If you look closely at history, one thing you will notice is that all the most impressive characters in the text books either suffered fairly horribly, or were mad. Of course, you may also notice that the truly successful ones liked to preach about things, and only the ones who preached truly good things get quoted in term papers.
I quote nothing beyond justice--beyond revenge, beyond the True Right, but I have hope that since I seem to be quite mad and have suffered my whole life, I will still succeed in getting a few mentions in schools.
But one other thing you may notice is that none of them really seemed to have a plan—they took a path and tried to follow it, and inevitably got thrown into something much bigger than themselves. Well, this is where I think they went wrong.
You see, I have a plan—loose and undefined as it currently is. I won't tell anyone about the whole thing right now—it might warp their little minds. But the first on my list of things to accomplish is the complete and utter destruction of Sasuke Uchiha, and to aid Lee in any way in his conquering of Neji Hyuuga.
I personally believe that by taking these first steps, I will have undoubtedly defined myself as the person I plan to become.
"Kyuubi" is a name to be written in blood.
The end of lunch bell resonates throughout the campus, stopping any kind of retaliation I might make against Sasuke, and freezing the challenge I know is rising in Lee's throat.
"Come on," says Neji, his blank eyes never leaving Lee's, even as he puts a hand on Sasuke's shoulder.
Sasuke shrugs the hand off and spits in my face.
Just wait, Uchiha. Just you wait and see!
The hostility lingers in our group long after they leave.
Two classes later, I finally get a glimpse of the new kids.
A boy with wild purple stripes reaching the edges of his face from his eyes and a black cap with triangle points like ears stands warily behind a short boy with spiked blood hair who reminds me of a model for Hot Topic. A girl with blond pigtails stands on his other side with a spike-knuckled glove and too-short skirt. The marked boy and girl remind me of body-guards, but the red one seems scary enough to handle himself, as he glares at his class mates with black-bruised green eyes.
All of them bare the tattoo of the K.S. on their necks and an hourglass tattoo on their forearm—marking them as gang members.
20/20s, I'd guess—violent 20/20s at that. We don't get many brave enough to flaunt their hatred of the government so boldly.
"Class," starts Mr. Ebisu, "We have some new students. This is Gaara, Temari, and Kankuro Shukaku." He points to the red one first and I know without a doubt that he is in charge. Shortness aside.
"Psst," Chouji whispers to me. "What do you make of them?"
I shake my head. "Definitely 20/20s. Organized too, if those marks say anything. No wonder the ASSES were checking up on us. Unless these guys come with their own claws, we're going to get stuck with them by the end of tomorrow."
ASSES stands for Asinine Social Suckers with Emotional Stunting. Guess who they are?
Kiba groans to my left. "Are you shitting me? How the fuck am I going to ask Hinata out if these freaks are following my ass?"
"As if you could get a date with her to begin with," Shikamaru finally inputs. "She's three years older than any of us, and Neji's flipping cousin, to boot. You really think he's going to let you get down the family heir's pants?"
Kiba scoffs. "Like I care what that fucker—"
"Mr. Inuzuka! Mr. Uzumaki!"
Crap. Guess we weren't quiet enough. I wince and turn around.
I wonder if Ebisu got pissed when Shino showed up with the same signature glasses?
"Do you have anything you'd like to share with the class?"
In chorus we say, "No, Mr. Ebisu."
What well trained dogs we are.
"You three," he tells the new kids, "Take the seats in the row next to Mr. Uzumaki."
It's as I feared. They're being forced upon us.
I know most would ask, "What's the big deal? The more the merrier, right?"
Well most people aren't us. We don't just have to justify ourselves to the rest of the world, we have to justify those we keep company with.
Wrong as is sounds, there are no real friends among social scum. Should it prove more fruitful to us, Kiba would leave Shino stumbling around lonely in the dark, and I would cut ties to all of them in an instant. Lee and Chouji would try to be more loyal, and Shikamaru's too lazy to truly shun someone. But even if the three of them tried to hold on to each other, Lee's enthusiasm would eventually drive the others away and Shikamaru would eventually loose himself to some more lethal drug without any mind to Chouji.
We are all dispensable to each other. It's enough trouble to fight for the right to associate with our own kind—we don't need to defend some other nut-jobs that we don't want to begin with. They're on their own.
Like good little toy soldiers, the three siblings march to the back of the side row, Temari first, Kankuro last. They all three sit sideways to acknowledge the teacher with one ear and watch the class with both eyes.
Gaara is at a bad angle to attack me, but at my staring he signals his brother who kicks me.
"What?"
"Keep your eyes to yourself, ass," Kankuro threatens. Curious. I don't think his heart is really in it. His sister is busy biting her lip as she watches Shikamaru ignore her.
"If you don't want the attention, don't draw it on your face."
I know there was a flaw to that come-back.
The rest of the class is spent in tense but sleepy silence and I can feel green eyes digging at my back.
Three massive assignments and one painful ambush later and I can barely force the key into my apartment's lock, my hand trembles so bad. Stumbling into the darkness of my bathroom, I don't bother to switch on the light and drown myself in a hot bath for a few hours before diving into bed.
Around midnight, the phone wakes me, and I answer it groggily.
"He-yawn-llo?"
"Naruto."
I'm instantly awake at the sound of a woman's voice. Tsunade wouldn't call me this late unless…
"What's wrong with her now?"
She sighs before answering.
"She won't let Ino into the bathroom and I'm missing a bottle of tranquilizers."
Shit.
At three in the morning, I wonder idly what people would say as I shove my fingers down Sasuke's girlfriend's throat again and again, waiting for her to gag before hanging her head over the toilet.
Eventually the pills and the alcohol are replaced with sick acid, so I wash off my hand and pass her a glass of water.
"Thanks," she says weakly. I'll take that for an apology, however insincere.
"Just don't do it again," I say without feeling and she nods.
This isn't the first time. We both know it won't be the last.
I remember, once when she'd tried to slice her wrists open and I was wrapping them tightly in gauze, she asked me so softly, "Will you take me with you?"
After all the shit she's done to me in public, I find it amazing that she still clings to the hope that I will liberate her in private. Once, I would have said yes without hesitation. But that was before we were comrades in closed closets.
Only she sees the thing behind my eyes. Only I know how many coat hangers she's bloodied.
"No, Sakura," I said that night. I think it was a Tuesday too.
When the time comes, I will leave her to destroy herself.
Tuesdays seem to suck for me.
