Deity

Chapter 3: мучéние

мучéние - muchenie (moo-chyeh-nee-eh) – torture

One minute was enough, Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection.

- Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

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Children are peculiar creatures in their innocence. They have innate curiosity, but it is not greed, not yet. There must be a sort of unspoilt bliss in that… In a way, they are superior to adults with their troubles, jobs, money and stressful lives, tainted minds and all.

They are the untainted ones, ourselves in our most primitive state. Our state closest to "Godliness", if it can be put in those terms. And if only we could lose ourselves… if only we could revert back to that state, and wash ourselves entirely clean of "sin", if you want to call it that (assuming, of course, that we are not born in sin, and that in nature we are good). Just as Rousseau suggested during the Enlightenment, "We should return to nature."

Of course, not every child is in this way of brightness. Some are ruined at an early age and forced to grow up a little too fast, or maybe they were born, somehow, without that curiosity and pureness. They are delicate. When a child is forced to not be a child, crucial stages of development are hurried through or skipped entirely. It is not healthy. They become peculiar… with a sort of mental instability. Odd tendencies. Nightmares. A relenting dissatisfaction. All signs of the subconscious trying to communicate that something is wrong, and that glazing over it won't make things better. It can progress to the point of insanity, though the word has become overused. When one is truly insane they do not know it; it is being on the verge of losing yourself that is the most frightening…

More and more these days, I think that it is the average child, the one allowed to play and grow, and maintain its innocence for as long as possible, not naiveté but innocence… it is that child that is the perfect one.

As it is said, 'maxima debetur puero reverntia'.

The greatest respect is owed to a child.

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"This is so fucking gay," Kiba grumbled under his breath, leaning against the dumpster.

Sasuke, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, raised an eyebrow as he refused the urge to wince. "How so?"

"You know that soccer game we're having next recess?" Kiba received a nod in response. "I can't go. The teacher is making me stay in to redo that retarded math test that I failed!"

"Oh…" said Sasuke, suddenly feeling a bit guilty. He had scored nearly perfect on that test – nearly, of course, his work for the last question had gotten all mixed up and he had wound up with something all too wrong. "We'll have an odd number of people then…"

"It'll be fine, since we're playing with the regular teams," Kiba said. "Our team will do good; I mean we've got you, after all. I just really wanted to play… Goddamn, who needs math anyways? So faggoty…"

This time, Sasuke did wince. After being around Kiba for a while, one could not help but pick up on some of his angrier speech patterns, and Sasuke had accidentally let a word or two slip around Itachi one day earlier that year. (Immediately, his brother had given him a stern look.

"What did you say?"

"Er…" Sasuke's face began to colour red. Something caught suddenly in his chest and his gut felt like it was about to burst out onto the carpet. "That word…"

"Spit it out." He hardly ever saw his brother like this…

"F-faggot?"

"That one." Itachi sighed, slightly bitter. "That's a harsh word, Sasuke. It's not right for you to use it, especially when you don't know what it means."

Sasuke had made a strong point never to say the word again, though it was odd to him that whenever their Father said it – often in a slurred, condescending sort of way – Itachi stayed his silence.)

"I'm not really that good…" Sasuke said, and Kiba rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on, don't bullshit. You're tons better than me, at least. Besides, even if you weren't, you could just ask that crazy-talented brother of yours to teach you and you'd be pro in no time."

"Nii-san is-"

"Hey!" Kiba, suddenly distracted, elbowed Sasuke in the side and gestured. "I think that girl has a crush on you!"

Sasuke glanced over to where Kiba had pointed, and instantly one of the girls hid her face behind another girl's shoulder. The whole group of them started giggling in high-pitched cacophony.

Kiba laughed. "Go talk to her. She's kinda cute."

The Uchiha shrugged, not wanting to be bothered. "I don't really care… Look, let's go find the other guys."

"Sure thing, bud."

"Oh, and… could I sleep over at your place this weekend? I'll bring that video game you like."

Kiba nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure my folks will be fine with it. Any reason?"

"Not really," Sasuke answered. "I just don't feel like staying home this weekend. That's all."

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Shisui, if asked, would promptly and truthfully answer that he considered Itachi to be both his best friend and worst enemy.

It hadn't always been this way, of course. The first time he had met Itachi (as far as he remembered) was at some family gathering in the summertime when they were little. Shisui, having been kicked out of the house for teasing their Grandmother's teacup dog, was searching the yard for a new playmate.

