"The importance of meditation in religion." Neji turned to me as I read from the slip of paper Mr. Guy had placed on my desk. "Not bad."
He nodded silently. My heart sank into my stomach as I set the paper down on the desk and slumped down in my chair. Barely two words had escaped him since sitting down to lunch. He seemed far away, his eyes like pale flints of steel that had lost their luster. When he looked at me, it was as though I had become transparent. It was painfully clear something was bothering him, but he was as silent and stony as a statue and just as responsive.
A movement caught my eye; a crumpled ball of paper connected with the side of my head, and my gaze immediately landed on the culprit seated at his desk with a smug look on his face. I scowled at him and rolled my eyes, to which he responded with a nonplussed smirk.
"Good to see you guys are back on track," said Ino. She propped her elbow on my desk and leaned her chin on one hand.
I nodded, but couldn't keep a smile from my lips. "Yeah."
Neji cleared his throat softly, and it took me a moment to realize that the sound was meant to grab my attention. I turned to him with a sheepish smile. "Sorry."
"We need to schedule research time," he said in a monotone, "as he isn't giving us the opportunity in class to work."
"Right," I said, lowering my eyes. "We can go to the library after school, cut my tutoring short for a few days."
He shook his head, and a spark of relief filled my stomach. "No. We will manage. After all, we also have weekend time."
"Oh," I said, and the relief changed to dread. The goal was to keep him away from my house at whatever cost, and I sincerely hoped he had other locales in mind.
He looked at me, expression cool. "Is that all right?"
"Oh, yeah, of course," I replied hurriedly. Why was I suddenly stumbling over myself?
After dismissal, Neji went off to the library with the intent to meet me there for tutoring. As I gathered my belongings into my bag, crouched before my locker, I felt a hand drop onto my head from behind and looked up at Sasuke over my shoulder with a dry smile.
"Need a ride?" he asked, removing his hand to lean against the neighboring locker. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the picture of cool, suave perfection; some younger girls tittered as they passed us by, whispering and giggling, fingers pointing at him. Sasuke, as ever, paid them no mind, his eyes trained on me.
"I actually have tutoring to go to," I said, a tad reluctantly. This was one of the few times that I had ever refused him in this regard; as I watched him, a slight furrow appeared in his brow, but it smoothed over in an instant.
"You know, I could always help you." He shook his dark hair out of his eyes. "Calculus is no problem for me."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said as I stood up, shouldering my bag. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He held out one arm to give me his typical side-hug, but as I pulled away to walk past him he grabbed my arm just above the elbow, holding me in place. "Wait," he said. I turned to him questioningly.
"Yeah?" I raised my eyebrows. "What's up?"
He opened his mouth, paused, closed it again. "Never mind, it's not important."
My brow furrowed with mounting concern. I had always known Sasuke to be cryptic, but this was entirely new. "Sasuke, what's the matter? I can cancel my tutoring-I'm sure Neji won't mind."
"Neji's tutoring you?" His voice was steady and even, but I could see a muscle working in his jaw.
"Yeah, I asked him to," I replied slowly. "Sasuke, come on. What's going on with you?"
It was very difficult for Sasuke to hide something from me, but it was only as a result of me knowing him for as long as I did, and being able to notice the near-imperceptible signs he exhibited whenever something was on his mind. But as he shrugged me off with a "we can talk later" and walked away, I felt as though a cavern was widening between us.
"Everything all right?" Neji asked as I sat down beside him. The library was nearly empty, save for the two of us and the librarian at the checkout desk. Outside the sky was a steady, solemn gray that darkened to charcoal as it stretched toward the horizon. Another storm was coming.
I studied him. "I feel as though I should be the one asking you that."
"I don't follow." He looked away, white eyes focused on the pencil he was rolling between his long, slender fingers.
"You've barely said anything these last few days. I'm just worried," I said, careful to keep my voice soft-the librarian was eyeing us suspiciously from across the room.
"I assure you, it's nothing you need to concern yourself over," was his cool response.
I leaned back heavily in my chair. Maybe I had been wrong to think that we had made progress over the past few weeks. Sitting next to him, watching the fine planes of his face, I felt no more connected to him than a passing stranger. "It's just..." I paused. Something told me that I was rushing headlong into something I'd be better off letting go of, but my mouth spewed the words before I could check myself. "It's just that you've been a really big help to me with all this, and I just want to do something for you. You know, to help," I ended lamely.
"Do I give you the impression that I require help?" He looked at me now, and something stirred in my stomach that I'd never felt before. Whatever was going on inside his head, I wanted to know. Because something about him made me want to reach out and touch him, know his innermost secrets and hold them close to me like a wounded bird I desperately wanted to heal.
"Yes," I replied, and I leaned toward him, leveling his eyes with my own. "You do. I don't know about you, but I consider you my friend. And friends talk to one another, help one another. But you don't let me." What on earth was I doing? Even as I watched, I could see the muscles tighten along his arms, and an awful coldness seeped into his voice when he spoke.
