Chapter four : white disorder
Her fingers scraped against the ridges of the washboard. Chihiko was quickly pulled from her daydream.
"Ow!" she cried out, dropping the board into the wooden tub with a messy splash.
The tips of her right hand fingers were all clipped, red under-flesh painfully exposed to the air. Blood, copper-smelling and crimson, began to rise to the surface and trailed down the length of her slender, thin hand. Before she could re-think her decision, she thrust the injured hand deep into the warm, soapy water, bit her lower lip as the anti-bacterial formula stung the open wounds.
"How long was I dreaming…." she asked herself, eyes squinted from the pain. Once the pain became a numb, dull-ache, Chihiko pulled her hand free from the water and wrapped a towel around it. The cloth was immediately saturated with droplets of red, and the kunoichi pressed the pressure point on the inside of her upper arm with her left hand. It was the only thing she could do at the moment to reduce the flow of blood.
Glancing outside the washroom's solitary window, Chihiko was startled to find the sun long gone from the sky, now replaced by night's haze. She muttered a few words and hastily grabbed the tub's plug, letting the water drain away. Her right hand clutched against her body, still bound in the towel, Chihiko left the room and made her way toward the dojo's exit.
As she single-handedly locked the door behind her, hand throbbing slightly, Chihiko dashed down the familiar, well-worn cobblestone path toward the village's main street.
Inside, her duffel-bag, which held all her gear, lay forgotten on the floor.
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The door slid to one side easily, well-oiled in its track.
"Konbanwa, Chihiko!" a cheery voice called to Chihiko as she silently entered the modest home. A woman with dark-black hair pulled back with a shawl sat cross-legged on the floor just beyond the front-door. In her hands, a bowl of some unidentifiable, sweet-smelling soup was held.
"Konbanwa, Okäsan," Chihiko said gratefully, bowing to the middle-aged woman before she took off her tatami sandals, placing them neatly next to several other pairs. She deftly held the hurt hand behind her back, away from her mother's gaze.
"I'm sorry I'm late tonight…I had to clean the floors and-"
"That doesn't matter, Chihiko…you must be hungry…" her mother said as she placed the bowl onto the short living-room table.
"Arigatou, Okäsan. But first I need to go wash up first," she excused herself politely before leaving the room, moving her right-hand so that it remained concealed.
Once she reached the house's bathroom, Chihiko quickly disposed of the sullied rag, folding it many times before she dumped it into the waste-bin, careful that none of her blood was visible. She turned on the sink's faucet and let the cold-refreshing water rinse away the dried, crusted blood. Soon, a new river of red started to appear from her finger-tips.
She clenched her left hand into a loose fist, her index and middle finger raised while the others were held down by her thumb. Concentrating her chakra into her hand, eyes closed, water still running, Chihiko felt a warm essence fill the entire length of her arm. It rushed into the fingertips of her left hand, and once it was at a feverish pitch, Chihiko touched her injured hand gently.
"Chi no Seppun…" she whispered, and the chakra reacted to the words. As the moments passed by, the chakra materializing from her body and the water from the faucet seemed to act in tandem, cleaning her damaged fingers.
A tingling sensation trailed into her nails, as if they were being dipped in ice, and Chihiko shivered. She'd done this a million times before, the art of self-healing, but every time it felt more intense, more successful.
"Much better," she remarked, pleased at how her hand was now fully healed. The newly-formed skin was lighter in complexion, but Chihiko doubted anyone would take notice.
Turning off the faucet, Chihiko flicked the light-switch and stepped lightly down the hallway. Her uniform was soaked in water, sweat and even a touch of blood. An unscrupulous person of unnatural fastidiousness, Chihiko knew she wouldn't be able to sit still at the dinner table until she found herself in a clean night robe.
Making a right-hand turn into her bedroom, Chihiko stared at it for a few moments, the memory of her daydream still planted in her mind. Not surprisingly, very little had changed since then, since two years ago. There was the bed with blue sheets, the shelf, the wardrobe, and the table with no chair. The only difference now was the vast array of plants that had made their home here. Vines of immeasurable length scrawled along the walls, and house-plants that should have only been a few feet in height were scraping the ceiling with their leaves. The scent of life seemed to permeate throughout the room, and Chihiko found delight in raising these plants, her constant companions. Outside of her family and teachers, no one else seemed to want her company.
Not even him… she thought to herself, suddenly a little more downhearted. But she shook her head, reminded herself of the promise they had made to each other. Even if it had been years ago, it was still a promise. She nodded her head as if to reassure herself of their pledge.