Itachi had been shuffling a pile of cards while sitting on the back porch, and after a few moments of pestering let Shisui sit next to him and began dealing. They played two games of Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and then Go Fish again – Itachi won all but one of the games and Shisui accused him of cheating. At first, he didn't like his cousin. Itachi was quiet, somewhat boring, not to mention weird. Shisui told him so, and Itachi just laughed.

The two didn't see much of each other until Shisui started high school as a grade nine and his family – just his two parents and himself – moved to the town Itachi lived in for work. Shisui didn't mind; they usually moved town every few years, and it was never very far. Though originally it had annoyed him that Itachi was a year younger, and yet a grade ahead of him, the two slowly grew closer. Itachi knew a lot of people, but said he didn't have many actual friends. Shisui found this slightly disheartening, yet typical of Itachi to say.

But really, it was quite a bit more complicated than that…

The car smelled of sweat and air freshener – not the most pleasant mix, but it wasn't unbearable. Shisui's hair was still messy from wearing a football helmet, and Itachi's was tied back in its usual ponytail. The Thursday night practice had started a little late in the evening, as the cheerleaders got the field right after school (and it encouraged the team to show up on time, to catch a glimpse of the girls in action to "motivate" them). By the time they had gotten out of the change room, it was already somewhat dark out, and Shisui found himself shivering. The Indian Summer still reigned during the day, but at night it was deathly cold.

"God," he muttered, taking the car around a corner, "that was a hard practice…"

"Well, there is the tournament next week," said Itachi plainly.

"Damn, I almost forgot…" Shisui sighed. "And we get report cards soon, don't we?"

Itachi nodded, and his cousin groaned. "Great; just great!"

"I'm sure it won't be that bad…" Itachi mumbled. He shifted, one hand reaching for the black radio dial.

Shisui shook his head. "No, don't turn it on. I've kind of got a headache now…"

"Oh, sorry."

"It's nothing, really, I've just been kind of stressed lately…"

"I see." Itachi settled back in his seat, head lolling to the side as his neck begged to give way in exhaustion. A mutual lull settled in between them as the drive continued, the glow of streetlights highlighting the edges of their silhouettes as they passed by every few seconds. The heater whirred, casting blasts of hot air onto the boys; it was so cold they had been able to see their breath as they waited for the heater to start working.

Shisui pulled up to his usual place by the curb outside Itachi's house. A seatbelt snapped open. He turned his head, intending to say something to Itachi, but those thoughts fled as he realized Itachi's face was closer – much closer – than it had been just a few seconds earlier. There were exactly two and a quarter seconds to breathe before the distance was closed and he felt Itachi's lips on his. The touch was light, but most definitely deliberate and not at all hesitant. Before the kiss could deepen, Shisui forced himself to pull away, trying to ignore the slightly confused look Itachi was giving him as he did.

"What are you doing?" Shisui whispered, though there was no need to be so hush about it.

"What do you mean?" asked Itachi in return, and by his look, Shisui suspected he already knew. "You were the one who-"

"Stop."

"But–"

"Stop. Just for a minute," Shisui said, and Itachi bit his lip, eyes darting to the bright blue letters of the digital clock next to the glowing heater controls.

"Alright. You have one minute."

Trust Itachi to take it literally when he very well knows what I'm trying to get across… Shisui griped mentally, and attempted to regain his senses.

It was his fault, he supposed. As he and Itachi had grown closer, they had spent more and more time together, and more and more time alone. Sometimes, as cliché as he knew it was, Itachi truly did know him better than he knew himself, able to predict reactions and read his moods with skill that almost frightened him – no, it did frighten him. And he had been scared out of his wits when he stopped looking at Itachi as a little brother and best friend, and more as best friend and… something else.

Besides, he had been the one who kissed Itachi first. He tended to blame it on the fact that he was half-drunk from a mix of soda and alcohol stolen from his parents liquor cabinets at the time, but that was only half of it. Itachi, being the peculiar thing he was, had kissed Shisui back with a sort of eagerness he hadn't been expecting but somehow came to enjoy. Itachi's fingers were gentle and familiar, his lips warm… they didn't have sex, of course, but after a couple of times it had gotten farther than Shisui thought it would. That first night had been earlier that year, in the spring. A month later, Shisui had started dating one of the cheerleaders (a pretty little brunette with C-cup breasts hidden under preppy T-shirts; she played trumpet in the concert band) and explained to Itachi it was a mistake; nothing more would come of it. They remained friends. Problem solved.

