CHAPTER 5
p.1
Mistakes

Re-edited: 06 January 2019

Epigraph:

Swiping black lipstick across pale lips
Like ink across parchment
A black beacon
In a milky white sea
A subtle act of defiance
On an obedient child.

—Unknown

ʚ—ɞ

Unsteady hips banged against a table. Its wooden frame shook violently, and a half-empty teacup jerked closer to the edge. The round object spun precariously as it came unbalanced, the sharp clamour echoing loud in the deafening silence.

Another sudden movement. Another powerful shake.

The cup tipped.

Its slow descent was excruciating. The cup twirled mid-air. Once. Twice. Sun rays reflected against the ceramic's glazed surface as it plummeted in a motion that was hauntingly vivid. And when it finally crashed rim-first against the floor, the ominous sound resonated deep within her soul.

Edging away from the sodden mess, dazed words slipped past her chapped lips, "What did you say?"

Two gloved hands buried deep in soap suds stilled. Mebuki sighed in exasperation, dropping the plate and sponge back into the water before manoeuvring her body to face her daughter. She leant against the sink, taking her sweet time to carefully peel off each rubber glove. "I said, the engagement ceremony is in two days. You need to apply for leave from the hospital to prepare for it. Preferably today."

Sakura saw her entire world shatter before her eyes.

Blink.

Perhaps she didn't hear it right.

Blink.

There was no engagement; Konoha's busybodies would be abuzz with hysteria if a person of notable status were to be taken off their glamorous matrimonial market shelf.

"Oh," Sakura gulped, "who's getting married?"

The question was rather obtuse, but her cluttered mind adamantly rejected the obvious implications of her mother's statement. "I don't recall hearing any news about one of those harebrained ladies getting hitched."

The veins on the side of Mebuki's forehead ticked. Sakura averted her eyes, choosing to look out the window from over her mother 's shoulder. A fake cough strained her throat, a fisted hand rose to cover her mouth. "I mean, I don't think I received an invitation to such a wondrous occasion."

"Sakura." Mebuki's shrill voice was lined with a viciousness that warned Sakura to hold her sarcastic tongue. Her joints locked and her muscles tensed, wary of the brewing storm. Daringly, she met her mother's burning glare. "It's your engagement."

The sentence was concise yet lewdly sinister, mocking the distraught medic as it echoed powerfully—repetitively—in her hollow head. Breath hitching in despair, Sakura felt her knees weaken. The weight of her body suddenly became far too heavy for her feeble limbs, and she stumbled backwards, barely preventing herself from collapsing.

Yours yours yours.

The impregnable mask slipped. A flash of concern flickered past Mebuki's impassioned act as she grew aware of the broken pieces of ceramic her daughter stood upon. Blood oozed from the lacerations on Sakura's feet, seeping deep into cracks between the wooden floorboards. The instincts of a concerned mother sprung, and Mebuki scrambled forwards with the intention to help—to inspect how severe the wounds were, but Sakura jerked away from her touch.

Yoursyoursyours.

The clock had always ticked, and it had only been a matter of panic before the time was up.

When Sasuke had enlightened her about the actual purpose of the meeting at the Uchiha compound, Sakura fancied the thought of resigning herself to this unwarranted fate. Resisting was pointless after all; her parents would proceed with the engagement despite any protestations. The law only needed Kizashi's approval, and they had it.

Years of working as a prodigal medic had given Sakura a false sense of liberation. Joining the ranks of Kuro no Senshi had unwittingly caused Sakura to develop a separate identity, one that was indifferent and unrestrained by their bigoted society. Brand new Sakura saw no limitations. Brand new Sakura did as she pleased, behaved as she desired, and spoke as she deemed fit.

Brand new Sakura had forgotten she didn't belong to herself.

Her person was not hers to command.

But the merciless reminder now rang clear, shaking off naïve illusions and forced her to face her grim future. It was unideal, but it was one her father chose. To a certain extent, she could respect that.

Had Sakura known the ceremony would occur so soon though, she would've run the very afternoon at the training grounds. She would have run, and she would have never looked back.

