A/N: School started. Overwhelmed for the first few weeks. Now I'm starting to get back on track…have another chapter. Consistency proves yet again to not be my forte.
Mood music:
Loveholic – Shinkirou
Yui – Love and Truth
Hyuuga Hinata – Dirt.
I bathed that night.
I bathed every night, sitting in searing hot water, choking on the steam that filled the bathroom, watching my disgustingly pale skin turn red, and begin to wrinkle and blister. Then I would pour, literally pour bath soap all over my skin and scrub for hours, until the muscles in my arms would tense up and my skin would be stripped off my arms, my legs, my torso. Then, only resting for moments, my delirium would act up again and I'd spend the rest of my stay in the bathroom violently massaging my hair with shampoo, nearly ripping it out in the effort to finally become clean. And yet, I still saw in the mirror a girl dripping in blood, skin and dirt.
How is it that the harder you clean, the worse off you are?
When I'd drain the water in the tub, it would mesmerize me. Watching the pink and red mix with the dirty, grey water was the only moment when I wasn't panicking over being filthy. It would spiral around the plug, and just like my life had, it would be sucked down a black drain, lost forever. And every night, when I watched the water flow down the drain, when I experienced that fleeting moment of hope, and lost it in mere moments, I'd hyperventilate, fall to the tiled floor, and lay there in a pitiful heap of tears, biting my lip until it bled to prevent myself from screaming in agony.
After tenderly drying myself off, wrapping myself in a bathing yukata, and slipping out of the bathroom in the wee hours of the morning, it was then that it hurt most. When I stepped out of the steamy bathroom, and the cold, fresh evening air hit my raw skin, it was the most pain I felt throughout the whole ritualistic ordeal. Even then, when I was about as clean as a human being could become, I felt like dirt. When would I realize that no matter how much I scrubbed, how much I bled, I would still be filth? I would still be a selfish, undeserving pig.
I used to think that not being able to have something right in front of you wasn't as bad as loosing it forever. If you could watch, if only from a distance, and see their sorrows and their pleasures, it would be better than them not being able to exist at all. I suppose I thought this, because I used to be selfless. Others first, then myself.
But once you got a taste of something, if only a touch, your hopes of obtaining it are through the roof. Then it's viciously ripped from your reach, and placed directly in front of you; is that better than never seeing it again? If it was thrown out, you'd forget about it after a while, it would be destroyed and you'd never have to look at again and remember that pleasure you felt while it was still yours.
It's even worse yet, when it wanted you, too.
Both Neji and I wanted the other one dead. Deep down, there was a fleeting desire of him not being able to live anymore. But I couldn't allow myself to feel that – I just didn't want him to be around me, yet alone live in the same compound. He, on the other hand, hoped more than anything that I could be buried in the ground, being devoured and rotten. Or that he could hate me… I think he convinced himself to hate me. So, I felt like dirt. For ever loving him; no, for still loving him, still needing him, still wanting him more than existence itself.
Hanabi had told me that she knew I loved him. This, I already knew, too. She was the one who witnessed my painful ordeal, waited for me to slip in to my bed, covers around my shoulders, shivering and crying all night, she would sit me in her lap and stroke my hair, until we both fell asleep. It would be her to make sure I was fed, dressed me, and cleaned up my self inflicted wounds, calming me down so that no other could see the state I was in. Her light airy voice, and angular, pixie face would be the first thing I saw when I woke up, and the last thing I saw when I went to sleep. A pitiful thing I was, relying on my nine year old sister to wait on me.
But it was only her who could understand. She loved me, more than anything, she'd kiss my lips affectionately and cling to my torso the moment she and I were alone together. Her soft, light kisses always lingered all over my face, even in the day when she wasn't around. She'd stroke my hand and rest in my bosom, whispering lightly that I was the only mother she had, and she would take care of me. I was sure that Hanabi was insane, for her to convince herself, in our moments alone, that I was her mother, but was I not also in that state? We both were in need of love, wanting it more than anything in the world, more than ourselves, more than our hopes and dreams, we longed for love. The least I could do for her was to accept her kisses, her warmth, and her insane adoration.
The first day, she had told me everything she knew, as I rested my head in her lap.
"I am the only one who could ever see, or comprehend, how much he loves you," she said, as she held my shaking shoulders. "But now that he is aware of that, he can no longer love you."
It killed me. "He hates me," I whispered, and sobbed, and held back screams.
"No, no, no, no," Hanabi would say, "he only wishes he could."
And then, when I thought I couldn't possibly want him anymore, lust kicked in. Lust, a brand new sensation to my fourteen year old body, had flooded all other sensations. At night, I couldn't help but imagine his hands running the lengths of my body, stopping to caress my breast, to touch the inside of my thigh, his lips tenderly tracing lines around my nipple. I'd wake up gasping and sweating, and the odd time crying, from how much I wanted him, and I'd find that it wasn't his hands all over my body, but my own. I was afraid to sleep. My eyes would be glued to the ceiling, and I'd ask Hanabi to hold my hands throughout the night, making sure they didn't move once. More than twice in a night she'd have to wake me up, because I began exploring her body instead of my own while sleeping. It was embarrassing, and I had no idea how to get rid of my need, and for two excruciating years, I put up with it.
Two years I avoided Neji, each night memories of touching his neck, face and lips, overwhelming me, each night scrubbing my body until it bled, barely eating and not cutting my hair. Hanabi would trim my bangs, for it was all I could stay still for. I trained until I couldn't move, and had to be dragged back to my room, convincing myself back into thinking about Naruto, a healthy adoration. I'd trick myself into pretending it was Naruto touching me, and then my hands stopped, and I could finally sleep. Hanabi told me fantasies, whispering them into my ear, of Naruto holding my hand, of him hugging me and loving me, and slowly, ever so slowly, Neji slipped out of my head.
He became invisible, I trained my eye not to see him, but once in a while, Naruto's blue eyes turned white, and his hair turned brown, and I saw Neji glaring at me in my mind. It was enough to send me to my knees, convulsing and biting my lip until Hanabi threw herself on the floor beside me, and quickly got me to my feet. She'd whisper Naruto's name into my ear, for countless times, and convince me that I was okay.
I'm okay. I'm okay. Am I really okay?
The night that I found myself unconscious in front of Neji's door, was the night I realized I had to get rid of my frustration. Not even Hanabi could stop my sleeping self from crawling to his room, my subconscious knowing what it was I really wanted. No matter how much Hanabi and I tried to shove Naruto into my mind, changing my heart and body's course of love to him, I still wanted Neji. The difference, I thought, must've been because I had a taste of Neji, and not of Naruto.
Naruto, Naruto, Naruto. I want to love you. Neji, Neji, Neji. I want to hate you.
I was sixteen, naïve, and I thought I knew what I had to do to save myself from the torment. I had to give myself to Naruto.
How was I supposed to know that that would only bring me back to Neji like a slingshot?
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Wow, aren't they all a bunch of nutjobs. Can't wait for the next chapter.