I write stories I'd love to read. And I share them hoping maybe someone else would find them enjoyable too. Thank you for dropping by.
NOTE: For those who'd prefer warnings, I've compiled them into a chapter at the end of the story in order to not spoil it for everyone. Please check it out if you think certain topics can make you uncomfortable. I don't want my fic to have any bad impact on your mental health.
"You know what I'm gonna do once we have money?" I remember asking her. Out of breath. Impatient. Chewing on her already swollen lips as she panted, arms pinned above her head, my body grinding against hers.
"Wh-what?" she asked as her chest kept rising and falling heavily. Face red in embarrassment. It amazed me how she still blushed so profusely. I guess I loved seeing how much power I had over her. How I could affect her to such extents by doing so little. Just like she could with me.
"I'm gonna buy a piano."
"A piano?" she blinked innocently. And for that one instant, she wasn't faking it.
"Yes. A piano. So that I can make love to you on it," I felt her shiver as I licked her small ear.
"And here I was thinking you want me to play for you."
That was another trait of hers. She was like a wild cat. She always had a comeback.
"Of course I want you to play it for me. As foreplay," and I once again captured her lips with mine, pressing my body into hers even harder. Making the door creak. "You have no idea what kind of thoughts I get when I see you play at the bar."
"Hn?" she raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing on her lips, "Now I'm curious."
"Guess, I have no choice, huh?" I held her chin with two fingers. Making her look up at me. When I spoke next, our lips were close enough to brush, "I'll give you a demonstration." I grabbed her bottom with one hand and she jumped, wrapping her long legs around my waist and locking her now-free arms around my neck. Clinging onto me even tighter.
That night I had her pressed against that flimsy door of our cheap back alley apartment as I drove into her, hard and fast. And she held onto me like I was her life support and whispered encouragements into my ear. Moaning my name.
That was the only sound sweeter than the sound of her playing a piano.
I still remember that night. Every single detail.
How I wished I could tear that beautiful red dress off her. But I couldn't. Because it was still costly by our standards in spite of the fact that she had bought it on a sale with a handsome discount thanks to the small tear near the hem. Which she hid by embroidering a few petals of flower on. I had heard her employer's comment about her dress as we were leaving. About how gorgeous it looked. Especially with the intricate embroidery.
That was her specialty. At least that was the impression the me back then was under. She could take things, damaged, broken, things that others didn't even spare a glance. And she turned them into masterpieces that everyone would marvel at.
At times I wonder if that was what she was trying to do with me too. But it's a dangerous game. People are a little different from things. Because they possess this strange thing called emotion. That's where things get tricky…
Looking at it now, it was a given. That was a dangerous dance we were doing out there. We were never meant to last...
I stare at the email. The dark letters on the bright screen. An email. She prefers mails. In general, she never calls or texts. Even though she has my number.
I know why.
Because she wants to avoid talking to me directly. She gives the phone to Sarada when I call and makes her open the door when I go to pick her up on weekends.
And also because she tries to keep it formal. Yes. She wants to make it clear that on a personal level, there's nothing left between us. The only reason we must keep in touch is because of Sarada.
Sarada is half me, half her. In her, the two of us are still together. And in her, the two of us will always be together.
Yes.
I feel my jaw clench. Half of Sarada is me. It will always be me. No matter how hard she tries to erase it. Sarada is as much mine as she is hers.
And I don't get it. I don't get it. Does it really have to be that bad?
Yes, at first, I was mad too. For being fooled so easily. For falling so hard for someone that I couldn't even think straight. But I was eighteen. At that age, everyone makes mistakes. And even though I know it was a mistake, now I think of it fondly. As something special. And I think of Sarada as mine and hers. Even though it only lasted a short while, while it did last, it was the most beautiful thing I've known till this day. And Sarada was born out of that love. And to me, she is a testament of that love.
If I could go back to that day when I first met her at the university cafeteria, knowing all the things I know now. I'd still do it all.
And I know she won't. That's the difference between us. I loved her. She never loved me. She loved the idea of being young and madly in love. I just happened to be the one she found first. Who could be the tool to her exploration of those feelings.
I thought I was special. I wasn't.
I hear a sigh. My own.
I generally let her have her way with things. I no longer want to fight with her. We had enough of those.
But this time, I won't give up without a fight. I won't let her distance me from Sarada.
I pick up the phone and call her.
When it keeps ringing for a while and she doesn't pick up, that is when I notice it's past two in the morning. And just as I'm contemplating hanging up, the line connects.
"... Hello?" Her voice is heavy with sleep. And my mind once again runs wild, trying to picture her, half lying on the bed. Just the head out of the blanket, hair messy, eyes closed as she holds the phone to her ear.
"It's me."
"Hnn?... Oh!"
And she's awake. For good. No sleepiness left in her voice.
"I just saw your mail."
She keeps quiet.
"And it's not happening. I'm glad you're making enough money to cover her expenses but she's my daughter too." I try to keep it civil but it's hard not to get irritated. I want to make it perfectly clear that she won't be getting rid of me as easily as she thinks she can. I'm fully prepared for the fight she intends to challenge me with.
"As long as you're sure."
And she doesn't.
She doesn't fight like I expected her to. And for a moment, it leaves me puzzled. When you're all ready with your guns and bombs to return every blow ten times, and the battle never really starts, it kinda throws you off balance.
"Hmph."
Of course! Of fucking course!
She won't fight. She doesn't fight. She stopped that long ago. If she hadn't, had she fought back then, even a little bit, just enough for me to know she at least was willing to fight for me, we'd still be together. Or at least, I'd still be willing to be with her.
"Anything else you want to talk about?"
A hundred things.
"No."
But I'll spare you the pain.
"Goodnight, then."
"Night."
Sakura-
I stopped calling her name when I realised she had stopped calling mine.
Another thing I let her have her way.
Note: I was reading The Witch of Portobello by Paulo Coelho and the story of who I assume is the main character and her ex-husband made me cry a river. It was just one chapter, only eight pages but it was so real, so raw, it hit me so hard, I immediately decided to make a SasuSaku story out of it. I was planning a one-shot but then decided to make it longer. Actually, I've always wanted to write a fic about a divorced couple. I have a k-drama I like called Emergency Couple and it's about a divorced couple. That's where I got the idea from.
Anyway, I'm gonna write short chapters for this, around 1k words each. It won't really be a long story but since there's gonna be quite a few events, both from the past and the present, I thought it's good to put it into separate chapters.
With love,
June ❤️
[27.02.2020]