Taken
"The capture. The move he will never play."
"A bit too much to drink, Sasuke?"
I look up to see Itachi holding me upright, keeping me from tipping over, as he reaches for a pillow.
"Might have overdone it," I grumble, pressing my head into his chest. Multicolored lights dot my vision. My ears are still buzzing. "Where am I, and tell me if I'm within a mile vicinity of Karin." The very name itself causes me to cringe. No more spinning, shoving, stomping, fondling, and shaking. Definitely no more shaking, or whatever that jerky vibrating movement it is she makes!
"Miss Karin is currently back in your apartment with Suigetsu," Itachi informs me, gingerly patting the back of my head. "I brought you to my hotel. It'll be much more peaceful here."
"They're alone in my apartm- remind me to burn my couch later," I moan, eliciting a chuckle from my brother. I feel his breath, but definitely smell mine, a mixture of lime and nail polish, which my brain faintly registers as the result of an overdose of whatever that chick was serving me.
Itachi rests me against the headboard and returns to the bed with a glass of water. I jerk my head to the side in childish denial, and get an unpleasant drumming in my skull as consequence. He tries again, gently inching the water in my direction. The sight of the glass makes me nauseous.
"Sasuke, it's easy to tell you're inexperienced with alcohol," Itachi sighs. "Drinking water will ease the headache tomorrow." He says it like I don't have a headache now.
"If you care so much, fetch me an aspirin and go away!" I growl, annoyed by my own voice. It's too loud. It's too rude. I don't want to talk. I don't want to hear myself. I just want to sleep already.
"If I could care less, I might just," he murmurs, giving me a fatigued smile. "But I figured it would be unpleasant for both of us to hear your groaning in the morning."
Begrudgingly, I take the glass and drink. Itachi is quick to refill. Three glasses down, I'm scrambling out of bed for the bathroom.
I slam the door behind me. Headache still not going away.
A few minutes later, Itachi knocks.
"What," I bark, splashing my face with cold water to wake me out of this hellish daze.
My brother enters with a bundle of folded towels, a change of clothes, and a toothbrush set. "It's been a long night. Why don't you shower first."
What am I? Five? I am on the verge of telling him off, that I'm returning to my apartment, when I remember who's currently occupying it. Maybe not the best of ideas, lest I want to be accidentally bound to a threesome.
"Fine," I grumble, snatching the items.
The quality of the bathroom is far better than those of my apartment anyways, with clean chromium and glass and an endless supply of hot water that I'm taking full advantage of. But that's about it, and I'm surprised at how modest everything is. A plain single room instead of a suite. A shower stall opposed to a hot tub. I expect something much more... grandeur... from my brother.
Still, the shower does therapy miracles on my body. The heaviness of my head is purged with the mist, and the heat unravels weeks of tension in my muscles and nerves. After messily drying my hair with a towel, I fold it and drape it over my shoulder, feeling much more relaxed.
"... I understand... that is fine... yes, I will tell him."
I step out of the bathroom.
"Ah, okay... wonderful. Until then." One click later, Itachi looks up at me. "Feeling better, Sasuke?"
"Yeah," I say, noting the tray besides Itachi on the bed, then the cell in his hand. "Business call?"
"No," Itachi says. "That was for you."
"Me?" I recognize my blackberry. "You answered my phone?"
"Yes, you were still in the shower when it rang," he says, handing me my cell. I snatch it out of his grip. "Sakura called."
I blink, and my mind goes into rewind.
Sakura? I haven't seen her since our college graduation, when she left the U.S. for a job offer in... was it Moscow? A year prior, our relationship came to a standstill, and breakup was inevitable. It was mutual, and, much to everyone's surprise, drama-less. Then came period of silence, politeness, and an half-hearted attempt to recover parts of our friendship. The final time I saw her, we departed on a quiet note.
"Why did she call?" I ask, a little confused. The listed number is undeniably hers. While Naruto continues to spam me with birthday presents and holiday cards, phone calls and emails, I haven't heard of any word from Sakura until now.
"She will be visiting shortly," Itachi informs me.
I knit my eyebrows. "She's coming to New Haven? Why?"
"Perhaps you should call back and ask her yourself," Itachi says, getting up from the bed. "Eleven missed calls from Mr. Uzumaki, one from her. Just because you're all separated now doesn't mean you should cut your bonds with them, Sasuke," he chides softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I make no comment. Instead, I place on an disagreeing expression and fiddle with my phone, scrolling through the call log and texts.
Itachi leaves for the bathroom. At the doorway, he tells me, "And Sasuke, food will help ease any discomforts in your stomach. When you're done, just set it aside and get some sleep."
The door closes. Rolling my eyes, I finish checking my log and decides I can put off all the calls until later. Meanwhile, I debate what to do with the tray. There isn't much on it besides two slices of wheat bread, one neatly peeled and sliced apple, and another glass of water.
I settle down on the bed, hesitant of what to do with it.
My mother stopped giving my those on sick days since primary school. The only other time this has happened was seven years ago, when my mother bitterly flew off to Austria, my father went into an abusive rage, and Itachi barged into the kitchen and held my hand just before my fingers could touch the handle of a French knife. I slammed a door in his face and locked myself in my room for seventy-two hours; he left a tray outside my door for every meal I refused to eat.
I unlocked my room on the fourth night and saw he was still waiting for me, sitting so casually on our father's armchair, directly under the lousy, overly ornamented Christmas tree. Another plate of meticulously prepared meal resting on the coffee table. A packet of paper in his hands.
"Harvard is still waiting, Sasuke. Now, you can fill this application, or you can consign that right to me. I do have many fabulous tales of when you were five, especially of that one beach trip...-"
"Fucking stop it! Stop it! It's over! I don't need some fucking crapsack college!"
Itachi only smiled, waltzed before me, and poked my forehead. "Foolish little brother... when will you realize you will never need Harvard. Harvard needs you. How can the number one educational institution in the world call itself number one when you don't even apply..."
The water dimly runs in the distance.
I clutch my head. I'm never used to being taken care of, hate it in fact, and an unidentifiable, unnerving feeling settles in.
"Tch." I carelessly plop the tray on the nightstand and turn off the lights. I pull over the covers.
Itachi is never there when I want him, only when I need him. I don't need him now, so why in the world is he here. I've been so caught up on having him here, I've forgotten to ask myself that.
Why Itachi, my brother, the man who finished elementary school by 7, published his first thesis by 8, completed high school by 10, gained his first ph.D by 13, and saved the world more than once by 21, is currently here in this dingy city, doing the most trivial of tasks for me when I don't need him to.
A sigh. A tender kiss directly under my browbone.
"Sleep well, otouto."
No, I haven't forgotten; I've stopped caring.