Five: Reaction
Author's note: Nothing to say here, people! Move along.
Ino couldn't sleep.
She had been lying there, completely still, for nearly an hour now, staring out into the near darkness of her bedroom, blinded by digital scarlet as her alarm clock documented the deepening of the night and the darkening of her mood. The minutes ticked by, outrageously slow, as if in some sort of cosmic mockery of her shame and discomfort. She wanted to leave but had no where to go; wanted to forget but had too much to remember; wanted to rest, but didn't deserve the comfort.
She could hear Sakura's breathing; slow, deep, raw. Ino had fled to the opposite side of the bed, hugging the edge so closely that her right arm hung off the mattress. She didn't want to feel Sakura's presence anymore, but her efforts made little difference. Every touch, every breath, every ethereal whisper of gentle submission, it was all burned into the forefront of Ino's mind. Somewhere along the way Ino had caught herself, tried to stop herself, lashed out at Sakura in any way she could think of, tried to make her go away. But Sakura had reacted only with acceptance, the forgiveness in her voice writ large in arms that embraced, hands that caressed Ino's face, Ino's shoulders, Ino's back. Though she could scarcely see the other girl in the crude reddish glow that blanketed the bed, every glimpse showed Sakura's expression to be so devoid of hatred and disgust.
Sakura had simply looked at Ino, and was glad for any and all attention.
Typical Sakura, that. After all, wasn't that what the entire Uchiha obsession had been all about? Maybe she had felt something for that scum, briefly, superficially, but in the end what it really got her was Ino's incessant attention. The rivalry, the insults, the sporadic violence; Sakura had begun to crave Ino's narrowed gaze, her threatening words. Any attention was good attention. It was easy, though, to confuse the true object of each other's jealousy. Back then, neither of them knew what they felt for each other, what they felt for Sasuke, what was real and what was just some shallow emotional construct, a bitter territorial struggle for each other's hearts, with little understanding of the enemy and even less of victory. After Sasuke had left – no, betrayed them all – little had changed between Sakura and Ino. With this came the realization of the true object of the game.
But Ino didn't want to play these games anymore.
Sakura had come, asking Ino to turn back the clock on their relationship, but Ino refused to set herself up for that betrayal again. Sakura didn't deserve forgiveness, and Ino had no intention of granting it. So Ino had attacked her, wanting only to further damage the girl, to push her beyond recognition, to destroy everything that Ino had so loved about her in the first place.
And then, this.
Ino's brutal confidence had crumbled under Sakura's touch. Her mind had struggled to reassert self-control as her heart became mired in a confusion of hatred and affection. Sakura was warm when Ino only remembered her coldness; she was gentle when Ino wanted to despise her for being cruel; she was accepting, when Ino craved rejection.
Ino had warned Sakura that she could not win, and yet here she was, sleeping soundly while Ino wallowed in self-hatred and shame.
Her heart ached for having hurt her. Her mind screamed for having touched her.
Ino had to get out of there.
She flung back the covers and pushed herself upright. She was shivering before her bare feet touched the floor. Two steps towards the door and she stepped on some discarded article of clothing. She fell into a crouch, identifying it by touch as the shirt she had leant to Sakura the previous evening. Cold, vulnerable, exposed, she yanked the garment over her head, spending a long minute of rapidly mounting frustration trying to sort out which sleeve went where and getting her arms through. She felt around for the pants, crawling in the darkness on hands and bare knees until her desperately questing fingers caught hold of them. She stepped into them, straightened and pulled them up. Hands outstretched, reaching, she found the wall, found the door, pulled it open. Blinding light gushed into the room, throwing a rectangle of light across the bed, across Sakura's sleeping form. Ino didn't dare look back at the other girl – too far, her heart begged; too close, her mind raged – as she stepped out into the corridor, driven out of the comfortable darkness and into painful illumination.
She shut the door quietly behind her, trying hard to avoid waking Sakura, to avoid having to deal with her reality, and headed towards the bathroom. She caught sight of herself in the mirror – her pallid complexion, bloodshot eyes rendered alarmingly striking in the fluorescent light, her withdrawn expression framed by errant strands of blonde. She ran her hands under her long hair, pulling it out from the back of the shirt, frustrated by how disheveled she looked, unkempt and haggard. Her hair kept falling into her eyes so she pulled open one of the drawers, pawed through the disorganized pile of feminine products until she dug out an elastic band.
Holding the elastic between clenched teeth, Ino raked back her hair, her movements hasty, unforgiving. There was something desperate in these menial tasks, these insignificant movements; trembling hands seeking to force neatness, order, sanity on her appearance, on her thoughts, on her emotions. Her hair tied back tightly, Ino planted her palms squarely on the edge of the counter and leaned in close to the mirror, staring at herself, her distress, her pathetic weakness. There, in that awful lighting, she caught sight of crimson traces of Sakura's lips, blood from her gentle kisses, so faint, on her jaw, on her neck, on her mouth. She turned on the water, didn't bother waiting for it to warm up; splashed the frigid liquid on her face, scrubbed at it with her hands, desperate to be free of these remnants of Sakura's touch.
Her face dripping, bangs clinging to her skin, Ino could still taste Sakura. She felt sick to her stomach as she fumbled for her toothbrush, scrubbing away the metallic remnants of Sakura's submission. She spat, disgusted, ashamed, frantic. She caught the rushing water in both hands, brought it to her mouth, tried to erase those memories from her lips. She turned off the water, groped for the nearest towel, pressed her face into cloth.
