Deity
Chapter 5: кровь
кровь - krov (kroh-v) – blood
"Death is the mother of beauty," said Henry.
"And what is beauty?"
"Terror."
- from The Secret History, by Donna Tartt
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His blood was rushing through his body, all flesh and skin and bone…
Itachi found himself a little short of breath, chest falling and rising in allegro as his breath loudly scraped its way out of him. It felt like his muscles had been slit open and glowing embers were stuffed inside, burning softly at his skin from the inside out. He could not remember how long he had been running for, only that it didn't feel like long enough despite the cool saltiness of sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes. His vision wavered; in focus, out of focus, in focus again.
He should have been in school that morning, as opposed to (Itachi looked around, unsure of his surroundings for a moment before recognizing the street name; Balsam, how pleasant) jogging through the town somewhat aimlessly. He should have, but he wasn't.
And it felt good in a way he had only half expected.
Truth be told, Itachi had only ever missed classes before because of various sports and funerals for relatives he never really knew, giving him nearly perfect attendance (though he still could have aced his classes easily, even if he only bothered to show up half the time). The thought of skipping had occurred to him, however, he had never taken it seriously as something he might do before.
Today was an exception. Today, on a Thursday morning at 7:00 am exactly, he had woken up with no desire to move at all. No desire to do anything. The strict routine his life that had run on for God knows how long was beginning to wear him down. To put it simply, he was bored to the point of exhaustion. He no longer wanted the things that he had. He had known such feelings before, but never a wanting this strong to escape it. If only for one day…
So he did. After going to his locker and dropping off his bag, he just left and started jogging. Anywhere. He could go anywhere that he wanted! For just one day, he didn't have to be a straight-A student, or a pro-star athlete, or the perfect son, or anything at all. He was just Itachi.
(And this was freedom – not slaving over things he barely cared for just to try and attain some sort of higher status – no, this was somewhere better than that could ever bring him, and this was sweet death and pain in a weaker sense, and he wanted to taste more of it.
This tasted alive.)
Running a hand through his sweat-beaded bangs, Itachi headed a little further down the vacant street. It was in a small, slightly run-down part of the town that he had not been to for the past while – not since he and Sasuke had ridden their bikes to the park at the end of the street a several years earlier. Since then, the town had ordered part of the playground there removed because they deemed it a "safety hazard" and never bothered to put another one back up, leaving nothing but a lone, rusted swing set. Letting his legs give way from beneath him, Itachi fell back onto the swing. The chain whined as he pushed off the frozen ground below with his feet, a rut dug into the earth from years upon years of usage.
Sasuke…
Itachi exhaled, clouds of warmth breath brushing against his face. It was almost December, after all, and earlier that week a light dusting of snow had appeared over the town before disappearing again overnight though the cold had remained.
Closing his eyes, Itachi remembered how a younger Sasuke had practically begged his brother to bring him to the park and push him on the swings, all eager smiles as Itachi hesitantly accepted (but only for a little bit, he had things he needed to do. He had only ever taken Sasuke there once, he recalled…). He remembered the way his hands felt against Sasuke's back, pushing him higher (and higher still). Laughter, sticky drops of ice cream, pale skin in the grass (a blooming splotch of purple that looked so beautiful and swollen, causing Sasuke to wince as Itachi's hands…).
Itachi opened his eyes quickly, dismissing the images as his body began to move with the swing's motion, the movements of his legs pushing him higher (and a little higher still). Sasuke had always been an essential part of him, his presence bringing different sorts of comfort (among other emotions entirely) that Itachi found nowhere else. Sasuke was one of the only people who didn't just see him as Itachi the 'genius', but as Itachi his big brother, who was human and had his quirks (often called imperfections), his darker moments. And his brother didn't think less of him for them. Sasuke, it seemed, would always place a large amount of trust (deserved or not) in Itachi.
It was just too bad…
("Nii-san, please…?")
