Chapter: 4

Posted: 4/15/06

Chapter Rating: T

Warning: Mild violence

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Konoha's Broken Feet

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Sometimes people only pretend to deny things.

Four years ago, when we still called ourselves Team 7, we had made a sport of gathering on the bridge. It was our meeting place. Undaunted by the time or weather, I would arrive first, crisply dressed and groomed to my highest tastes. I would lean over the skewed, wooden edge, fantasizing, until he arrived, and then I would talk. I would tell him about myself—about my moods and humors. And, at least until Naruto and Kakashi-sensei dropped by, I would have the freedom of knowing that he wouldn't silence me. Only when there were others around would he tell me to be quiet.

I remember another time we gathered on a bridge, though it had been outside of Konoha's borders and under very different circumstances. I had been so proud of myself that day. It was the first time that I recall little Haruno Sakura finally standing up for someone other than herself: the bridge-builder. It's been so long, though, and so many things have happened since those days. Not changed, just happened.

I often deny that things are the same as they were then—that I am the same. But sometimes people only pretend to deny things. Sometimes they are glad the world runs its own course and doesn't give us a chance to say no.

……

It was so quiet and cold. I held my breath in my throat, the air caught on invisible burrs and needles.

I had been expecting it, alright, though I hadn't heard his footsteps in the snow. All I knew was that there was someone behind me, and I willed my legs to still themselves. If he had wanted me to see him, he would have stepped in front of me.

He started talking. "No weapon?" And I knew it was him.

"Why should I?" I whispered. I could not help it; my voice was being stubborn, though I forced it louder. "Why should I? It's foolish to hurt a teammate."

Silence. I closed my eyes, hoping to beckon him closer. "I was always," I ventured, "one for rules…remember?"

His obvious silence made me want to laugh, it was so familiar, though it also instilled in me an urge to scream and tear my hair out. I tried my hardest not to show anything on my sweaty face. "Do you remember?" I repeated instead.

I felt a slow, steady intake of breath, and then his voice again—"No." And I laughed, after all, though it was short and dusty. I didn't even remember what we had been talking about.

As soon as my laughter died down, I knew that he had taken a step closer. It wasn't exactly any kind of body heat that gave the action away, like I'd read in books, nor a sound: his footsteps were whisper-light. It was because I had turned around.

And I saw it wasn't Sasuke.

His mouth did not curl at my bleary features like I thought it would. His head did not cock at the ugly bruises mottled beneath my eyes. His eyes did narrow, however, though they weren't the ones I had grown used to in these past years. These eyes were long and streamline and bore terribly long lashes that fanned out and caught the falling snow. They didn't remember me, because this wasn't Sasuke.

I felt so stupid for hoping.

Sometimes people only pretend to deny things. Sometimes they say the things they say only to comfort and pamper themselves. As I stood then in the knee-high snow, the last sparks of laughter still dying on my mouth, I said to myself that this wasn't Sasuke—Sasuke would have remembered me. Had I been telling the truth, and not only what I had wanted to hear, I would have said something a little different. I would have said that looking at that strange, familiar face made me feel better. I would have said that this man with the strange eyes may be exactly what I had ventured to find—a Sasuke who had no reason to hate me.

So I was confused when he attacked me. Like the dreamy idiot that I was, I had hopped into the clearing without a tangible weapon in hand; it was my own fault. Tsunade-sama would have my head on a platter if she ever found out.

I was forced to take the first blow, which was aimed straight to my gut. After reeling around for a while, I managed to fend off an attack while realizing my opponent wasn't the-man-who-looked-like-Sasuke, but a gilled man. Kisame. I remembered him, though his face made me want to retch.

"Little girl is in for more than she reckoned." His face twisted into what I realized was a smile. "Little girl—" he thrust the heel of his palm into my chin— "was foolish to come."

His words made no sense to me; I had to shut him up. I took his hand and bit it hard.

Pushing back, I reached to flick out a kunai (which I had been smart enough to stash), but something caught my wrist and held it there. The-man-who-looked-like-Sasuke snatched my other hand as it reeled around.

"Kisame," he said.

The shark man was grinning, and I tried my best to mask my features as fear made itself known inside me. I would make Kakashi-sensei proud, at least. I seemed to be pretty much screwing up everything else since I'd left Konoha.