Crossing the room, touching the soft, leathery leaves of a potted plant that stood beside her wardrobe, Chihiko pulled open the bottom-most drawer. Rummaging around for a comfortable robe, she eventually found one and quickly dressed in it, throwing her dirty training garb into the nearby hamper.
Yawning slightly, Chihiko checked the old, wind-up clock she had on her table. It was nearly 9 pm; her daydream had cost her nearly the entire evening. She stretched her weary limbs and unfastened the metal clip that held her hair together. Now free from restraint, the gray strands spread around her like a sheet of silver. Chihiko found it slightly ironic that not only did her calm nature personify the essence of water, but so did the pounds of hair that brushed against the backs of her knees.
After a soft sigh, Chihiko left the room. She went back out into the living room, and was about to reenter it when she heard a couple of voices speaking in lowered undertones. Nimbly, she held her back to the wall, hidden from view.
"It's not like she doesn't know, Namika...you don't have to act so sensitive," a man's voice said. That was Chihiko's father, a wood-cutter whose eyes wrinkled when he smiled. But the tone of his voice told Chihiko that he was instead frowning.
"But Yugoro, she's just a child…she can't have that pushed into her face everyday…someone has to protect her," the anxious voice of Chihiko's mother returned. Chihiko noted with curiosity the emphasis her mother had placed on the word "that".
"We do enough for her. One day, she'll just have to come to terms with the truth. I don't want to raise her into a fantasy world," Yugoro said, trying to calm his wife's nerves.
"I'm not trying to break her down…she is a shinobi…she cannot be weak in any way, especially with our village's current condition. When I last spoke to Hitaishii-sensei, he told me that Chihiko could rise to the level of Jounin in a matter of weeks. She won't be able to do that if we shield her from simple truths."
From her hiding spot, Chihiko lowered her head. Their silence was unsettling, and she wondered if perhaps they had detected her.
Chihiko felt weak, but from what she couldn't decide.
Suddenly her mother spoke again.
"I know, I know…" she said as if admitting defeat, "Try as I might, I can't always pretend to be her mother."
The weight in Chihiko's stomach dropped into her feet. She clasped a hand onto the front of her robes, trying to ground herself.
"But Yugoro…she was abandoned, her parents didn't even want her. Is it so wrong to want to replace them?" her mother spoke again, this time a little more eager. She continued, "To leave a child like her in the cold, it's like they didn't even care!"
A thump of grief festered in Chihiko's racing heart. The words of her mother chimed clearer then any bell.
"And it will make her stronger if she knows that. Shinobi are tools…you know that, I know that…we can't smother that truth in candy-coated fairytales," Yugoro answered, now becoming impatient, "Namika…I know you care about her…I do as well. But one day, she's going to outgrow us. It was the fate we accepted when she joined our family. You can't keep clinging on to what will eventually leave."
It was more then the young girl could stand to hear. She moved away from the living-room noiselessly, feet moving like feathers on the wooden floor. Slowly, Chihiko crept down the hallway, careful not to alarm Kowani, who was traveling in the opposite direction Chihiko was, soft paws padding on the ground.
The moment she reached the door to her room, she rushed inside and launched herself onto the springy bed mattress. She grasped the blue sheet with both hands and twisted it around her body, encasing herself like a larvae in its cocoon. Doubled-over, knees bent and held close to her, the girl played her parent's words over and over in her mind, like a broken record.
It's not like she doesn't know…
Chihiko was aware of the truth…had been aware for so long. Why did it hurt so much now…
I can't always pretend to be her mother…
Is that all it was? A farce? An act that someone had been supervising all this time?
Her parents didn't even want her…
The tears that had been held back by willpower were now too many. With a choking sob, Chihiko felt silver lines being traced down her pale cheeks, salty drops of water tumbling onto her mattress cover.
But she knew deep down that this was the way it had to be. There was no way to change her duty, her life. She existed for one purpose, and that was it. There was nothing more for her than this. Using her forearm, Chihiko brushed away the tears, tucking her hair behind her head.
For her, there was only one thing: the orders of her superiors.
If this was what fate had decided for her, then who was she to even try and change it?
Hey…when I become a Chuunin…no…when I become a Jounin…maybe you'll have found your own way…
A twinge of pain shot through her chest, but there was nothing more that she could do. The weight of truth was just too heavy to fight.
"I'm sorry, Zaku…I can't keep our promise…" she said to herself, the tears pushed back into her eyes.
"My shinobi way was given to me long ago."