"I believe I told you once before: it is none of your business." The snapped response hit me almost like a physical blow, and a sickly sensation of dread seized my insides. He dropped the pencil and began gathering his things; the nauseating sensation gripped my stomach tighter as he stood up, and without so much as a backward glance he strode out of the library, leaving me alone with his slowly fading scent.
I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the table and covered my face with my hands. I knew I would be making a mistake, overstepping like that, and yet I had done it anyway. Every step I took to try to get closer to him ended up with two steps back, and now this felt like two giant leaps back. And it was my fault. I pushed my knuckles into my eyes as they burned with the threat of tears. Why was I taking this so hard? And why did it hurt so much?
When I walked through my front door, something was burning.
"Dad?" I called tentatively. I dropped my bag to the floor and edged my way toward the kitchen. When I peered through the doorway I found him slumped over the kitchen table as a slew of black smoke drifted toward the ceiling in rapid spirals. I immediately ran to the stove and twisted the gas off; I gagged as I took the badly scorched pot to the sink, containing a substance that might have once been something edible. How soon would it be before this happened again, and I wouldn't be home to stop it?
Dimly I heard him grunt from behind me. Over my shoulder I saw him raise his head, rub his bloodshot eyes with one hand, and as he made to stand up his elbow knocked the beer bottle beside him and sent it crashing to the floor. I froze instantly as I watched his face contort with rage.
"God-dammit!" He slammed his fist down on the table, then noticed me standing by the sink and lurched forward. "Whadaya think you're doin'?" he slurred.
I dropped the pot and stood with my back against the sink. "Your food was burned. I was going to make you something else."
"Ohhh." He drew the word out as he stepped closer. "Is that so, huh?"
"Dad," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I tightened my grip on the handle of the pot, never taking my eyes off of him as I continued to speak. "Please, you've had too much to drink. Just sit down and I'll-"
"Who are you to tell me what to do?" He stopped mere feet from me, and his ensuing yells made me flinch with their loudness. "YOU don't tell ME what to do, you no-good slut!"
My eyes scanned the room desperately, trying to formulate the quickest way out. He stood in the way of the entrance to the living room, but if I timed it right, I could reach the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. It didn't look like it was locked, which worked in my favor. But as I tried to bolt past him, I felt his hand seize the back of my shirt; I found myself on the floor, staring up at him with my heart pounding loudly in my ears.
"And where do you think you're going, huh? Huh?" His foot drove into my stomach, winding me. My mind screamed run! I rolled over and found myself pressed against the lower cabinets. I looked up just as his foot swung back to deliver a blow to my ribs. The pain was incredible; I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out, and the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth as I struggled to move out of the way of his next strike. It had been awhile since he'd exploded to this degree; part of me thought he would actually kill me, and that filled me with a fear so intense that the tears that had been pricking at my eyes finally spilled over.
"Dad, stop," I wheezed. My head bumped the underside of one of the kitchen chairs. The sliding door was almost in reach now, close enough to touch, but he seized me by one of my buns and yanked me backward. My scalp seared white-hot as I scrabbled at his hands with my nails, struggling to break loose, and all the while he yelled and raved so loudly it was a wonder how the neighbors didn't hear-if they had heard before, they never cared enough to stop by. More than anything I wanted the doorbell to sound, or the front door to open to reveal some sort of savior.
I didn't know how I managed it, nor did I care, but finally I shook off his grasp along with a piece of hair and threw the glass door open. The cold wind hit almost like another blow, whipping against my face. I had only one destination in mind as I circled the house and sprinted down the sidewalk, breath rattling in my throat, hiccuping sobs lost on the gusts of wind. My ribs ached with each stride. I finally doubled over, gasping for breath. I had gotten away. That was all that mattered. I just had to keep going, keep going until I reached Sasuke.
My teeth clicked loudly together with cold as I walked the rest of the way to his house. I could see muted lights through the windows, glowing like welcoming lanterns in the increasing dark. Never had I felt so happy to see anything in my life.
Sasuke answered the door, to my relief. "Tenten?" The sight of him started another wave of tears. He took one look at me, at my no doubt pitiful appearance, before he seized my arm and dragged me up to his room.
"What happened, what's wrong?" He sat me down on the bed and crouched before me with his hands gripping my knees. I tried to take deep, steady breaths; I jammed the heels of my hands into my eyes. I couldn't bring myself to look at him, for him to see me this way. He kept saying my name, but his voice sounded miles away, echoing numbly in my ears. All I could see was my father's face, his expression contorted into that ugly mask of rage.
"Tenten, what happened?" he demanded. His grip on my knees tightened, and I finally snapped out of my stupor long enough to focus on his face through my haze of tears.
"You're going to hate me for this," I said. I tried to laugh, but all that came out was a grotesquely strangled cough/sob mixture. And I told him everything. I didn't bother downplaying-he would no doubt see right through me. I did my best to look away from him, from the rage I would no doubt see etched in the flawless planes of his face. Sasuke's anger was not a force to be messed with, even when we were children. It had been a long time since I'd sparked his fury.