This peculiar situation defied all senses of logic. Konoha Academy had taught them the essence of an omiai. It existed to provide a platform for candidates of marriageable age to meet; the formal setting hindered the spread of malicious rumours. Multiple meetings would take place over the course of months, allowing the candidates to get acquainted and assess their compatibility.

Then, if the candidates wish to progress with their relationship, a pre-engagement conference would take place. This was when both families meet to determine whether their children's choice of partner was of acceptable background. Only after the parents have given their approval could an engagement ceremony be arranged.

In Sakura's case, they glossed over the entire courtship and jumped straight into the end game. Her mother's eagerness to marry her off came as no surprise, but her father's newfound impatience shot a dagger through Sakura's heart. It was blunt, it was startling, and it hurt.

Blink blink blink.

She struggled to hold the tears at bay.

"What's going on Okaa-san?" Sakura demanded, vulnerability seeping thick in her husky tone. "This-this is all happening too fast. Engagement after just one meeting is absurd! Unheard of even! Why are you in such a hurry to marry me off?"

Cocking a challenging brow, Mebuki crossed her arms over her chest. "Too fast, Sakura?"

The older woman shook her head, and Sakura couldn't help but feel like she was six years old again, dwindling at a mere height of three feet compared to her mother's five as disappointment etched across Mebuki's face because Sakura was insolent enough to contest her Academy instructor's bigoted teachings.

"You're nineteen Sakura, not sixteen. You should be adapting to raising a child by now, not preparing for your engagement."

"But okaa-san, a lot of girls my age are choosing to marry later. Look at Ino! She's still—"

"You don't have a choice, Sakura!" Mebuki bellowed, the final thread of her patience snapping as she took an intimidating step forward, "Women had never had a choice and they never will! If Ino is choosing to marry later, it's because she has her clan's support. It means there's a larger reason than 'her choice' for her family to allow it. Now unfortunately for you, you have no valid reason to keep postponing marriage."

The truth was brutal. It struck Sakura like a mallet slamming into a brick wall, the phantom images of shattered clay splattering onto the ground representing her childish hopes of being free. Futile. Elusive. Vain. The truth knocked life out of her lungs, punched her fight straight into submission.

"Does otou-san—" Sakura choked, unable to complete her question.

Mebuki understood, though, and she didn't hesitate to crush her daughter with her callous response, "Your otou-san agrees that this is what's best for you Sakura."

Slow yet gradually, derisive laughter slipped past Sakura's lips, but as the seconds ticked, the crazed cackles were quick to turn into anguish. Her chest heaved with unrepressed sobs, tears raining down her flushed cheeks—Anger simmered in her veins. She clutched her heart, willing her small hands to contain the overpowering feelings of betrayal that threatened to consume her.

"What's best for me," Sakura parroted mindlessly. Her tongue rolled around those four simple words, numb as it pronounced each toxic syllable. Her voice sounded meek even to her own ears. "Don't you and otou-san support my plans for my life, okaa-san?"

It was a question she had never dared to voice before now. A significant part of her remained afraid to hear the answer, but at the same time, Sakura longed to know.

The way her mother's forehead crinkled in remorse made her brace herself for the worst. She didn't like the heartbreak reflected in those glossed pools of Viridian she had inherited. "We love you, Sakura. We'll always support your choices."

Lies.

"But not with this. It's time you get married."

It's time you get married.

ʚ—ɞ

Twinkling stars dotted the sky's dark blue canvas. The waning moon shone bright, its light reflecting magnificently on the polished surface of the Uchiha district lake. Calm waters lapped onto its banks, the steady sound drifting with the gentle breeze that swept over the mingling crowd.

The trees encircling the vast glade swayed to the soft melodies of the musicians on stage. Round paper lanterns were strung from branch to branch, white Christmas lights coiled along the length of its thin cord. A row of rectangular tables bordered one edge, a range of beverages and tantalising finger food sorted intricately on top. Ivory coloured satin tablecloths draped over the cocktail stands scattered across the area, a red ribbon tied loosely around its leg. As the centrepiece, firefly lights ladened the bottom of mason jars filled with baby's breath, a single pink rose cushioned in the middle of the bouquet.

Uchiha Itachi idled beside a burning fire pit, caressing a flute of champagne and feeling utterly ludicrous in a light blue dress shirt and grey slacks. He itched to rip the necktie away and dump it into the pit, but his mother would have his head.

