come by a bit later and I'll be spic and span and ready to g—" Before she can finish her sweet little request, I'm always pulling her off the bed and slide my coat off my shoulder. Thankfully, I wore a long one, so that Hanabi can wear it and cover up all her nakedness.

"Put it on, Hanabi, I'm taking you home." She takes the coat from me reluctantly, and begins putting it on.

The man on the bed, who I'm assuming is the infamous 'Nathan' chuckles crackingly and says, "Aww, does little Hanabi need her bwig sissy to come and take her home? Is it past her bedtime? Sorry, I thought she was a big girl, or else I'd have brought her home so you could tuck her in." I glare at him, and he doesn't say anything more, but I doubt it's because he feels the littlest bit threatened by little ol' me.

I drag Hanabi through the house, where most of the people here give us confused or snide looks. I don't care. I hope Hanabi's so embarrassed that she never comes back here. It's such a drag acting like Hanabi's mother.

"What the hell was that?" She screeches at me in the car, pouting like a rebellious sixteen year old girl. She's eighteen now . . . she should grow the fuck up.

"I could ask you the same thing. You call me past midnight to come bring you home and then you force me to go inside looking for you. What the hell are you thinking?"

"You should have waited outside!"

"And what? Wait for you to finish giving some guy a blowjob? Get your own damn car—oh wait, I forgot, you can't because you spend all your money on booze and smack." I know this is a low blow, but I'm not feeling nice. It's one thirty in the morning, and I doubt anyone would be feeling nice at this ungodly hour.

"Let me out. Let me out of the goddamn car!" She screams, trying to pull at the door, but I put in the child lock beforehand. She's so predictable.

"Not with my coat. It's my only winter one. I would get another one, but I recently gave a certain someone a hundred bucks, so I can't afford it." I hope she gets the message and feels guilty, but I guess I expect too much. She keeps pulling at the door frantically, until she begins rolling down the window.

"What the hell? You're willing to throw yourself out of my goddamn window? Get the fuck in her, you idiot!" I reach over and try to pull her in by the coat.

Unfortunately, Hanabi decides to do this in an intersection. I don't even see the other car coming.

Every day we starve while we eat white bread and beer instead of a handshake or hug. We spill the pills and sweep them under the rug. My little sister is a zombie in a body with no soul. A role she has learned to play in a world today where nothing else matters. But it matters, we gotta start feeding our souls.

Hanabi left me in the car, apparently. I don't know because my head was bashed against the window. I should have been wearing my seatbelt, I suppose. Anyway, when I get out of the hospital, after spending a week in there because of my concussion and other various injuries, I return home to be greeted by . . . an apartment full of empty beer cans and cigarette stubs. Hanabi not only skipped town on me, but she had a party in my apartment while I was gone.

I clean up, morosely thinking of how I'm going to pay for my hospital bill. Thank goodness I had car insurance.

As I pick up a pair of unfamiliar panties, and I throw them in the garbage, I decide firmly that I will never have anything to do with Hanabi again. Damn it, I'm sick of her shit. I'm get in a car accident because of her and instead of trying to do something for me, she makes this worse.

"Man, I heard about the car accident. Did your sister really leave you there? I mean, how did she know you weren't dead?" I shrug my shoulder, since I really don't want to talk about it, even to Temari. We're at the coffee shop again, and this time I'm eating a croissant. "Shit. Talk about family loyalty."

Hanabi comes crawling back a few months later. She looks worse than ever before. Her clothes are ripped, and there are tear stains down her cheeks. "Hinata," she croaks. "I think I got r—" No. Not again. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let Hanabi take advantage of me any longer.

And yet, it tastes bitter to slam the door in her face.

Hey, little sister, I heard you went to Mr. So and So, knock knock knocking on his door again last night, said you needed more.

Hanabi OD's a couple days later in some apartment. During the autopsy, I ask if they can do a rape kit on her. It comes back with positive signs of abuse.

As you can tell, my fics aren't especially uplifting. I'm so morose, damn it.

I'm gonna do a sequel with Hinata and her father.