A/N: I would like to point out that the characters, although based off of the original, are also inspired by actual people that I know. Some relationships may not make sense and some may correspond perfectly to real series fandoms. Personalities may be tweaked too, while others might be exactly the same as the originals.
Also, each character isn't associated to only one person. A character can be based off of more than one real person. For example, Sakura's not always based off of me, and she sometimes does and thinks things that I would never do, but that maybe my best friend or my sister would do.
This is not really fiction anymore; it's more like romanticised events of my life and of the life of my friends.
. . .
Wasted – Chapter 5
Wandering
. . .
Turns out Ino didn't have much to say. Well, nothing besides how much of a slut I was for luring Juugo in an empty classroom and... well, you know. (Those were pretty much her actual words. I never thought I'd ever be less of a prude than her.) She left me standing alone in the middle of the Cinema department to go see her boyfriend of the month (see what I meant about being less of a prude? Her serial dating has been going on for years. You should've seen her in high school) while I was even more at a loss than before.
The long term problems scare me. I don't know what Sasuke's going to do or how or when or where he's going to do it. I might be in for more than I can handle, and I don't want to live through something that destructive again. Frivolity is not the best characteristic to lay out in front of people, but becoming an untrusting, paranoid, clinging girlfriend who annoys the hell out of everyone her boyfriend introduces her to is not something I want to become. Ever.
I'm not saying I'll never get involved with anyone for a long term relationship ever again, but it's not feasible right now. I need to heal first. I need to put what my ex has done to me in the past and move on, and I'm nowhere near that state of mind. I won't let Sasuke turn me into whatever he wants me to be. I'll keep doing what I do (even if that's every guy in school) and wait to see if I get better. Maybe I could go away and be alone for a while. You know, pick up my money and send myself to another country, just to think and focus on something else than the mess I've made of my life.
Nevertheless, I'm not going. To Sasuke's movie date thingy. I don't want to and he can't make me.
GET DOWN! GET DOWN! AND MOVE IT ALL AROUND! GET-
JESUS.
What kind of moronic imbecile programmed my ringtone to that!
"WHAT?" In the middle of a crowded hallway, as well, that's the epitome of subtlety. Good job, Sakura.
"Hello to you too," I hear Sasuke say on the other side of the line as calmly as the Pope on narcotics. How can that guy be so mellow? And it only makes sense he's the one who changed my ringtone, so he knows it's him I'm mad at. "Like your new ringtone?" This confirms it. Bastard.
"Fuck you, Uchiha," I hiss gracefully (yes, it is possible, and yes, I pull it off brilliantly).
"Gladly, but later." I will suckerpunch his smug face in. "I've decided that by leaving it up to you to meet me, I was risking never getting to talk to you properly, so I'm picking you up."
"Oh, no need," I need to get him off my back. "I'll meet you there." Hopefully, he won't notice the blatant lie.
"I insist." Crap.
"W-well, uh..." Must find something to say quickly. Uh... Oh! "How do you know you'll find me?" Ha! I know he won't. I know many hiding places, as much inside the school perimeter as outside it. By the time he gets here (I don't actually know where he is exactly), I will be long gone.
Tap tap.
The person tapping me on the shoulder will have to wait, I'm too busy making an escape plan and being smug at Sasuke through my phone to attend to him or her. And after, I can't let anybody see where I'm going to hide. I know I'm being childish, and instead of running away from him, I should be mature and grown up, confront my fear and, well, him, but I can't. Not right now. I made out with a stranger out of an almost irrepressible desire to avenge my wounded pride and reputation, plus out of a dire need to vent. I'm not about being mature and grown up, today. Why? Shut up. That's why.
"Turn around." Since when is my phone in surround sound?
Oh.
Oh shit.
I've never turned around so slowly and with so much dread before in my life. And there he is. Oooh boy, is he there, with that smirk, and those eyes and those shoulders and those abs and those eyes and those arms and those eyes and-... Right. He's there.
"You ready?" he asks, snapping his phone shut.
"Asdfghjkl." I get the world record for most coherent statement in the history of statements. He gets the record for most annoying (and appealing) smirk in the universe.