However, that October, Shisui found out his girlfriend had been cheating on him with one of the saxophone players. Their relationship had come to a swift end soon after.

And it was Itachi who had been there for Shisui to express frustration to, without question and without qualm. No one knew, of course. For the most part, they were just good friends, aside from the occasional time in private when Shisui just could not help himself. He did not like to think of himself as a faggot; he had never had interest in a boy before, but Itachi was… well, Itachi was Itachi. It was almost funny, how much he tried to use the thought to justify things. Sometimes he absolutely hated it, hated Itachi for letting him get away with it. Hated himself for getting himself into it, and liking it so damn much, and…

"It's been a minute," Itachi said finally, though Shisui knew it had been quite a bit more. "Should I… just go?"

"No, no," protested Shisui. "I didn't mean to…"

Itachi's long bangs were brushing against his shoulder, plump lips opened just a little in curiosity. It was absolutely amazing how feminine and… and just desirable Itachi could make himself look sometimes, the edge of his pale face high-lighted by street and star light. Like artwork. That was it. Itachi was like a prized piece of artwork, one Shisui wondered how he came to acquire. Though he was anti-social by nature, Itachi could have popularity if he wanted. He was great, not just good, at everything he attempted and knew how to work people… Oh, how well Shisui knew that.

Shisui only managed one, half-hearted and half-breathed, "Itachi…" before he gave in, a searing ecstasy blurred his vision as they met somewhere near halfway. One hand rose to cup his cousin's shoulder while his mouth opened and his tongue pushed into Itachi's mouth. The motions were sensual and yet senseless, giving Shisui a sort of release from everything that had been hanging over his mind and tirelessly harassing him for the past week. Any guilt about their relationship vanished for the time being, giving way to sweet release. Shisui didn't have to think, or worry; he could just enjoy the moment for once in his life.

Itachi pulled away for a moment, giving time for Shisui to mumble, despite himself, "What if your parents see?"

"I don't care," responded Itachi bitterly, delivering delicate kisses to Shisui's jawbone. "Let them see."

"But-"

"I don't get why you care so much if people know about this…"

"For someone so smart, you sure can act stupid at times."

"And you like that, don't you…" Itachi mumbled quietly into his breath, the syllables too wispy for Shisui to understand.

His mouth found a certain spot on Shisui's neck just then, and his cousin became slightly short of breath, feeling his back press against the foggy car window. Itachi's hands were doing nothing to help this as they flitted down over his chest, down to his waist, slipping down a bit further… By this time, a large bulge was rising in Shisui's pants, and he found himself almost embarrassed (then again, it wasn't that hard to embarrass oneself around Itachi).

"You know what other people would do if they found out…" he hissed. "Besides, you're my cousin, that's sort of…"

Itachi ignored him, hand ducking his right hand beneath the waistband of Shisui's pants. A shudder ran up through Shisui's chest, followed by a feeling of panic as Itachi's fingers grazed the side of his waist, pausing, then pressing in intentionally.

"Itachi…"

"Gave up the whole 'bloody bracelet' thing, did you?" Itachi asked sadly as he broke the kiss, following the swollen ridges engraved in Shisui's skin. These, he could feel, were deep. These must have bled quite a bit… "I thought maybe you had stopped… you wore a T-shirt the other day, you know, and without those horrible wristbands… I noticed." He closed his eyes, trying to count the do-it-yourself scars with his touch, but Shisui quickly pushed his hand away.

"You don't get it," he said curtly.

"Well, if you-"

"You wouldn't."

Itachi drew back into his own seat, watching as Shisui tried to fight his arousal and sudden need to vomit. He snapped the heat off, and the loud noise created by the heater died.

It had been just a week or two before the first night they had kissed that Itachi had confronted him. The weather had still been fairly cold then, so long-sleeved T-shirts didn't seem too suspicious, but Itachi had to be different and figured it out all too easily. The scratches on Shisui's arms. None too deep, but the fact that they were even there was enough.

Self-infliction.

Cutting.

Slice and dice.