Though I wriggled and kicked, the gilled man still managed to get a grip around my calf. His nails dug in.

"Such strong legs." His tiny, glazed eyes were the least human I had ever seen. "Let me break them."

I struggled in vain as his hands worked up to just below my thighs, pushing my leg into the heatless snow, and then—with a force I found unnatural and alien—he snapped my leg in the opposite direction.

I screamed until I felt bubbles in my mouth—until I felt fireworks going off in my throat. His hands moved on to my other leg and gave it the same snapping treatment, causing white things to flicker like hot embers across my vision. I had experienced pain before, but little could amount to this. It felt like the blood in my legs was running cold.

I wanted to pass out. I wanted to slip into the bleak, black coolness that I felt right there, just within reach, but something held me from it. Startled out of my daze, I felt my body being jostled and felt something very cold against my cheek.

My eyes cleared a little. The pain still coursed in and out of me; my chest still constricted and my throat still burned, but I found I could better bear the mistreatment. I must have turned onto my side, I realized, because it was snow my cheek was pressed to. I didn't want to move my arms, otherwise I would have felt the tears streaming past my eyes and the spittle running out of my mouth.

It was then that I made out the boots in front of me, and I knew I wouldn't be given any peace. There was a blue blur, and something struck across my face, killing me.

At least, I thought I was dead. I was wrong, though, because you can't die in Hell.

…………………………

Someone was humming. The tune, while both light and meaningless to me, shook me out of my sleep. I opened my eyes and lay still.

I was very cold.

The voice was soft and feathery, and I couldn't tell whether it was real or merely my mind's idea of self-comfort. I didn't turn to see; I didn't want the aches to return.

The tune ended quietly, leaving only the sound of my breathing, ragged and gaining in tempo, to fill the space. I was lying on my stomach, I found; my eyes searched in their sockets for some kind of distinguishing mark that would make this place recognizable to me. All I saw was dark and gray, and I felt my face crumple—like a small child's.

Soft steps, wanting to be heard, neared my head. I quieted myself.

"You are broken."

This is how I came to be here, half-dead with those damnable red eyes on my back. I felt them, and I wanted to run, but I was broken. I couldn't go anywhere.

"…And weak."

I willed the fear to bleed out of me, to soak into the cold, dusty floor, but it remained lurking in my gut. Boot steps circled my side, idle and elf-light. I tensed.

"You are afraid, too." He bent close, brushing his mouth against my ear. "Tell me, Little Flower, do you fear me? I want to know."

I tried my hardest not to shake—held my breath and fought the quivers—but they came regardless. I opened my eyes against the solid ground.

"You will never walk again, Little Flower."

I began to cry, as I knew I would, but not before I spat out what was hanging on my tongue.

"God will damn you." I wanted this person to suffer, and didn't care if he killed me anymore. Let him.

As it was, he pulled back; I heard his boots click against the ground as they drew away.

The humming started again.

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I was held captive for four days, within which I was force-fed and carried from room to room. I remember little of it, nor of whom it was who cared for me.

On the fourth day, a medic was brought to seal my wounds. After that, my health and my wits were near repaired. My legs, however, were not.

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Author's Note: Shorter chapter, and rather depressing, too. I'm sorry. I couldn't go on without risking messing up the mood. Anyway, "the-man-who-looks-like-Sasuke" was finally introduced, along with Kisame. I've read many fictions including these characters and will try to develop them in a way that will pay off in the storyline. For instance, Kisame, being an under-roled character, could be either wickedly aggressive or just plain cruel. It'll be interesting seeing which personalities will play out.

Now, on to the reviews…

Cold Fire Phoenix: THANK YOU for the review. You've covered so much; I'll look into the suggestions you've made. You seem to be a strong Sakura fan and support her for many of the reasons I do, as both your review and fiction show. Thanks.

RobinAmon: Thanks for reviewing again. And hey – it's more than one word this time!

Chapter 5 should be online in 4 days or so…I think. We'll see. Let's aim for 4 reviews this time.

Plug: www dot fictionpress dot com/read dot php?storyid2142688&chapter2 (My other project.)