"You're right," he said when I finally finished. His voice was deathly quiet. "I do hate you for this." He released my hands and strode across the room, raking a hand roughly through his hair. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"
"Sasuke, I'm sorry." I wiped at my face and let out a breath that was, thankfully, more steady.
"You're sorry? Goddammit, Tenten, what were you thinking?" He whirled around and seized me by the shoulders. When I made no answer, he sighed and slackened his grip. I had expected this sort of reaction, but I didn't know that his anger would be directed toward me. Maybe it had been a bad idea to confide in him after all.
"I'm sorry," I said again, hating the way my voice cracked on the last word. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"What the f-" He groaned with exasperation and pressed a hand to his eyes. "Don't you dare apologize." He turned away and stood eerily still, his face lifted to the ceiling with an expression I could not see, but his hands were balled into shaking fists at his sides. "I should kill him." He straightened and turned to me with a dangerous fury glinting in his obsidian eyes. "I should go over there right now and fucking kill him."
"Sasuke, stop." I tried to reach for him, but he flinched away from my touch as though I had burned him. "He doesn't know what he's doing."
"How can you say that? How can you defend what he's been doing to you?"
"I'm not trying to," I said weakly. "Sasuke, please. I don't want to fight right now. Please."
I was a pathetic, sniveling mess, begging the way I was. I wanted to hold it all in, suffocate the ache in my chest. It was humiliating, having Sasuke see me like this-not since my mother died had I fallen so low. And when he held out his arms, familiar and inviting, I couldn't help but fall into them and bury my face in his shoulder.
"It's all right," he said quietly. He rested his head atop mine, and I felt his arms tighten around me. His heartbeat drummed a steady beat in my ear. I closed my eyes and breathed him in; I felt as though I could stay there forever, safe and warm and protected. "You shouldn't have ever kept this from me. And not for this fucking long, either."
"I'm sorry," I said, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
Sasuke sighed through his nose and released me, to my displeasure. "You know I'm not going to allow you to go back there."
Of course he wasn't. "Since when was I asking you for permission?" I said, affronted. "Like it or not, he's still my dad, and it's my responsibility-"
"Your responsibility?" Sasuke looked visibly incredulous. "You've got to be kidding, Tenten. Since when was it your responsibility to take care of a man that beats the shit out of you?" His jaw tightened and he turned to face the wall; it was like Shikamaru all over again.
"Sasuke," I sighed, trying to maintain my slowly fading patience, "I love you, but you need to just c-"
"Don't you dare," he hissed through gritted teeth, "tell me to calm down. Did you think I was going to take this lightly?"
"No, but-"
"You can't go back there," he talked over me. "It's not safe."
"He's my dad, Sasuke! I can't abandon him. And who says you can stop me?" I retaliated.
Sasuke's face betrayed nothing, but his eyes told a different story. He was furious. Really furious. His stare seemed to burn through me; I did my best to maintain my own, hardly daring to blink until my eyes watered with the focus.
"You said you loved me," he said finally. His tone was flat and colorless. He picked up a pencil from his desk and began rolling it between his fingers.
"Yeah, I did," I replied slowly, knitting my brows together with confusion. It wasn't the first time I'd done so.
"Then why won't you listen to me?"
I groaned aloud with frustration. "Because you aren't my parent!"
"Well, neither is he!" Sasuke snapped the pencil in half. He looked down at his hand and wordlessly pulled a sliver of wood from his thumb, and a crimson bead of blood trickled from the wound. "Not anymore."
I simply stood there in silence. Sasuke was right. In order to be a parent, one needed to act like a parent. And my father most assuredly was not the pinnacle of perfection. But acknowledging it didn't do anything to quell the anger still bubbling like boiling water in my veins. I had always prided myself on being able to make good decisions. Had I been wrong to delude myself for this long, to hope for my father to somehow come back from his alcohol-induced stupor? I refused to believe that I was foolish for wanting the dad of my happy childhood to come back to me.
"You shouldn't bait me with that," I said finally, folding my arms across my stomach. "With me loving you."
Sasuke looked away from his thumb, which was still oozing tiny droplets of blood, to me. "Either way," he said in a monotone, "I don't want you going back there tonight. Or ever, but that obviously doesn't seem to work for you."
I flinched at the coldness that laced his voice. "This isn't your decision to make," I replied stiffly. As I turned toward the door I felt his hand seize my shoulder and turn me sharply around to face him. His black eyes seemed to burn, mere inches from my face.
"Don't." His voice was positively venomous.
I blinked in shock. "I told you, Sasuke. I'm not asking for your permission."
His grip on my shoulder tightened to the point of pain. For a moment he seemed ready to start yelling, a muscle twitching dangerously in his jaw. Then, to my surprise, his hand slackened, but he still didn't let go.
That was when he kissed me.