Oh, and I just thought of something. Who wants to talk in a cinema? What kind of a stupid date location is that? If he wanted to talk to me, he would've invited me over to his house, or at least out for a walk in a park or a shopping mall. In fact, I should tell him right now. Because no way am I sitting down in a dark room with him for two hours and only getting annoyed "Shhhhh!" from other spectators and permanent expulsion as rewards. I'm not risking to be banned for life from the most important place in my life (and also the greatest place to do homework assignments. Thank you, cinema program) for that dude, no matter how handsome and determined and fulfilling in bed he is.
Believe it or not, being annoying is kind of a deal breaker.
Oh.
Oooooh...
Well, that's a genius idea.
Before my brain can actually register it, I'm already sitting in his car (his car, not the big black one with the chauffeur. God, I hate that word) and he's driving towards the general direction of the cinema. I'm only presuming that's where he's getting me, because almost the entire town stands between our school and the cinema, but this is the right road to get to it. Hopefully, he won't bring me to a secluded warehouse, rape me, murder me, cut off my hair, tie me with it and then dump me in a river somewhere. Oh, and especially the river part; the one that crosses town is the most polluted in the country. I swear, it produces mutated fish and a suspicious overcooked broccoli odour. At some points, it's only a foot deep and we can't see the bottom. That's how opaquely brown and muddy it is.
Anyway, my point is, Sasuke could be driving me anywhere, including the cinema and a secluded warehouse.
Soon, we're in the cinema's parking lot, the car is off and we're staring each other down. Or, well, each other's face. At this hour, the sun is already setting and the orange-ish sunlight creates odd colours in Sasuke's hair and eyes (okay, so I'm looking close enough to see the colour in his eyes, which is still to be determined, because whether it's grey or blue or just black, it's very difficult to differentiate with the orange light impairing my judgement. I just know that they're dark). For a brief moment, I wonder what it must look like with my green eyes, but the reason of our togetherness brings me back to the matter at hand.
"You wanted to talk to me," I say, my voice rendered raspy from saliva catching in my throat. "Talk."
He chuckles. He looks good when he chuckles.
Get a grip, Sakura. Jesus.
"So business-like. We should exchange programs," he says in a low voice. "Let's go inside."
Wait, he was serious? He really wants us to intentionally disrupt the public peace with a (pointless) conversation about his feelings and how he wants to date me because I'm so incredibly awesome in everything I do (God, do I sound conceited)?
"How are we supposed to talk if we go inside? In case you weren't aware, cinemas aren't made for talking." Seriously, doesn't he know that at all?
"We won't bother anyone, we'll have an entire auditorium to ourselves," Sasuke replies, a mischievous smirk on his face.
"What's that supposed to mean? What, you think we're gonna... In there?" As much as a little voice in my head tells me I should be more concerned about his mental health, a small part of me wishes sex is what he has in mind. A very, very small, microscopic part.
"Well..." he hesitates for a second, then widens his grin. "You never know."
And that right there is probably the sexiest thing I've ever had someone say to me. The look in his eyes, obvious and indescribable at the same time, raises goosebumps on my skin and makes something tighten in the pit of my stomach. There is not a drop of worry left in my brain, only that really strong and invasive desire to pounce on something, in this case the man sitting right next to me, a feeling I usually get only when I'm drunk, hot and bothered. And yet, right now, in my perfectly sober state, I almost can't find it in me to stay put in my seat.
I remember again the night we spent together two months ago, and how I felt the exact same pinch in my lower abdomen all evening until I'd actually landed in his bed and gotten all that I'd worked for during the Winter Formal. I seriously need to get a grip if I want to leave this place without his saliva anywhere on me.
"You never said anything about sex. You only told me you wanted to talk," I grumble. I'm pretty sure he's getting brainwaves of my own depraved thoughts. My whole body's emanating mindless desire and he can probably feel it through some kind of telepathic bond we somehow have. Or maybe it's just the "fuck me" eyes I'm making.
"I did never say anything about sex. You only assumed that was what I meant."
Oh, shut up.