It wasn't often the Uchihas would host a party let alone one based on Western customs, yet Uchiha Mikoto seemed to believe the theme was perfect for this particular occasion. The ever decorous matriarch overlooked most of their long honoured traditions as she organised the event to befit 'new beginnings' because it was 'simply about time.'

Itachi thought his mother just caught a whiff of the crazies.

His father held the same sentiment, letting Mikoto set up the entire ordeal as she pleased, biting back his tongue even when she settled on Western attires for tonight's dress code. Although, seeing his father tug on his collar of his shirt, a prominent scowl colouring his face, Fugaku must be regretting not attempting to dissuade mother dearest from her grand ideas.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Itachi took a sip of sparkling wine and scoured the mass of raven-heads. The party was mostly exclusive to his clan. A few exceptions were in attendance, like the Uzumakis who might as well be honorary members of this family, and, of course, the Harunos.

Itachi knew it best to keep his silence when Sakura's parents had chosen to not invite any other person of their clan. It wasn't in his place to contradict their choice when it was no secret irreconcilable differences had kept the former Haruno head and his wayward daughter apart.

Ah, there she is.

Haruno Sakura stood out like a sore thumb. She avoided venturing into the centre of the celebrations, doing her best to remain inconspicuous by lingering at the edge of the crowd. Unfortunately for her, however, her pink hair lured attention faster than the Fire Daimyo's promiscuous granddaughter.

Those lustrous locks were held together by studded ornaments, half up, half down, with a few tasteful strands framing her face. It was a beacon of light in an ocean of nothingness, but Itachi noticed more than just its rich allure.

It was dark, so perhaps he was conjuring up inexistent details, but he picked up on her guarded stance. Sakura looked everywhere except at her companion, the lines of her slender shoulders taut with palpable tension. All night, Uzumaki Hinata had faithfully hovered at her side, putting considerable effort into coercing her to speak.

But the conversation remained one-sided.

Sakura stayed stubbornly resolute in her silence until suddenly, she hissed. Sakura swiftly swivelled around to face Hinata, a baleful glower curling her lips. The fingers wrapped around a highball glass tightened as she snapped a few choice words which made the Hyuuga heiress blanch.

Despite the sheer anger directed at her, Hinata kept her distress hidden beneath a fabricated calm. She whispered coolly in response even though Sakura would have none of it. Sakura retook a step as she contended whatever Hinata had said and the Hyuuga heiress could only shake her head in disappointment.

The pairs' heated exchange didn't escape the rest of the partygoers' attention. Soon enough, Naruto was making his way towards them. He flashed an upset Sakura a faint smile—hoping it would dampen her wrath—before he pulled his wife away. As the young Haruno watched their backs meld into the crowd and away from her, unmistakable regret contorted her face.

It rattled him.

So Uchiha Itachi bid his time.

He waited patiently until Sakura salvaged her wits, wondering what had instigated the fight; it was worrying as, in all his years of observing her, he had never witnessed Sakura argue with her friends. Sure she often bickered with the Yamanaka girl, but those harmless squabbles lacked the malice that fueled her argument with Hinata. It was an anomaly, and he wanted to make sure she was alright.

Throwing caution to the wind, his feet manoeuvred towards her.

"Haruno-san," If Sakura was surprised by his approach, she masked it well. The girl only inclined her chin in return, yet her lack of verbal response didn't deter Itachi. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

"Too bad it wasn't longer." It was a snide remark whispered beneath her breath, so Itachi chose to ignore it. The bright, fake smile she threw at him hinted he wasn't meant to hear her contempt. "I've been well."

Keen eyes followed her trembling hands as they hid between the folds of her dress. Slender fingers curled viciously around the silken material, crumpling its smooth surface. Her blank gaze bore through the centrepiece bouquet, conveying the insignificance of his presence in her current state.

Despite the uncertainty nagging him to steer clear of her, Itachi cleared his throat. He held out his palm in hopes that he could lend her the comfort he desperately wanted to give. "Care to join me for a dance?"

Sakura was startled out of her stupor. She raised her head, finally gracing her unwanted companion. "Excuse me?"