So it was only fitting, after all, that Itachi would try to provide as much protection and guidance to Sasuke as he could, though his Father often reprimanded him for it. "That boy holds you back from reaching what you really could… your true potential…"
"Potential" was one of those words Fugaku liked to throw around as he pleased, not quite carelessly but still more than often. However, he meant them in different ways than they came out, ("As I would have expected of my son…."), and there were many others just like them, disguised quite carefully. A hand on a shoulder; a flash of the eyes; a snapping, stinging cold…
"Not now," Itachi muttered, trying to push the thoughts from his head. "Just one day, please, one day without worrying about it all…"
Even as he walked away, the swing continued rocking back and forth for a while more until it finally slowed to a stop and the sounds of the wailing chain slipped into a hush in the empty playground.
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Sasuke knocked on the door three times, each a little louder than the next (sweet crescendo). It took about 30 seconds for the door to open, and Itachi peered out at him wearily. It was Thursday evening, and there was a look in his eye that portrayed some sort of amazement, some sort of awe that glimmered in the soft lamplight that created a halo around his silhouette.
"Yes?" he near whispered. He had been quiet all day, Sasuke mused, especially while Shisui had driven them home. Not in the shy sort of way though; a quiet in which the words just couldn't mean enough.
"Nii-san?" Sasuke asked quietly. "Um, I was wondering if you… if you were doing anything tomorrow after school and wanted to play soccer with me or something. I mean, I know it's a long time before soccer starts again and everything, but I–"
He was cut off as Itachi shook his head, fluid movement. "I'm sorry, Sasuke. I can't."
"O-oh."
"I'm going to Shisui's tomorrow night," Itachi told him. "But maybe the day after that. Alright?"
"Okay…"
He felt Itachi poke his forehead gently with an apologetic smile, and then the door closed, leaving but a single sliver of light slipping out from under the door to warm Sasuke's feet with false light.
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Friday night.
The table was set for two.
Sasuke was somewhat surprised when Fugaku told him he could sit in Itachi's usual seat, his fingers wrapped tightly around the thin stem of his wine glass. Mikoto had told her husband she would be out at for dinner and a movie with some girlfriends that night, and Itachi had left for Shisui's a little earlier, so it was just the two of them.
The house was quiet then, in one of those not-good ways. Sasuke was almost afraid to move, careful as he cut his chicken into smaller pieces before putting them into his mouth, making sure there was no sauce dribbling down his face or spilling onto his shirt as he chewed the tough and tasteless meat.
He could feel his Father's eyes on him.
"How was school today, Sasuke?"
"Good." The chicken was dry in his throat as he swallowed. His hands shook a little, but he stilled them.
It was quiet…
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Friday night.
When Itachi reached Shisui's house, all beige siding and large garage doors – just like the one next to it but a little different – he knew that Shisui would already be waiting for him in the kitchen. He had probably been there for fifteen minutes or so too. Yes, Shisui was probably looking at the clock on the stove as he sat on one of the stools his mother had upholstered herself, only a few steps away from the front door. He had probably opened the liquor cabinet twice, both times pausing and putting the bottles back as he heard a car drive down the road, although he knew when his parents said "Might be back around ten", they meant much later.
Probably, Itachi thought to himself.
Itachi knocked three times, the door opening before he could get in a fourth. Shisui greeted him with a warm (and worn) smile, hurriedly closing the door and taking his cousin's coat, though they were careful not to touch in the process.
"Did you walk all the way here?" he asked, fishing through the closet for a hanger.
Itachi nodded. "It's not far."
"But it's winter."
"I've survived worse," Itachi said quietly. "Isn't there a party you would rather be at right now?"
Shisui paused. "Well, there is one, but I don't really want to be there… You know how they can get. Heh."
Itachi nodded, and brushed a bit of snow off the soft, black scarf he had unwrapped from about his neck, though most of it had already melted.
The evening went on as it usually did; Shisui ordered a few slices of pizza – pepperoni and bacon for him, and plain cheese with tomato for Itachi – chatting amiably about various things until Itachi suggested they put on the movie he had rented. It was rather good, Shisui supposed, and he would have enjoyed it if they were watching at a different time, or a different place than his living room with Itachi sitting just a few short inches away from him, dark eyes on the screen but his mind obviously elsewhere.