"And the simple fact that you did makes it obvious that it's what you want to happen," he continues.
That... That's cheating! Oh, this is so embarrassing.
"Although," he leans towards me, his eyes piercing through mine. "I wouldn't say no to another metaphorical roll in the sheets."
Tch, pervert.
"Especially knowing what you're capable of."
He's getting way too close for my comfort. My only options at this point are either jump out of the car and run home or stay and fuck his brains out. I'd be lying if I said the latter isn't extremely tempting at this point, but for the sake of my sanity, only the former seems like the sensible choice.
"D-did you want to see a movie or not?" Way to subtly change the subject, Sakura. Smooth.
Oh well, it looks like it worked, he's leaning away and his smirk just fell from his face. Ha! I would've slapped it off his lips sooner or later, anyway. Or kissed it. But let's not think about that. I need to get out of this car.
He doesn't answer my question and just turns his head away, looking pensive, so I take it as my cue to leave. No need to hang around here when we both wish I were somewhere else.
"Right, well, I'll be on my way, then." Please, God, let me get away from this with my underwear on. Don't let him hold me back. I promise I'll stop sleeping around and start going to church every Sunday with my grandma.
"Wait."
Crap.
"Come on, let's go watch something. Anything you want."
Gee, thanks a lot God. That's really helpful.
You couldn't just let him be a self-centered douchebag for just a little bit longer, could you? Great, now, my heart's fluttering. See what you did? You made him pleasant. Don't make men pleasant if you want me to lay off the nymphomania.
"Um... Okay, sure." I can't refuse him. I just can't. Not with that face, that voice, that smirk, those eyes. Not with those hands that make mine let go of my school bag, make them tingle when they leave while he gets out of the car and walk around to my side, and make them warm, so, so warm when they pick them up again to pull me out of the vehicle. The quickly diminishing daylight makes his features look softer and my legs turn to jelly when I try to stand up. Fortunately, I'm not stupid enough to let it show and manage to stay upright, but somewhere deep down inside, I really wish I could faint so he'd catch me and carry me and put me down gently on a bench somewhere and-
Wait, what? No, I don't want to be put down gently on a bench. It's the middle of January, benches are either freezing or buried under five feet of snow. What are you thinking, silly?
Moving on.
He lets go of my hands once I'm outside – see? He can't always be a gentleman – and I retract them into my sleeves. Gloves are something I almost always leave my apartment without, considering the short distance I have to cross between there and the main school building. It may not be snowing right now, but as night time gets closer and closer, the exterior temperature gets exponentially colder and colder. I shrug to bring my scarf and collar higher over my face and ears. At least my hair's thick enough to block out most of the freezing January air.
We reach the cinema in no time and I welcome the rush of warm air that blows my hair back when we open the doors with absolute delight. I need to invest in a proper hat.
"Right. Chick flick?" Sasuke asks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it isn't. Because a movie about love and sex and breaking up and making up is the last thing I need, right now.
"Ew, no," I grunt. "Action flick. I need fights, explosions and sexy men." Anything to keep my mind off of him. He snorts.
The bastard.
"Good. Saves my male pride," he mutters as he walks up to one of the ticket booths. Pff. As if only his pride were on the line for a rom-com. I'm a freakin' cinema student. By definition, we spit on and laugh at rom-coms. Technically, we spit on and laugh at action flicks too, but they're much more tolerated than mushy, sappy, girly chick flicks.
Of course, all my teachers would want me to watch an obscure art film at an obscure art film cinema, but I'm not in the mood. Been watching art films – of course, they're called films, not movies, unless we're talking about shorts, in which case they're called shorts – all week long, I've had it with the underlying, the elusive and the metaphorical. I need blatant, obvious and borderline stupid.