She didn't feel any better.
She didn't feel any cleaner.
She let the towel drop back onto the counter, inhaled deeply – ragged, shuddering – and exhaled.
She couldn't look at herself anymore.
As she turned away from her own reflection, her aching gaze fell on Sakura's clothes, neatly folded, filthy and torn, placed in the corner on the floor. Sakura had been there for two days now, living in borrowed clothes, her old ones so in need of repair that Sakura would probably be better off just throwing them out. Ino blinked, her gaze lingering; she thought of Sakura, of her hair, her skin, her eyes, her lips; memories of her touch made Ino feel lightheaded, weak, warm.
She reached out, caught hold of Sakura's clothes -
- stood, pivoted sharply -
- and hurled them away from her.
She was striding down the hall, towards the kitchen, before Sakura's clothes even hit the floor. She quickly detoured to the front door to collect the empty glass from the shelf where she had placed it two nights ago, cringing when she felt those dried traces of forgotten blood from Sakura's fingers, and brought it to the sink. Water running, soap in hand, Ino scrubbed the glass clean, meticulously, desperately. She held it up to make sure it was clean, lowering it back under the flow of water and running her thumb along the rim as if to be absolutely sure of its cleanliness.
Finally satisfied, she turned off the water, moved to place the glass on the counter – and accidentally struck the bottom of her cupboards. Glass shattered. Ino flinched as it fell to the counter, an almost pleasant chiming of broken shards. She froze, staring at the half-broken glass in her hand, her eyes darting back and forth between the scattered shards and the remnants still intact.
Ino hated everything.
She screamed through gritted teeth as she hurled the broken glass down into the sink, not caring as it exploded everywhere, throwing glittering shards across the counter, across the floor.
Ino hated Sakura.
She sidestepped, not even wincing as glass ground into the bottoms of her bare feet, and slammed her arm down on the counter. With a vicious swipe, she swept most of the glass off the counter and into the sink, not caring as shards dug into her elbow, her forearm, the blade of her palm.
Ino hated herself.
She tried to brush the broken glass off her skin, succeeded only in driving the shards even deeper into her fingers, into her palms. It itched as it stung, and Ino bit down hard on her lip, her feet leaving little smears of blood as she staggered backwards, stopping only when the counter behind struck her back.
Motion caught her attention. She whirled, fists clenched.
Sakura was standing there, dressed in Ino's clothes, her innocent face marred with confusion, concern, distress. Her eyes were on Ino's bloody forearm, riveted.
Ino shut her eyes tightly. "Get out," she hissed.
Sakura didn't move.
Ino took a sudden step towards her, swiping at her with one itching, stinging hand, intending to hit her, to knock her down. Sakura dodged, scrambled backwards, flinching as Ino screamed at her. "Get out! Get the fuck out of my home!"
Ino watched Sakura back away, her chest heaving, vision swimming. Sakura stepped into her shoes, her eyes on Ino's. Everything seemed like it was moving so fast; everything except Sakura, her movements sluggish, hesitant. "Ino---" she whispered.
"Shut up!" Ino shrieked, her hands at her face. "Shut up! Don't you fucking dare say anything to me! Don't you dare!"
"Ino!" Sakura pleaded.
"Get out!" Ino repeated. Her voice broke, then. Tears flowed, unbidden, uncontrollable. Her tone lost its violent insistence, degraded to a frantic plea. "Just leave!" Ino wanted to hit her, to hurt her, but an insistent, irrational fear of even touching Sakura caught hold of her, drove her back a step.
Broken, hysterical, Ino didn't care about control anymore. She didn't care about dignity or rationality or sanity. She lashed out at Sakura, hurling words, insults, anything she could think of, anything to drive the other girl away. Sakura had broken her heart twice, and now she would do it again. Ino hated her; she hated her but loved her, blamed Sakura for ruining everything but insisted that Sakura was the only one who could make it all better.
Sakura, with her beauty and her warmth, with her words and her gentle touches, was the only person Ino really wanted.
Ino needed Sakura, desperately, irrationally, insanely.
Ino needed her so badly that it was killing her.
"I don't ever want to see you again!" Ino sobbed. "Get out and don't come back!"
Sakura turned away, reached out to take the black jacket down from the hook, and set to work unlocking Ino's door. By the time Sakura got the door open – mere seconds later, her movements so sure, so dexterous – Ino was weeping helplessly.
"You ruined everything," she was saying, over and over again, her knuckles pressed hard into her eye sockets. "I hate you."
Sakura stepped out into the corridor, hesitating, trying to meet Ino's gaze, but the distraught blonde wouldn't even look at her.
"I hate everything about you!" Ino screamed.
Sakura pulled the door shut quietly.
Ino's heart turned to dust in her chest.
She turned back into the kitchen, her hands catching hold of the edge of the sink, gripping hard. There was a shard of glass caught under her right palm, but she tightened her grip even more, leaning over the sink and coughing so hard she thought she might vomit. She couldn't think straight. She couldn't breathe.
I don't need her, she told herself, over and over again. I don't want her.
She sank to the floor slowly, almost gracefully, one bloody hand still gripping the edge of the counter, the other at her face, touching her skin, touching her lips. Her sobs sounded strangled in her own ears, her voice weak and mangled. Everything hurt.
She loved Sakura so much.
But she hated everything about herself.