Excuses seemed useless and pathetic to try against his cousin, so Shisui admitted to the accusations. Said it was nothing. Said he would stop. But Itachi saw they got worse. Shisui denied him an explanation once again, but said he would try. And he did try. He stopped for a while, and Itachi seemed satisfied, although he did have a nasty habit of glancing coldly in Shisui's direction whenever the subject came up at the lunch table (he did that whenever a gay remark was made as well, and gave a little smile.)

They hadn't seen each other much over the summer, since Shisui was busy with his other friends and his girlfriend. The marks faded into tanned skin. Nothing but a bitter memory of a hard time, but it was only a memory and the sting was gone. But then school started again, and it all… evaporated, and the sting was back – a taste he just couldn't get out of his mouth.

"…why?" Itachi asked, though he suspected he would not get any more out of his cousin.

"Like I said," Shisui said through his teeth, now obviously upset, "you wouldn't understand. You would never… Itachi, you're the child that every set of parents want. You're good at everything, and you don't… you don't make mistakes like the rest of us do. We're not like you; nowhere near. I'm an average student. I'm an average football player, if even that. I fuck up a lot of the time, and my parents don't like that. You know that!"

Itachi flinched at his cousin's tone.

Shisui continued. "You wouldn't get what it's like to strive, and yet not be able to reach… not be able to be what they want you to be. The stress they put on me – the stress I put on myself is just too much for the disappointment it brings! If I was you, maybe they'd be happy! Maybe I wouldn't get all these goddamn bruises from them and have to blame them on football, and maybe my goddamn girlfriend wouldn't cheat on me because I'm 'not fun enough' or whatever bullshit she said…

"I stopped it for a while, okay? I was happy for a while. But things got bad again, they got real bad for a while. Wrists seemed stupid; people would see. My parents would see, and if they knew, they would… you know what they would do. So I cut on my hips. Simple." His shoulders jerked once. "Your brother would get it. I mean, if you were my brother? My God… I would hate you."

The weight of his words hit hard, like a slap to the face. Itachi inhaled sharply. Shisui tried to ignore it, bitterly spitting out, "Were you just kissing me to find that out?"

"No." said Itachi quickly. "I wouldn't do that."

"Didn't think so." Shisui let out his breath. "But look, if you could-"

He cut himself off as he noticed Itachi had already retrieved his bag from the backseat and his free hand was resting on the door handle. It was dark, but he could have sworn Itachi was trembling.

"I don't think you should be so quick," Itachi murmured, "to assume I wouldn't understand something like that. Shisui. Thank you for the ride."

With the sharp closing of the door, he was gone. Snap. Just like that.

Swallowing deeply, Shisui started the car.

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The image of the spoon bent as Mikoto dipped it into the tea, stirring twice before retrieving the flavoured tea bag that had been floating near to the surface. She set the spoon down on the counter next to the sink (since the dishwasher was already running with the dishes used at dinner), and perched on one of the stools next to the table in the middle of the kitchen with her elbows resting on her knees rather boyishly. Fugaku sat across from her, concentrated on a pile of papers. She reached over to place one of the cups in front of him, and smiled.

"Tea?"

"Oh, thanks," he mumbled, grim eyes glancing up to her for just a second.

"It's green tea, with mint," she explained. "I thought you might like it. Everyone's getting a cold this time of year, and it's pretty good for you."

"Mmhmm."

Mikoto raised the cup to her lips, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. Ripples spread over the surface.

"So," she started, pleasantly. "How was your day at work? Didn't you say you had a meeting or something?"

"Yes, I did," said Fugaku.

"And… how did that go?"

He sighed. "Look, dear, I'm really not in the mood to talk. I have to look through these papers and then get to bed so I can get up early. Alright?"

"You work too much." Mikoto said, her smile vanishing into concern. "Maybe you should take a vacation. Just for a while. We haven't gone away in long time. You know, we haven't really done anything in a long, long time." She put the cup down onto the counter so quickly a small bit of liquid splashed up against the side and dribbled over. "You're always working. I hardly see you anymore, and even when I do, you're…"

Fugaku glared at her, in a demanding sort of way. "I'm what?"

"I don't know."

"I'm what, Mikoto?"

She shook her head, hands clinging to the edge of the table. Her voice softened. "Nothing. It's nothing. Forget I said anything. I guess I just… sometimes we don't feel like a family anymore. And I'm worried about the boys. You're too harsh on them, you know."

The papers Fugaku's hands rustled as he flipped through them. "How so?"