"Join me," Itachi thanked the heavens his voice didn't reflect the nervous jitters nibbling away at his composure, "for a dance."

He may have worn a mask of indifference, but there was no denying the fear of rejection when Sakura's lips pursed into a thin line. She eyed his intentions, making no attempt to voice her answer. Awkwardness nabbed him as the seconds passed.

How cruel.

Not a hint of a 'no', nor an indication of a 'yes'. Seeing no further point in prolonging his foolish, foolish mistake, gingerly, Itachi lowered his snubbed appendage.

But then something soft—something warm brushed against his skin.

Itachi looked down only to see Sakura's hand atop his. It was a tentative graze, her fingertips a hair's breadth above without actually touching him. If anyone were to ask what went through his head in that moment of triviality, Itachi would be lost for words for no adjective could sufficiently describe the shock, the relief or the elation that fluttered within him.

He reeled in his composure, the corner of his lips tugging as he tightened his hold on her hand. Itachi guided Sakura to the makeshift dance floor, halting once they reached the perimeter of the circle his relatives had formed. He knew her well enough to predict she wouldn't enjoy mingling at the centre of that dancing horde.

Tentatively, he reached for her waist, but when only a mere inch was left dividing them, a sublime feeling instinctively warned him to stop. Itachi swallowed the lump in his throat. With the due caution of a skilled hunter, he rasped, "May I?"

Sakura quirked her brow, but after a deliberate pause that made Itachi want to squirm, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Itachi was tempted to grin; he hid his excitement instead.

Instrumental symphonies blanketed the party in its saccharine caress. Their feet fell into step, and their bodies melded as one as they swayed in sync—gentle unlike the hammering beat of his heart. Itachi regarded Sakura with rapt fascination as she let her frustrations fade. The tension in her arms loosened almost instantly once she shuttered her view of the world, effortlessly embodying the languid tunes floating around them.

And under the silvers of moonlight, her beauty was ethereal.

Sakura was a dainty little spitfire, but the subtle dip of her curves was prominent beneath his touch. The sweetheart neckline of her dress contrasted with the sensuous contours of her collarbones. Gliding under the foliage, the muted colours of the fairy lights glistened across her face. Lush eyelashes kissed the pinks of her cheeks. Her Grecian nose was turned up yet it was charming even in its disdain for societal propriety.

And then there were her lips.

They were neither full nor thin, painted a lush rosy red and… sinfully enticing. The length of Itachi's arms pebbled at the sensations soaring through him.

It must be a dream. This deceptively ordinary moment made him feel as if he was wandering through the eternal wilderness of his dreams. Just him and her, side by side, and no one else. There was something about her presencethat never failed to liberate him—like she was a breath of fresh air at first sight of dawn after decades of imprisonment in a dingy underground cell.

It was inexplicable, truly.

All Itachi knew was right here, right now, nothing mattered more than the tender joy of holding the woman he adored.

"Haruno-san." Why did he call out to her? He had sought her attention before he could comprehend his reasons.

The way she tilted her head was adorable. "Uchiha-san."

It sounded so wrong, hearing the woman he was to marry call out to him so unfamiliarly. They should be long past the threshold of strangers or mere acquaintances. It was unfitting for Sakura to keep addressing him by his family name, and he was not a man patient enough to wait for the day she no longer did. "Please, call me Itachi."

"Then you may call me Sakura, Itachi-san."

Her easy compliance coloured him surprised. He hadn't expected her to agree, least of all to extend an olive branch and allow him to address her by her given name. It was unexpected, but Itachi wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Ah—Sakura-san," he tested the rhythm of her name on his tongue. It tasted foreign, but he knew, in due time, it would be a song he'd hum all day.

High in spirits, Itachi took a meaningful step back. He raised his hand above her pretty little head, spinning her around. The change in momentum had her hair flowing behind her like a wave of velvet cape. And when she fell back into his arms, she locked his gaze.

It was then he noticed what he had failed to acknowledge before.

Their interactions were intimate enough to be deemed improper by the public. Wherever their bodies touched, her warmth seeped through the thick material of his clothes, searing his skin. But for every bit of heat she possessed, her eyes held twice the amount of bitter apathy. She looked at him, but she wasn't seeing him.

