(A/N) I said I'd update soon. This will be an easy story to write, so expect quick updates. Just a fair warning. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SELF-MUTILATION OR BLOOD, TURN BACK NOW! I MEAN IT! So don't complain to me if you think this chapter was gross or sad.

Disclaimer: God hates me. I mean, I do not own Naruto! Hehehe… Yeah, I'm pathetic.

Painted

Stolen Release

If I could find the time to speak
I'd try to find a thousand ways to prove you wrong
Falling on my face
I'm chasing all the lines of your skin
And all your pirouette mistakes
So dance until you're brand new
Ignore the fight inside that scares you

Sakura didn't wince as the blade sunk into her flesh. She didn't cry when blood bubbled to the surface as if it had been restrained from doing so. There was no pain as she contemplated going a bit deeper this time, digging into the most vulnerable part of her wrist. She'd disappear from this world, with only a useless shell lingering to remind those that remained of her past existence. It was comforting to know no one can forsake her in death, and it was enough to tempt her. She poised the kunai where her hand meets her wrist, letting the tip touch the protruding blue vessel. If she pressed any harder, it would delve into her skin, successfully severing both the vessel and her life.

As usual, she could not bring herself to do it. Instead, she started to heal her marred arm so the cuts would vanish. No one knew of what she was doing to herself, thanks to her healing abilities. There were only slight marks, all of which were undetectable to the naked eye. She looked into the bathroom mirror, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. It no longer frightened her how dull her eyes were as she stared into the stained looking glass. There was no more spirit in the green irises; they no longer held the fire her village prided itself in. Her hair had also dulled, as if it also held a sort of spirit. The tresses were no longer a bright, shocking pink, but a pale, muted imitation of a once recognizable mane. Her body was frail, for she no longer trained; what would be the point when she wanted to disappear?

After her skin reattached itself, she walked out of the bathroom that smelt of blood and into her room. She had gotten an apartment when she turned eighteen as a birthday present to herself (no one else could give it to her). It had been six months since then, and she enjoyed the privacy it provided her. Pulling back the covers of her bed, she climbed in and immediately collapsed, letting darkness envelop her and trap her in a dreamless, uneasy sleep.

-

Itachi gazed at the frail form of the girl, his red eyes illuminating the darkness. Merely a window separated them, and yet they couldn't be further apart. Millions of unseen windows divided the two, all stained with blood and lies. He stood on a branch with a balance only he could perfect watching the sluggish movements of her chest. The girl's breaths were small, and her sleep was troubled as it was every night. He would do anything to ease her pain, but it was not possible for him to give her pleasant dreams; he was only capable of providing darker, more frightening nightmares. She rolled over in her sheets, pushing herself into a ball to protect her subconscious from the nightmares that were all too close.

It seems the night only makes it worse, he thought as he looked at her revealed wrists. He didn't see the marks, but knew they were there, hidden under skin and bone.

The Akatsuki did not know where he was; they never knew where he went at night. They didn't know he watched over a broken girl as she painted lines of red on her flesh and wiped them away with a glow of green. Her arms became an aberrant canvas at dusk. They weren't aware of him watching her as she slept, writhing in her sheets with anxiety that was too formidable for her to control. The Akatsuki knew nothing about Sakura and Itachi made sure they never would.

-

Sakura walked into the hospital, looking down at the floor. She had never done that before. She had always held her chin up high to show how strong she was (because she was always strong). They waved and she smiled uselessly back. They worried; she continued to make them do so. She was trapped, and she made sure she could never find a way out. She wanted to be ensnared in her Hell.

The patients she dealt with were easy. They complained and she healed. It was mechanical, and she liked it that way. As long as they kept their mouths closed around their sob stories, she was perfectly fine. The older ones were the worst. They incessantly prattled about their life and their family and didn't realize her hold on the clipboard tightened. She'd tell them to stop talking in her mind, but didn't have the strength to say it aloud. They didn't realize that all she wanted to do was get the day over with, so she could continue to stagnate in her house.

They didn't care.

The patients sobbed and spoke, making her stomach wrench. They never stopped. She remained silent, feigning to listen. She used to want to hear these stories. She used to think they were human and tragic. Now that she was tearing herself apart, she didn't need to hear others trying to pull themselves back together. When she returned home, she saw the picture.

It was standing upright.

Sakura wanted to get rid of it. Team Seven's faces stared at her, as if blaming her for everything that happened. There was too much in that picture. There was a sort of hope that accompanied childhood (hope she no longer had). She turned it down every day, but didn't get rid of it. She was too weak for that. As she put it back down, she wondered why it was revealed in the first place.

She went into her kitchen to make dinner, but when she opened her drawer, found all of the utensils gone. It disturbed her, but she put a meal in the microwave anyway. After going though more mechanized rituals (eating, cleaning, breaking) she went into the bathroom. The blade wasn't in its place beside the sink. She checked the floor, and then the rest of the house. It had disappeared. Her weapon pouch had gone missing, too, along with any form of sharp materials she possessed.

"What are you looking for?"

The voice tore at her soul, and when she walked into her bedroom, the face shredded her already broken heart. She didn't say his name, not even in her mind. Sakura didn't accept it. He was not sitting in her room, as nonchalantly as if he lived there. There was pain, but she held it down. She promised herself never to cry again, and she was not going to break it after all this time (even if the past came back to her in the cruelest way imaginable).

"I would ask how you are feeling, but this," Itachi held up the blade," answers my question."

Sakura didn't move. "What are you doing here?"

He stood from the chair, still behaving as if he belonged there. He didn't answer. The murderer had no reason for being there. He would say he wanted to help her, but what could he do? Tell her everything was going to be okay? It wasn't, and she knew that. Besides, he was an expert at hiding; he wasn't going to reveal himself just because a girl he used to care about was slowly destroying herself.

"You took the knives and the kunai," Sakura stated slowly, weakly. "What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me why you are doing this to yourself."

She looked at him almost innocently. "Doing what?"

Itachi didn't take kindly to people who thought they could fool him. "Killing yourself."

Sakura gestured with her hands. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

Itachi's face told her that there was no point in lying. He could see into her even without those hellish eyes, and what he saw would have broken his heart if it had not already been torn in half that night. She put her hands down and looked away. There was no escaping the fact that he knew.

"Every night, I watch as you cut your arms," he said.

She bristled. "Why?" Sakura asked.

Itachi didn't speak; he only did so when necessary. Even if he did feel the need to blabber pointlessly, he still couldn't give an answer. The only thing he could think of was that he still felt an absurd attachment to her. He felt that maybe (maybe is such a useless word) he could save her. He was still a fool.

"Leave."

Sakura didn't look at Itachi, but at the floor. He didn't argue, only disappeared as she wanted. She couldn't sleep that night. Instead, she looked for some sort of sharp object. Itachi was thorough. He cleaned her out and she lost the only release she had. He had removed her drug, and she felt alone without it. She was hollow again, and all she wanted to do was breathe like she used to.

She just wanted to be fixed.

-

(A/N) Yummy angst. It's a short chapter, I know. Deal with it. Any complaints, tell me. I know you have many. Uh…review for…Halloween candy. Yes, I still have some.