They had just passed the one-hour mark in the film when Shisui stood up abruptly and walked over to the DVD player to shut it off. The screen quickly went blank, and the room was filled with darkness for a few seconds before Shisui's fingers found the light-switch.
Itachi did not move, but when the lights came back on he was staring at Shisui in such a way that his cousin knew he wouldn't be able to meet the gaze if his life depended on it.
"I can't stand it…," Shisui muttered after a while, continuing to glare at the carpet. His hair had all fallen down into his face, but his taut shoulders and uneven breath gave away whatever expression he was trying to hide. "I don't know how you can…"
"Can't stand what?" Itachi asked him quietly.
Though the movements were slow and unsteady, one of Shisui's hands rose towards his head and embedded itself in his hair. A portrait of frustration in blunt brushstrokes. His fingernails bit into his scalp (just a little pain…), teeth gritted and breaths coming shorter despite his attempts to keep it in equal intervals. It wasn't working.
Again, but this time a little louder, Itachi inquired as to what Shisui had meant. He had a good idea, of course, but it just wasn't safe to assume such things. And eventually – neither knew how long; it could've been anywhere from three minutes to twenty – Shisui raised his head and exhaled.
"I think," he said to Itachi, "that maybe you should go now."
"Shisui…" Itachi tried, though Shisui did not seem to be listening as he walked right on past Itachi and on into the hall, gait hurried and almost frantic. He kept on walking until he reached the door of his bedroom, the only one on the first floor of their house that seemed far too large for just three people. It was then he felt Itachi's hand on his shoulder, like an electrical shock that caused him to stop where he was, mere inches from reaching the doorknob. He was not sure whether Itachi pulled him around or he moved of his own will, but they were suddenly face to face with each other.
"Let go of me," murmured Shisui, doing his best not to look at Itachi. But the younger refused to listen, staring at Shisui with more intensity than before in his dark eyes. There was a space between them, spreading wide (and begging to be filled desperately, pleading and screaming for some kind of solace, for peace. Screaming to be made into something more). Itachi could see one of the arteries in Shisui's neck pulsating rapidly, the tense muscles, the way Shisui's lips opened just a little (indecision), the way Shisui's glow(er)ing eyes suggested a repressed fear (and want)… He brushed his thumb up against the base of Shisui's neck, causing his cousin to jerk backwards a little into the wall.
"I'm not going to leave you when you're like this," Itachi told him.
"What are you, my personal saviour? I don't need help from you…."
Shisui spat the words out bitterly, and Itachi's thumb pressed a little into his throat (into that organized tangle of flesh, veins, blood coursing through and through and through) before releasing. His hand withdrew, perhaps reluctant, but even he wasn't sure. His fingertips were still tingling, fantastically warm (alive!). Shadows played on the flowered patterns of the wallpaper, the catching of light causing the slight sheen of sweat on Shisui's neck to glisten, each strand of chestnut hair a slightly different tint; some red, some black. It was a work of art, a painting he created with each movement…
Itachi exhaled.
"I'm not offering to help," he said. "I'm offering to stay."
"I don't want you to stay."
"Don't lie." Itachi cocked his eyebrows, and space between them seemed so very small just then.
Shisui turned, grasping the doorknob and twisting until the door came open.
"Fine then," he muttered. "Do what you want."
With that he turned to head through the doorway (was that hesitance?), and Itachi followed him into the overly clean bedroom, much like Itachi's own (all trophies and photos and organization). It was a place that felt familiar.
Shisui allowed himself to collapse limply in bed, eyes closing halfway as his head hit the pillow. His body wanted to give in to the urge to sleep, but his mind was too aware to let him.