Those depthless voids of nothingness stared at a strange man she would never accept as her life partner.

And it stung.

He wanted to meddle. He wanted to question her—hear her tell him he was reading her body language all wrong, but Haruno Sakura was so emotionally withdrawn, Itachi didn't know how to trudge towards closer proximity.

Common sense asserted he let time build up her trust. Rationality argued she needed to know him for him to know her. Yet greed sullied his sanity and impatience ruled over his sensibility. Itachi ached for the day he could pry into her innermost thoughts without any prodding. Just one look at her and he'd know. Telepathy seemed such a ridiculous wish, but it was one he hoped would develop between them over the subsequent years.

For now, though, he needed to resort to words.

"Sakura-san," with a hint of reluctance, he dared to ask her, "Do you hate me?"

Sakura eyed him wearily as if wondering where this conversation was heading. But something in him must have screamed desperation, for she replied, "No, I do not."

A wave of relief washed over him as he let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "You take an interest in me then."

Itachi hadn't meant to intone the sentence so presumptuously. Effectively communicating his feelings was never one of Itachi's greatest forte, and he fumbled to salvage his respectable image. "I worded that poorly. I merely wished to inquire if I attract you."

But it was too late.

His mistake had already offended Sakura. Disbelief painted her face, and when she scoffed, he nearly winced.

"What, did you think you're every girl's 'tall, dark and handsome' Prince?" Sakura scrutinised him condescendingly from head to toe and back again, "Sorry to burst your pride, Uchiha-san, but not all girls fall for the ridiculously haughty."

Her words were little pinpricks of needles poking holes in his dignity; they were minuscule, but the bite burned nevertheless. How on heaven's wrath did the conservation take this dangerous turn?

"Forgive me Sakura-san, that was not what I meant to imply. It's just that we're to be wed and I am curious about your opinion."

Sakura wrenched away from him, immediately halting their dance. Itachi wondered if it's bad he felt unusually bereft.

Taking a step back, Sakura gestured towards the ongoings around them, "Shouldn't you have asked for my opinion long before the situation escalated this far?"

Her snark had Itachi blinking in utter confusion. "Pardon?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I never wanted this?"

Shock rendered him immobile.

If Itachi was honest, he had never considered the possibility. Sakura was a marriageable maiden nearing the 'end point' of her youth; it was the only fact he took into account before making his move. Wouldn't she be happy to finally quell the villagers' venomous hearsays?

"Marriage was never one of the milestones on my bucket list, let alone wedding into your household. You know of my medic status, Uchiha-san. I refuse to let you and this marriage ruin the career that I worked tirelessly to achieve."

The skirt of her dress billowed violently against the sudden gust of wind, and for a brief instant, Sakura appeared to be a formidable heroine standing on guard for a bloody battle. With a few weapons and a shinobi outfit, she could have even passed as a Jonin. Something seemed bewitching about her in that pause in time, but the trance broke the second Sakura swivelled on her heel, sauntering into the shadows of the forest.

Itachi was left in the dust, contemplating where he had gone wrong.

He had asked for her point of view, and he got it. Sakura's statement could not be accused of ill will. It was an honest account of the situation from her perspective, and despite her bravado, there was an underlying bitterness to her words. It was restrained yet overflowing with helplessness.

Somehow, that hurt Itachi more. He wanted this impending marriage to bolster her position in society, to give her power over all those who belittled her for her unwavering strength. It wasn't supposed to strip her of her freedom as a medic. He didn't think it would, so why did she?

"Wow little cousin, talk about one step forward and ten steps back." Shisui materialised next to him.

Itachi sighed, unwilling to deal with his older cousin's sarcastic wit after what had occurred. "Don't you have better things to do than spy on me Shisui?"

Shisui faked a dramatic gasp, his hand flying to his heart. "And miss out on you making a fool of yourself? Never!"

AN:- I have no excuses for the lateness of this update. I'm sorry for making you all wait, but practicals at hospitality school just end up keeping me busy and my brain's always too tired to help me continue to write it out. This chapter's not even complete yet :(

I'll be sure to update the second part of Chapter 5 as soon as I complete it.

Thank you all for your patience and support!