Sasuke doesn't tell me what movie he bought us tickets for, nor does he hand me my ticket and I have to wait until we're at the door of our auditorium to find out what it is. For a douchebag, when it comes to movie choices – and listening to what girls want to see – he doesn't disappoint. He chose the perfect movie, about some dude inside a videogame looking for his dad, mostly computer generated images (the dreaded three letters of the Cinema program, CGI), almost completely shot in 3D, which means we get a pair of fake Ray-Ban glasses, something that always brings me glee and amusement, because then I can take the lenses out, wear the glasses at school and make fun of hipsters by talking about obscure art films, and finally, the entire soundtrack was created by Daft Punk. Also, it came out weeks ago, and there is absolutely no one else in the room, which, if you ask me, is the perfect movie-watching condition.
This man might be more enjoyable to hang out with than I thought.
. . .
As the credits roll, my mouth hangs open and my eyes are as wide as saucers behind my fake Ray-Bans, and I absent-mindedly wipe away the slight drool that's running down my chin while I replay every second of the movie in my head.
My toes curl at the sound of the song playing and the corners of my lips turn upward, so that I'm smiling with my mouth wide open. I emit a squeal and let myself fall backwards into my seat. I know Sasuke's looking at me, I can see him out of the corner of my eye, but I'm too busy being mind-blown and flustered at the excitement the movie filled me with. I'd seen the trailer before coming here, literalled by some dude on YouTube, and I thought it looked okay, but I wasn't prepared for the amount of awesomeness this movie would unleash on my brain.
I never thought a video game-based movie could be so good. Fine, the story's generic and predictable and it's been done before, but it was well rendered, the actors were good enough and man, were the visuals pretty. That's it, now I need to watch the original one from the eighties. I have to. It's not even optional.
"So?"
Don't burst my bubble, you smexy bastard! Let me have my goosebumps and my stomach butterflies and my buzzing ears for a little longer before I actually have to deal with you and your smug bastardness. To answer him, simply let out a shaky sigh while images of bright blue discs and sparkly explosions rush back to my mind.
"I take it you enjoyed yourself."
What, is the beatific smile on my face too subtle for you? I turn my overjoyed face towards him to give him a bigger hint and he chuckles.
"You hungry?" He asks casually. How does he do that? I can barely contain my nerves when I'm around him. And not in a good way. How is he able to form a complete sentence when I have trouble putting two words together?
"I, uh... Yeah, I could, um... I could eat," I stammer like I'm sixteen again (I used to stammer a lot). His smirk stretches wider.
"Come on, then. We'll go eat something." You know, any boy his age would've made a snide comment about "eating each other" instead of that very respectful, very chick flick proposition. Why is he so different from the guys I usually hang out with? I mean, sure, he came on to me earlier, but he never actually made a move to take my clothes off. He's... I can't put my finger on it, he's... Wait for it... It's right on the tip of my tongue, he's...
Charming! That's what he is! He's charming.
It's kinda sad, when you think about it, that it's what differentiates him from the male portion of my social life.
Well, he's probably faking it, anyway. You know, just to get in my pants.
It makes me feel weird, walking out with him. I feel almost guilty, as if something naughty happened between us during the movie. I mean, we were completely alone in the auditorium the whole time. Nothing happened and I know it, but I still feel like everyone in the cinema is staring at us. Then again, maybe it's just the way we're acting like an actual couple that's making me self-conscious.
Because we're not. A couple, I mean.
We both stay silent as we walk out of the cinema and climb back into his car. It's completely dark out, now, and even colder than it was two hours ago. It's difficult to think it's only 5:30. We sit still in his car for a few minutes while he waits until the engine's warm enough. Beside its low rumble, there isn't a single noise in the car. I risk a glance at him, hoping he won't catch it. I mean, I wouldn't want to give him false hopes. Or something.
The ride to the nearest fast food joint is the most awkward car ride I've ever been on, and that's after the one I got from the Uchiha family's chauffeur – nope, still hate that word – the morning I woke up in Sasuke's bed (I caught a few knowing looks in the reflection of the rearview mirror. He was judging me, I could tell). I wait until Sasuke parks the car to break the almost oppressing silence.
"So..." I probably couldn't control the trembling in my voice if my life depended on it. You know what? Screw it. I'm allowed to be nervous, and there's no way I can stop any part of my body from shaking, so I'll just let it be from now on and not let it faze me. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Let's go inside," he says abruptly, not even acknowledging my question.