"Well you… you aren't even looking at me." Mikoto leaned forwards, peering at her husband. "Are you even listening? Look at me, please."

Fugaku refused. "I don't know what's gotten into you right now, but I suggest you go lay down… Besides, it is not your place to tell me how I should raise my own children."

"What are you talking about? I'm their Mother."

"And I am their Father," he growled, "so believe me, Mikoto, if you raised them as you wished they would've turned out as spoiled brats. Every child needs discipline. Right now, I suggest you learn where you stand and stop this ludicrous behaviour."

"If I had…" her voice faded, on the subtly violent edge of breaking as her mouth – painted a soft pink with lipstick – tried to form coherent word a second more before she gave up, gave in. The buzz of electricity coursing through the room seemed loud, and she hated it, along with that pain that had started up in her lungs. She reached absentmindedly for her tea. "You… you know, Fugaku I-"

A soft squeak escaped her throat as her shaking hand shot forwards for the cup handle and missed, clipping it hard enough to make it rock. Liquid sloshed up over the sides as it tipped over onto the counter and spilled, a flood that grew further and further out. The cup hadn't broken.

"Mom? Are you alright?"

Holding her sticky and wet hands out in front of her, almost as if praying, Mikoto looked up to find Itachi at the front door.

"What-"

"I'm okay, Itachi," she said, wondering just how long he had been standing at the door. "I just spilled my tea. The water in the kettle is probably still warm, do you want some?"

"No thank you," he murmured, eyeing her still. "I'll go get a cloth."

"Don't, I'll get it." She smiled. "Your cheeks are all flushed… is it cold outside?"

He half-shrugged in that way he did, and pushed a bit of hair back behind his ear. "Hard practice. That's all."

"I see."

Fugaku didn't speak.

"You go upstairs; don't worry about this," Mikoto said, as if nothing were wrong even though anyone could see something was. Small cracks had expanded and turned into deep gorges and divides. "I'll clean this up. Besides, you look like you need a rest…"

"Goodnight then," said Itachi cordially with a slight nod of his head. Then to Fugaku, "Goodnight, Father."

"You too," Fugaku responded.

Itachi walked up the stairs, trying to control his pace but he could feel it slipping and speeding. By the time he had gotten to his doorway he had stopped caring. Tired, he pushed open to doorway only to find Sasuke lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't seem to have noticed his brother was there, his feet and hands flexing gently as he continued off in his thoughts until-

"Sasuke, what are you doing in here?"

Sasuke brother scrambled to sit up, but before he could really do anything, Itachi had spoken again.

"You should probably go."

The younger brother hopped off the bed without question, watching Itachi nervously as he sat down.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Itachi mumbled. He put a hand to his head and ran it through his hair, damp and stringy. "God, I'm such a mess…"

"H-how was football?"

"Awful," Itachi spat.

Sasuke recoiled, watching as Itachi began massaging his scalp roughly and muttering rapidly under his breath, words too quick for him to even try to identify as Itachi's voice rambled on and on.

"I should've known," was the only thing Sasuke could catch, and he didn't dare to ask what is was Itachi should've known about. His brother's disconcerted face – eyes half-open and wet, teeth biting at his (swollen) lips every now and then, fingers now grabbling mindlessly at his skull – kept him captivated, in a state of horror and awe to see someone like his brother unravel.

Shisui… Itachi groaned mentally, eyes flying open as he pushed everything back inside his head.

"Sasuke."

The boy almost jumped. "Yes?"

"Before you go, if you want it, there's some chocolate in that drawer…" his hand left his head momentarily to point at his dresser. "Third one, right side. I don't want it now, and it's going to go stale soon."

Sasuke headed towards Itachi's dresser slowly, still uncertain, and opened the drawer with slight difficulty – it stuck when he got it half-open and would open no more, but he had enough space to reach his hand in and grab a handful of chocolates.

"Thank you, Nii-san," he said.

"You can have it all if you want." Itachi arched his back a little as he stretched. His body burned in a dull way, as if the sharpness of pain that should have been there was evading him. From the corner of his eye, he caught Sasuke peering at him as he headed for the door. Not hateful. Not hateful at all. (But then, the world as we perceive it is altered by what our minds know, and what our minds want to see…)

Itachi pressed his face into his pillow as soon as he heard the door click shut, a stretching insomnia already unfolding before him.