A/N: It's been almost two years. Sorry, guys. A few of you asked if the story was on hiatus. I guess it was until now. I'm not going to make any excuses, the chapter's up and it might take a while before I finish the next one.
Also, I'm a little late to the punch, but slow clap for the SasuSaku fandom.
. . .
Wasted – Chapter 17
Woe
. . .
The bubble of serenity that surrounded me in the forty-eight hours following my stint at the hospital turned out to be the last remaining traces of weed in my system, an after-buzz in the same way there's an after-party after prom. When it finally died down, intense guilt flooded my brain, and it's taking me a few days at my parents' house to completely recuperate. Maybe out of cowardice, I keep putting off calling Sai and doing what I know I have to do, and to make sure I don't have any more to feel guilty about, I'm also avoiding seeing Sasuke.
It's amazing how understanding he is of the whole thing; I constantly expect him to either insist I get my relationship over with or stop bothering with me. Acting like friends is easy for us, but I know he's holding himself back from talking about sex and I feel awful having to cut him off until I've taken care of my problem.
I've had to start avoiding Ino as well. I just… I don't really know how to tell her what happened, or even just how to bring it up casually in a conversation, and I don't feel brave enough to try. She'll probably get mad and scream at me and hate me forever, and right now, I'd honestly rather be unsure of our friendship's future than know for certain we'll never speak again. Unfortunately, that means I also have to avoid Naruto, even if he doesn't warrant it. It just wouldn't make sense to talk to him with Ino in the next seat. If our friendship is to end, I'd rather it not be over a false impression of favouritism.
However, it is pretty difficult to avoid someone in a twenty-student class, even during finals. I've never been one to arrive super early to class, but showing up with only seconds to spare really takes some dedication. Mostly because I have a natural eagerness to run up to my friends and tell them about whatever's on my mind, especially Naruto, since he's in on the scoop (if you can call it that). I basically have to wait torturously, sitting on my bed dressed and ready to leave, staring at my clock.
To keep my mind off of everything, I'm pouring all my energy into my exams. Taking finals usually requires being of sound mind and body, but to me, it's a refreshing change of pace. Having essays to write and courses to study keeps me busy and stops me from sinking into a wormhole of remorse and self-hate. However, I can't work on those while I wait until the last minute to leave, because then I might lose track of time and miss my exams.
The other tricky part is leaving before Ino. If I leave after she's done, I know she'll just wait outside the classroom to ambush me. If I leave at the same time as her, she'll try striking up a conversation and I won't be able to refuse or brush her off. My only viable option is to finish my exam as quickly as I can and hurry out in case she's been trying to speed through it as well. One upside to that is that it has forced me to basically learn every subject by heart, and the finals have all seemed very easy to me for the first time in years.
Handing in essays has been easier; unless a teacher has permitted students to simply email in the essay, I just show up at very odd times, take unusual and rarely used ways to get to the teachers' offices and stick the essays into their mailboxes.
The one thing I haven't been able to figure out is the final Creation class, the one during which we watch all the projects. We're basically encouraged to discuss during the class, since it's not a written exam, and as a general rule, we have to sit with our teams to make it easier to know who made which movie. My only teammate is Ino.
I'm standing in the bathroom across the hall, staring myself down in the mirror and mentally debating which way is better to avoid confrontation. For now, I have two ideas. One would be to simply not show up, however terrible of an idea it is. It's not recommended to sit out any class without a valid reason, but this final one is actually mandatory and could potentially cost us a few points if either one of us skips it. My other idea is to fake an illness, but I don't know how well I can act like I'm sick enough to be sent home. I couldn't possibly pretend there's been a death in the family or anything else that requires an accomplice, so being sick will have to do.
I've considered every plausible illness I could've contracted in early May. It couldn't be anything fatal or long term, like cancer or mono. A cold, though rare, would be possible, but I don't think I can fake a runny nose. I can cough pretty convincingly, but a cough isn't reason enough to skip school. Anything worse than a cough would require a loss of voice and a fever, and I can't fake either of those.
I could pretend I have vague symptoms of general unwellness, like nausea or a headache. I'm not looking particularly well-rested, maybe I could pin it on lack of sleep. Oh, but pretty much everyone could use that excuse during finals, I doubt the teacher will buy it. Maybe if I look extra exhausted. I'm fairly certain I still have a makeup pouch in my bag.
Oh, look at that, I do.