Okay. Either he went back on his decision to talk to me while we were watching the movie, or he's just postponing our conversation on purpose to stress me out more. I long for it to be over, it's like an itch right in the middle of my back that I can't reach or an Inception-like idea that I just can't get rid of.
The one good thing about this (and that's when you really squint) is that obviously, Sasuke's not embarrassed to be seen in public with me. Which actually isn't such a good thing because I'd much rather his secret one-night stand than his public rumoured girlfriend.
Nevertheless, I follow him inside the restaurant, fumbling in my bad for my wallet. If I'm going to keep things platonic between us, the first thing to do is to pay for my own food. That makes it officially not a date, doesn't it?
Although, I must admit, that's one date standard I never quite understood. My ex-boyfriend always (well, not in the last few weeks of our relationship, but I digress) insisted on paying for my food as well as his, even though we both didn't have jobs and mostly got money from our parents. I actually was better than him at saving up, even without paying for my food when we went out.
I mean, yes, it's a nice gesture once in a while, but eventually you start shying away from more expensive meals because you worry about costing the guy too much and because he gets mad or hurt in his male pride when you suggest paying for your own food, so it's really unnecessary to do it on every single date.
Also, what happened to equality of the sexes? Why shouldn't the girl pay sometimes? Not just that, how about the age-old battle over the toilet seat? Girls who really respect themselves shouldn't whine about the seat being left up by their male cohabitant, be it their father, brother, roommate or boyfriend. If you're old enough to notice it's up, you're old enough to put it down before doing your business. Guys have to put it up, girls can put it down.
There.
Done.
Now, where is my goddamn wallet?
Oh.
Oh, sweet Jesus, no.
Please tell me I have my wallet. Please, please tell me it's just hidden under my pencil case or my English notebook and not on my desk back at my apartment where I'm starting to remember I left it.
"What are you having?"
I snap my head up. Sasuke and the cashier are looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to place my order. Obviously, Sasuke didn't have the same thought about equality of the sexes, because he's about to put my order on his tab. Am I seriously the only one with common sense here?
I know I have a slightly panicked look on my face and I see Sasuke raise an eyebrow at me.
"I don't have my wallet," I blurt out.
The cashier throws a glance at Sasuke while he lets out a low chuckle. I'd find it attractive if I didn't feel so goddamn stupid. He reaches out to grab my arm and gently pulls me close.
"I'm paying, idiot," he says light-heartedly, as if I were – oh, dear God – his girlfriend and this were the most natural thing in the world. As I'm not one to make a scene in public, I decide not to contest his statement. Instead, I make my order as long and expensive as I can, even while knowing full well I'll only be able to eat half of it. If that's the way he wants to play it, then I'll play along.
I'll just make sure I get some satisfaction out of it.
Five minutes later, we're sitting at a four-place table in a remote corner of the restaurant, behind a pillar so that no one can spot us from either doors and from the counter. I made sure not to sit opposite him, so that he won't try to pull anything off under the table. I glare at him diagonally while I munch on a greasy hamburger that tastes strangely of waffles. He still doesn't seem to want to have his talk, so I don't say anything.
With a bit of luck, he won't talk at all and just get me home and never speak to me again. I'd appreciate that very much. Even if I'd miss looking at his handsome face. And his broad shoulders. And his strong arms. And his broad shoulders. And his flat stomach. And did I mention the broad shoulders?
GET A GRIP, WOMAN.
Okay, so maybe it's getting a little boring, now. What is he, shy? What's intimidating about me, seriously? Five feet seven inches, pink hair, huge forehead and a ridiculous aversion to sunlight and physical exercise despite my involvement in the soccer team.
I finish my burger and unleash my unsatisfied hunger upon my fries, my shoulders slumping in boredom. It's only when I reach out for my soda that he actually speaks up.
"I had an idea," he says flatly. I take a long sip of soda to appear mildly interested (even though deep down inside, I can't wait to hear what he's got to say), but turn my eyes to him to show him I'm listening.
"We should be fuck-buddies."
"SPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRT" goes my soda as I spit it out from the shock.