Itachi stayed his distance like a stranger, as if he hadn't been in the room countless times before. There was something troubling about it all, and yet he only indulged in it (breathe in, out, in…). What it was he couldn't name, but he knew he had witnessed parts of it before, and once he had that little bit of recognized he found himself yearning for a more. The thickness of it, the frantic stillness; as if they were waiting for something big to happen, something devastating, something so much bigger than them they could barely understand. Something more than human, unknown, and still so glorious. Itachi wondered if Shisui, lying quiet on the bed, could feel it too. Perhaps, he thought. After all, Shisui seemed to find a sort of attraction in death, be it the same or a different kind than Itachi's.
But perhaps not.
As seconds passed them by in silence, Itachi could feel it more than ever…
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He remembered the feel of cool tree bark against his skin, and how it had scratched his palms as he hoisted himself up onto a higher branch. It was finally summer vacation, so there was no school and no obligations save his sports practices and piano, but the rest of his day was free to with as he wished. He wrapped his arm around the tree's trunk to steady himself, glad for the canopy of leaves above him that cast down a haze of shadow to rescue him from the glaring sun. He was eleven, and already the air seemed to smell so much better in summer…
"Nii-san! Nii-san, where did you go?"
Itachi smiled, swinging his legs in mid-air as he peered over his knees to the ground several metres below him.
"I'm up here, Sasuke," he called, the sound of his voice mixing with the rustling of leaves as a wind swept through. He watched as his brother finally caught sight of him, eyes alight in amazement of how high Itachi had climbed. Itachi didn't find it that high, but then again Sasuke was quite a bit smaller than he was. Or was he? He realized he couldn't quite recall, strangely, and made a mental note to spend more time with his brother that summer. It seemed during the school year that Itachi had hardly spent time with him at all, having been so caught up in other things…
Sasuke's small hands made clumsy grasps as he pulled himself up to the lowest branch. The park was quiet that day (a Thursday, wasn't it?), with less people than there were usually. Their bikes were chained to a tree near the swing set, as Sasuke had insisted on going there first.
Itachi remembered the way dirt had been buried beneath the tips of Sasuke fingernails as his hand finally reached the branch Itachi sat upon. His fingers had groped at it, trying to find a good grip, but then – and oh, how he remembered this – just as the boy attempted to pull himself up a little higher, his feet had slipped out from under him. His eyes stretched wide, framed by a disarray of sooty lashes that should've belonged to a girl, and his lips parted as if to scream, though the sound never came, and then he could feel himself in mid-air without anything supporting him. Freefall…
It was as if, for a second, Itachi forgot himself. His heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped breathing, and he stopped feeling altogether as his body moved on his own. One of those moments so commonly called 'miracles'.
It was terror and it was beauty, all packaged into one glorious moment.
"Gotcha."
He was barely balancing, one arm wrapped around the tree trunk so tightly he could feel it pressing patterns into his flesh, while his other found itself hanging down to clutch Sasuke's left wrist, slender and small. The younger was whimpering, panting, eyes averted to the ground as he dangled. His shirtsleeve had fallen down to bunch about his shoulder, revealing on his upper arm a patch of pale flesh mottled with soft hues of purple, yellow and green; bruises blooming like the crocuses that were always first to sprout up in their mother's garden each spring.
"Sasuke…"
Itachi's eyes held the injury for a second before the strain of Sasuke's weight almost caused him to slip and have them both fall, his own shoulder inwardly ablaze with a pain he barely noticed in his… was it shock? He wasn't sure. But even after Sasuke had managed to climb onto a lower branch, trembling as he pushed his sleeve back down, Itachi couldn't get what he had seen out of his mind.
He knew what it was, and he knew how it got there.
"Sasuke, do you want to stay here all afternoon with me?"
(Let's not go back there just yet…)
After they finally rode home a few hours later, Mikoto found the rip in the back of Sasuke's shirt from where, Itachi guessed, it had caught the end of a branch when he fell. It wasn't a big rip and it could easily be repaired: "Clothes can be mended, but you can't. Be a little more careful, please…," she said upon finding a small scrape on his back to match. And Itachi remembers the way she smiled then in a concerned way that was just so fittingly "motherly" as she inquired as to how it happen. He remembered how his voice had caught in his throat before he spoke, and how Sasuke tried to stare at the ground like he couldn't hear a thing…
"…tell Dad it was my fault. Not his."