I powder my cheeks with foundation to make my face look like it's been drained of its colour. I look through the pouch again; seems like there's only sparkly eye shadow. I doubt sparkly dark circles can convince anyone they're natural. Maybe there's some eyeliner… Yes! I pull out the black pencil like I've dug up the Holy Grail, singing a gospel-like "AAAH". I draw a thick line on the tip of my index finger and apply it under my eyes.
Perfect. I look absolutely sleep-deprived. I add foundation to my lips for extra pallor and sickliness. Now I could pretend like I've just puked in the toilet before getting to class. I practice looking weak and woozy in the mirror. I'm not too good of an actress, but I've done this a few times before, mostly to get out of PE in high school. It got me in trouble then, because they called my mom and she brought me to the clinic. There's absolutely nothing you can fake in front of a doctor. Today, however, I think it might just work. It's too bad I killed time this morning by putting extra care into my clothes, but if I play my cards right, I could be home in ten minutes.
I put the make-up back into my bag and walk out of the bathroom, checking both sides of the hallway to make sure I won't run into Ino or Naruto. I rectify my stance, making it hunched and heavy, then switch on the heel-dragging. I walk into the classroom, looking straight ahead at the teacher; I feel that if I see Ino's face at any point before I get to the front of the classroom, I'll just chicken out. The lights are already off and the screen is down, covered with a blue square. Hopefully, the blue of the off-screen will make me look even sicklier.
I waddle up to the teacher, trying as hard as I can to keep up the exhausted look. It seems to work, because as soon as his eyes fall on my face, he starts and immediately looks concerned. I have to suppress a smile; I always have a hard time keeping a straight face when my deceptions seem to be working.
"Are you okay?" He asks once I get to him.
"I don't feel well," I answer in the raspiest, sickliest voice I'm capable of. "I just threw up in the bathroom," I add for good measure.
"Do you have a fever?" Damn, trick question. I figured the throwing up would do it, but apparently, even if I can't keep my food down, I still need a fever to actually be sick.
"I don't know." Come on, Sakura, you can save this. "I-… I can't tell." I pretend my eyelids are heavy and droopy.
"Do you mind if I check?" I nod and he raises a hand to my forehead. I know there's no fever there and I expect him to tell me to go sit down. "Do you still feel nauseous?" He asks. Okay, I can work with this.
"Yeah, my head is spinning."
"Hm… You should probably go home. Were you in a team?"
"Uh… Yeah, I was with Ino." Don't look over, don't look over, don't look over.
He looks up, and I guess he sees Ino because he nods and looks back at me.
"Okay, you can go. Take care of yourself, okay? Go straight to bed." I nod, thank him and turn to leave.
And there she is.
She's standing behind her table, looking straight at me, with nothing but concern in her face. She seems about to jump over the tables and other students to get to me. My heart sinks. I can't move a muscle. She looks so worried that I want to straighten up and smile at her and tell her it was just an act. I want to run up to her and tell her everything. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen and if I don't get myself out of this classroom right now, I will never leave. I get my arm to move to send her a little wave, as if that's gonna fix anything, and manage to stumble my way out of the room, almost giving up my act.
If I felt guilty before, it is nothing compared to how I feel now. I wish the ground could open under my feet and swallow me whole. I wish I was actually sick and started vomiting my insides. I wish Sasuke called and told me he could never see me again, because I would deserve it. I would deserve all three of these things to happen to me for making Ino look that worried and hurt. Because, when I waved, that's how she looked. Hurt. Let down. Confused, too. It's one thing to avoid your best friend, but it's another to know she's noticed and can't explain it to herself, before you have a chance to.
I want to cry. I feel heat behind my eyes and a lump form in my throat. My nose itches and my cheeks flush. I cross my arms in a vain attempt to suppress the dull pain spreading through my chest. I want to contain myself until I get home, but the image of Ino's worried face is burned into my brain, and the more I try, the harder it is to keep my tears down. I wipe the water out of my eyes, but out of habit, I look at my hand and I see my fingers are stained with make-up.
No. I refuse. This was a step in the wrong direction and it's the last I will make. Tomorrow's my last exam; as soon as it's over, I'm ending things with Sai and clearing things with Ino. I'm tying up loose ends and closing this chapter of my life. It's only logical that I put all the guilt and idiocy and mistakes behind me along with my college career.
Until then, no more crying, no more feeling sorry for myself. Mind over matter. For the next twenty-four hours, I have done nothing wrong. I will focus solely on this last exam, especially now that I got myself some additional free time.
Go on, Sakura. March out of this building like you didn't just pretend to be too sick for words and get your ass home to study. You can hate yourself later.
. . .