What the fuck did he just say? Fuck-buddies!
The look I send him obviously transmits my thoughts because he immediately starts explaining himself.
"I can't stop thinking about that night we spent together," he says, still very calm and composed. "It was... mind-blowing. On so many levels."
Okay, not good. Not good at all. This sounds like a love confession. I don't want a love confession!
"But..." he continues. "I remember you saying that you weren't interested in a romantic relationship."
Yes, that's right. You remember well. Keep going in that direction.
"And, well, I'm not either. So, unless you've changed your mind, I'd like to keep seeing you, but as nothing more than friends." He pauses. "With the occasional roll in the sheets."
I'm afraid to admit his reasoning is logical. I did say I didn't want to get romantically involved with anyone, right after spending the night having him shag my brains out on every surface in his private wing of his house.
But... fuck-buddies? I only intended us to be a one-time thing. Granted, I wouldn't mind getting it on with him again, but... not perpetually. It's practically like a relationship.
He seems to misunderstand my silence.
"We can call it 'friends with benefits' if you find 'fuck-buddies' too offensive," he says, still keeping his cool.
How can he be so calm? And how can he be discussing this sort of thing in the middle of an increasingly crowded fast food joint at six o'clock in the evening?
And, "friends with benefits"? That's even worse! Now actual friendship has to be involved. And it never works anyway. Chick flicks have taught me that. When two people become friends with benefits, one of them inevitably ends up developing deeper feelings, and I don't want either of us to fall in love with the other.
"If all you want is sex," I say slowly, trying to keep my voice in check, "why didn't you just invite me back to your house? Or try something at the cinema?"
"Well, I already know how the 'benefits' part of it would go," he says with a smug smile. "So, I decided to work on the 'friend' part instead."
Why is it that he makes so much sense in such a nonsensical situation? I'm not even sure I'm awake anymore. Because, honestly, from a "not me" perspective, his plan is practically perfect. Casual but amazing humping with the sexiest man alive for the mere price of one more card to send out at Christmas.
Truly, if I weren't me and he weren't him, I'd accept right away. But he's that infuriating, overconfident, stoic prick and I'm not sure embarking on such a risky endeavour with him is what I should do right now. Or ever.
"Can... Can I think about it?" I ask carefully. He doesn't lose his smile.
"Of course," he answers. The smug bastard.
"Okay."
There's an awkward silence – on my end, anyway – for a few seconds, then he gathers his things and puts his coat back on. Jumping in line, I stuff the uneaten food in my bag and put on my own coat. We leave quickly and drive to my apartment silently.
I can barely formulate a cohesive thought as heaps of words and images collide in my brain and I climb out of his car without uttering a single word. I barely notice that he waits until I'm inside to drive off and race down to my room to avoid getting questioned by my roommates.
What should I do? Should I accept?
I mean, on one hand, I promised myself I wouldn't get involved in anything more than one-night stands and occasional booty calls. Accepting would be going against that promise and against every alarm going off in my head reminding me that a "friends with benefits" relationship is never ever successful.
But... he's just so good in bed! I couldn't even tell he was drunk, that one night. And I knew he was. I can only imagine what he'd do to me while sober. My toes curl just thinking about it. Plus, I don't particularly like him, so I know I'll never fall in love with him. And he seems pretty determined not to fall in love with me.
And still... I can't do this to myself. I can't risk getting hurt again. Not this soon. Not until I'm out of college. This is the time to be fooling around with every male on campus.
I'll be serious again only when I reach university.
There. I won't accept Sasuke's offer. There are plenty of other attractive men in this school and there's nothing this particular one can do to make me want to have sex with him.
Right.
Now I need a drink.
. . .
A/N:Foreshadowing is your friend. Procrastination is not. Review? Questions, comments, insults, slice of life?
Oh yeah, by the way, I know the formatting of the title is different from the other chapters. I'll change those soon, it's just that those files are on the server back home, so I can't access them from my apartment. I'll do it next time I go home.
Also, it's my birthday soon (September 20th). I'm telling you guys just in case I don't write anything until then. Which I've promised myself I would do because I haven't written in FOREVER.