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"You just don't get it…"
"I think you've merely become so attached to the idea that you refuse to accept otherwise."
"No, it's… you're not listening to me. You don't know what it's like to not be the best. I don't have that. All they see in me is failure."
"The best isn't always good enough, Shisui…"
(My best isn't perfect.)
"What are you talking about?"
"It doesn't matter. Look-"
"No, tell me."
"Shisui."
"At least you have ways out, Itachi. You could do anything you wanted and you know it. I… it feels like I've been backed into a corner, and I can't do anything about it."
"I'm sure there-"
"Everyday I have to wake up and try and live the life my parents want me to, but everyday I just fall further from the mark! They consider me a failure of a son! Worse than that, I've become a lie to everyone I know. Can you imagine what it's like to hate yourself, to hate who you are and who you know you're going to end up as, but to be unable to change it? I can't. They've beaten the will out of me. It's hard to even think about grades, or football, or anything anymore… I just want to get away from it… Is that so much to ask?
"I just want to live my own life."
(Live is one letter too close to lie.)
"I… Like I said, Shisui, I understand you more than you think."
"…Sasuke…."
"…mmhmm."
"I'm sorry. You know, when I said–"
"I know."
"No, really. He's lucky to have you. You two seem to be so close…"
(You're wrong. Or perhaps I'm wrong. I can make mistakes, right?)
"Shisui, would you mind if we didn't talk about this anymore?"
"You know, sometimes you're easier to read than you think, Itachi."
(I am only human, after all.)
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Their parting kiss was not a short one and not a casual one in the least. Lips passed over lips, dragging the touch as if to reaffirm that it was in fact real and not some figment as hands clutched shoulders tighter than they realized. Eyelids fluttering, catching stolen-breathed glances here and there as deeper they delved; Shisui's mouth tasted vaguely of alcohol, bitter and dry in the same way it made you want a little more, and a little more…
At some points, it was messy and unsure. It was a human gesture, after all, and the situation wasn't really that idealistic or romantic, though it was beautiful nonetheless.
Oh yes, it certainly was beautiful, though it wasn't at all "love".
Shisui's chapped lips pressed roughly against Itachi's jawbone, watching his cousin's distracted eyes as their heartbeats pounded strongly. Together.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you? About how you should be getting home, to protect him."
When Itachi arrived back at his own house, all the lights in the house were off, leaving the windows black and empty as they stared out at the street. It was no wonder though, seeing as he knew it was nearly eleven o' clock already. Thankfully, the frothy snowfall had stopped, but this left the streets with a deathly quiet and sense of alone that made his racing heartbeat feel all too loud, not too mention a biting cold that made it difficult to breathe, let alone think properly. His mind was half-asleep but reeling.
Glorious… The sensation of it was just glorious
He made his way up the stairs deftly and silently, his hand resting lightly on the banister as if to steady his body that felt so far away from him then. Once at the top, he paused, looking around wearily as if searching and blinking more than a chronic liar.
The door to Sasuke's bedroom was slightly ajar.
They were feeding off each other's sensation at that point, inching and inching towards wonderful words like "feel" and "bliss", "happiness" and "life". But just words can never do them justice.
"It's not me you want. It was never me, was it?"
"Shisui, that's not what-"
"Don't lie; I've had enough of those to last me an entire lifetime."
"I'm not…"
Itachi had made it halfway to Sasuke's bed when he saw the boy stir. A variation of shadow and dark hair fell across his face as he angled his head slightly, eyes puffy from sleep and squinting through the darkness. Though he could feel his throat tightening in fear, Sasuke opened his mouth and tried to speak. He had just begun a whisper when a car passing by outside illuminated his room long enough for him to catch a blurred glimpse of a figure, its peculiar expression causing him to start.
However, when Sasuke's eyes finally managed to focus in the dark, he found his room was vacant, and all the shadows still in place. Assuming it was just the tail end of a dream passing over his eyes, Sasuke forced himself back to sleep.