"You have one new message." Beep. "First message, sent today at four thirty-seven PM."
"Hey, Sakura. Hope you're feeling better. I think you should call Ino, she seems to think you're avoiding her or something. I told her not to call until she stopped being passive-aggressive, but you know her. She'll end up not speaking to you ever again if you don't make the first move. I don't know what's up with you, but I'm sure it's nothing Ino can't handle. Okay? Okay. Later."
Beep. "Message end. To erase this message, press eight. To listen to this message again, press-" Beep. "Message erased. No new messages."
. . .
"You have two new messages." Beep. "First message, sent today at eight fourty-four PM."
"Hey, I don't know if you got my message earlier, but you either did and ignored it or you died mysteriously and ignored it. Ino's pissed. Please do something, I'm not equipped to deal with her hurricane of a temper."
Beep. "Message end. To erase this mess-" Beep. "Message erased. Next message, sent today at nine eighteen PM."
"Hey honey. Just wanted to check in, make sure you were okay. If there's anything wrong, you can call us, either at home or on our cells, okay? Otherwise, we'll see you Saturday night to celebrate. Don't forget, you can call us for anything until then. Good night, sweetie."
Beep. "Message end. To erase this-" Beep. "Message erased. No new messages."
. . .
"You have two new messages." Beep. "First message, sent yesterday at eleven fifty-six PM."
"Call me."
Beep. "Message end. To erase this mess-" Beep. "Message erased. Next message, sent today at one thirty-five AM."
"Call me."
Beep. "Message end. To er-" Beep. "Message erased. Next message, sent today at three forty-two AM."
"Call soon. I miss you."
Beep. "Message end. To erase this message, press seven. To listen to this message again, press eight. To reply to this message, press nine. To save this message, press zero. Otherwise, stay on the line for more options."
"To erase this message, pr-" Beep. "Message saved. This message will remain in your inbox for fourteen days. No new messages."
. . .
I don't know if I expected Sai to burst out in tears, fall to his knees begging me to stay or maybe start screaming at me, but I should've known it would be none of those. I mean, no drug in the world could make this perpetually calm and collected man to suddenly feel all the feels; he's grown immune to all of them. Both the drugs and the emotions, if recent memory is any indication.
He does look a little disheartened, however, but maybe I'm vain enough to believe I deserve a bigger reaction, because it feels like it's not enough. Like I was silly enough to make a big deal out of leaving him when really, we weren't that serious to begin with. Maybe I didn't expect crying, but I think I wanted it. Some sadistic part of me, perhaps, or purely narcissistic.
I feel angry. At him for not going into emotional overload and at myself for being angry in the first place. I should feel like shit. And I do, Jesus Christ I do. But I should only feel like shit. All I am is an asshole.
"Why?" He asks. My God, he makes it sound like a minor inconvenience. Thankfully he's facing away from me; I'm glaring holes through his head. I'd scream, ask if nothing we'd lived together meant anything to him anymore, but I think that flew out the window when I called Sasuke instead of him to get me from the hospital.
But hey, he left me to fend for myself when I was panicking and tripping my brains out. He's just as undeserving of the appropriate emotional response. Besides, if I don't tell him the truth, with the only purpose of sparing him the pain, it might actually make me the bigger person.
"Where did you sleep?" I'm yanked out of my thoughts. He's turned to face me, barely frowning. "Did you stay at the hospital?" He looks me up and down. I'm well aware that I'm not wearing the same clothes as the last time he saw me, but I can't tell what he's getting from it.
Logically, I could've gone home straight from the hospital, or called my parents to bring me clean clothes. I'm actually baffled that he remembers I left in an ambulance, so much so that I don't answer his question.
"Did you call your parents?" On second thought, this alternative wouldn't be logical at all. I definitely wouldn't have called my parents, for fear of breaking our Don't Ask Don't Tell system. And I can't say I called Ino, he knows about her ex. "Did you get home on your own?"
He doesn't sound concerned or even suspicious; only curious. Like I'm playing charades and making him guess only with gestures. I look down at the floor; another clue for him. I didn't do it out of shame, although shame is piercing through my chest like a pickaxe. I just know that if I'd kept looking at his puzzle-solving face, I would've hit him.
"Did you go home at all?" I can tell he's working it out. He probably can't see the cat hairs on my sweater or smell Sasuke's man soap on my skin. My lips still feel slightly swollen, but that also must be too subtle for him to notice. But he's not dumb. I know he sees me fidgeting and fiddling with my nails. My avoiding eye contact with him is definitely not helping.
"Was it a mistake?"
I look up at him. Still nothing on his face; no anger, no sadness, no hope. It's just a question he's asking. It's so enraging, all I want to do is hurt him. Hurt him more than I already have; hurt him until he shows me in how much pain he is.
"Would I be leaving you if it were?" The sound of my own voice sounds foreign to me. It's raspy, flat and seems far away. It's almost as if I'm not really talking, as if someone else is speaking through me. "It's always been him. You were just a rebound."
He averts is eyes, but his face still holds no expression. It's not enough for me.
"You were the mistake."
A heavy teardrop spills down on my cheek and rolls off my chin. Weird, I didn't even notice I was tearing up. My last night with him comes crashing down over me like a tsunami wave. How little he seemed to care, how he didn't do a single thing to calm me down. How could he? After everything he'd told me, done for me, done with me? How could I matter so little to him when he kept saying how much he loved me just hours before?
And now, how dare he treat our breakup like some goddamn Guess Who game? How dare he just stand there, looking at me like I just delivered his mail? I might have cheated, but at least I'm feeling guilty and angry at myself and generally awful. I have the pickaxe of shame embedded into my sternum, crushing my lungs and heart.
I'm goddamn crying, for fuck's sake!
I don't feel well. The floor feels unstable and the room starts to look like it's no longer part of reality. I'm nauseated, woozy and my heart starts picking up speed. My cheeks flush. I feel numb, paralysed; the only movement in my body is the occasional uninhibited sob that makes my whole frame shake.
I need to get out, get some fresh air. It suddenly feels stiflingly hot in his apartment and my throats seems to be closing up. This… This feels alarmingly similar to Am I tripping again? Did I ever stop? How much of this is real? It's starting to feel like a dream again.
"Okay." His voice makes me snap back.
Okay? Okay!?
You ass. You fucking ungrateful, pitiful, emotionless asshole of a bad influence, you deserve nothing good ever in your life. I fucking loved you, you… You… ARGH!
My arm moves before I even generate the thought of slapping him. The sound of my hand colliding with his face resonates around the room. We stand there, motionless. I'm in shock; he doesn't move, doesn't straighten himself back up. He just stares off at the wall I made his head turn towards, and I can see his cheek turn bright red. I want him to look at me. I want him to snap back to reality and react. I just want him to react. I slap the other side of his face, this time fully aware that I'm doing it. He still doesn't move; he just lets himself be pushed around. I want to do it again for good measure, but I hit him so hard that my hands are throbbing. Still, a surge of adrenaline courses through my arm; I ball my hand into a fist and hurl it into his abdomen. He doubles over with a grunt and I take advantage of his vulnerability to push him off balance. He lands on the floor with a thud, and keeps his eyes obstinately on his knees and away from my face. I can't say that he looks sad or hurt, but his stance is so pitiful that any kind of energy I had to hit him completely deflates like a pierced balloon.
I can't believe myself. I came here, contrite and ashamed, ready to admit my betrayal. Instead, I just beat him up. A strangled sob erupts from my mouth and I take a step back, suddenly unbalanced on my shaky legs. Why are breakups always a mess? Is it me? Do I make them messy and awful? I just hit the victim of my own adultery and I still feel like he's the one who wronged me.
I get dizzy again. I spin on my heels and run to the door. I yank it open, gasping for air, and I stumble outside. It's started raining since I arrived, but I don't care. The water feels cool and clean on my sweaty face. I try to run as fast as I can on my legs that have become weak and unsteady. I struggle to bring air into my lungs and my throat and chest start to burn. My ponytail sways wildly and my wet hair sticks to my face. The wind doesn't help with my tears, and I can barely see ahead of me. I try to wipe my eyes and nose, but my hands are just as wet and only serve to spread the water across my face.
As I turn the corner on my street, I see the blurry silhouette of Sasuke's car in my driveway. That's right, he said he'd wait for me to get back. Relief fills my chest like a cool, soothing glass of water on a hot day. My legs are heavy, but I keep running. The sooner I get to him, the better I'll be.
. . .
"Perhaps not the way you should've brought this down upon him."
"Hm, perhaps not."
"Well," Ino sighs at the other end of the line. "What's done is done. At least he knows, now."
"Yeah."
There's a long pause. I don't really know what else to say. I feel so bad for hiding things from her in the past few weeks that it's like I'm not really sure how to talk to her anymore. Our conversations used to flow naturally, like a rehearsed act, but this one was mostly her listening to me while I monologued about everything I've withheld from her in the past months. Which, by the way, rarely happened in the past because she's the talkative one.
However, now that I've finally fessed up about the nature of my relationship with Sai and the basis for my decision to break up with him, I'm slightly terrified she might think badly of me and decide not to be my friend anymore. I remember how distraught she was over the fact that her ex cheated on her because of his pothead tendencies and how completely dead set against drugs she became since. I mean, granted, pot isn't a very dangerous drug health-wise, unless you have a heart condition, but the amount of bad decisions one can make on any kind of recreational substance is as good a reason as any to be against it.
"So, what was in it?" Ino asks. It's surprising how calmly she's handling it. She's not particularly known for her level-headedness.
"I don't know. Sasuke said something about that too, but we can't figure it out."
"Do you think Sai knew?"
"I don't really want to check."
It's not only that I don't want to call Sai or be anywhere near him anymore. On one hand, if he didn't know, it's negligence on his part and won't get me any closer to finding out; on the other hand, if he did know, he's an asshole for not telling me before I touched it and for not caring when things went sour. Either way, it won't make me feel any better.
I bite my lip and twist a hair strand around my finger. I don't really know where to go from here. I already groveled and I don't want to discuss Sai anymore, but I feel that reverting back to the way we used to talk would be a change of subject too abrupt for the situation. But how does one segue from salvaging a friendship to acting like there was no need for salvation?
I pull the strand of hair in front of my face to look at it. The tips are pretty frayed. I guess this semester took its toll on more than my mental health. It seems insipid now, to notice something as trivial as my damaged hair, but now that I'm pretty much out of things to worry about, I feel that I'm allowed this little bit of shallowness. I sit up on my bed and gather my hair to tie it up, but I catch a glimpse of myself in my wall mirror and stop in my tracks. I let my hair fall down around my shoulders and arms, then study my reflection.
It's obvious I haven't been feeding myself properly. All the evenings I've spent with raging cases of the munchies, paired with the general lack of healthy food and sufficient exercise made me pack on a few pounds. No wonder I've been feeling heavy, even after almost of week of my mom's cooking. I'm well-rested but I still have bags under my eyes. I haven't been forgoing showers, but it's been a while since I've taken the time to properly wash my face and I've only just noticed the dry skin on my forehead. My hair falls flat, lifeless and tangled, practically begging for moisture. To think I had dinner with my parents looking like this.
"Hey, Ino?"
"Hm?"
"I really am sorry."
"I know."
"I'll make it up to you."
"You better."
"I kinda need a favour, though."
"Tell me what you need and I'll decide if you deserve my magnanimity."
"It's a surprise."
"How can it be a favour if I don't know what you need me for?"
"I just want moral support, really. I have to make a call and I'll get right back to you."
"You owe me so big, Forehead."
"You'll like this, don't worry."
"Forgive me for not taking your word for it."
"Right. Give me a minute, I'll call you back."
. . .
A/N: I'd like to address something.
I recently received a review on the first chapter of Wasted, it went as follows: "gaamatsu is disgusting and so are you". There are so many things I could say about this, so I'll try to stay concise. It's been a while, guys, did I write any Gaara/Matsuri in this? Because, unless my memory is failing me, I don't remember doing so.
I can't really decide what I like the most about this review. Is it the fact that it was so out of the blue, I actually doubted it was originally intended for me? Or the fact that this person felt such personal offense from a pairing I might have mentioned at some point that he or she assumed I, as a human being, must be just as horrifying? That this appalling opinion of me was so strong and so urgent to come out that he or she just had to put it into writing?
Maybe the idea that this person forgot that fanfiction is exactly that, fiction made by fans, and that I, as a fan of that pairing (which I was for maybe fifteen whole minutes six years ago), am well within my rights to write fiction about it if I ever feel so inclined to? Maybe that this insult wasn't aimed at my writing skills or my lack of updates, which I would've expected, but instead at a personal preference of mine that I don't recall ever putting into writing?
Or maybe it's simply that this person reviewed anonymously, thus cowering away from a direct reply from me or perhaps staying protected from being reported to a higher power.
No, I think it's mostly that we both have so little impact over each other's lives, and I'm well aware that as a guest, this person will probably never read this. And that's okay. It's not about winning or losing, because there was nothing to be won or lost. My opinions and values have not been changed and I have not suddenly realised that yes, I am disgusting. And I'm fairly certain that sending me that review did little to appease this charming person's irrepressible rage towards me, or to change anything in his or her life whatsoever.
And so, to you, anonymous reviewer who finds me disgusting, I'd like to say this:
‾\_(ツ)_/‾