A/N- Woot! I'm on a roll!~

Chapter 2

"Hello, Hyuga-san."

"Hello, Sabaku-san."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Oh, all right, then," I snapped, "Do you have anything to say?"

"Nope." He said innocently, popping the P.

I growled at his nerve. The brat had the guts to pretend he did nothing, eh? We would see about that.

"Well, I freaking do."

"Well, I don't."

"I don't give a damn whether you do or not."

"Hey, you're a girl. Sure you should be talking like that?"

I seethed. This dude ticked me off.

"Well then, go and sit your ungrateful little butt in that corner and REMEMBER."

He cocked an arrogant eyebrow in my direction.

"Make me."

"You little-"

Suddenly, a timid knock sounded out, penetrating the air. I coughed, smoothed my long, flowing skirt and long sleeved shirt then fixed a plastic smile to my face.

"Come in," I called cheerily, my voice ringing fake in the atmosphere.

Gaara raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, Hyuga-san, gomenasai for my intrusion… Your, uh… A letter arrived. From your cousin…" My secretary held out an envelope.

I smiled. My cousin was wrong at first too, and I knew why. We were alike, same blood, same eyes and hair, same pain and happiness… Same past. Filled with hurt and loneliness as things we held dear were snatched away before our eyes, as our love faded away, sliding through our powerless hands.

I reached out.

"Thank you." I smiled warmly, genuinely. I hadn't heard from my cousin and his to-be-married-bride in a while. They had been busy, of course, as had I.

"… And, um… Ano…. There's another…"

"Oh. Who from?" I frowned. I had not many friends left who had maintained contact with me. Who was it?

"Ano… It's your father."

I hitched in a breath. She winced, knowing she'd hit a nerve, and close to flung the letters at me and raced out the door, muttering about needing the toilet all the while.

I stood, shell-shocked, gaping.

My father? Hyuga Hiashi? The proud ruler of the Hyuga clan? Impossible. I snarled to myself, then tossed the letters onto my desk, clenching my fist into a tight ball.

"… Your father, eh? Guess you have bad relations with him."

I didn't move, merely shifting my narrowed eyes.

"What's it to you?" I hissed at him, daring him to answer. I should have known he would anyway.

"What's it to me?" He scoffed. "Nothing at all."

I raised my brow in surprise, turning my head around to stare at him.

He looked back defiantly.

"Want me to pat your head? Say, 'Oh, you poor thing!'?" He sneered. "Dream on. You're grown-up now. Act like it. You have things others dream of having. Stop acting the child. Are you having fun throwing a pity-party for yourself?"

I gaped, opening and closing my mouth like a fish.

"I… I-I'm not!" I spluttered indignantly.

He snorted. "Don't kid yourself. I bet you've been beating yourself up over this for years. Just let it go. Others have had it worse." He said viciously.

"Oh really?" Have it your way. Two can play at this game. "Who?"

He paused.

"Me."

I gave a start, but made a quick recovery.

"Oh yeah?" I attempted a sneer. "What happened to you? Did your mommy and daddy leave you all alone for a year? That it?"

I was being mean. I knew it. And I knew already, that his story would be worse than mine.

"No. I accidentally killed my mom when I was handling a knife and my dad's in prison for abuse."

I sucked in a breath. It was worse than I thought.

"Listen… I'm-"

"I don't need your pity, okay?" He snapped at me. "Go waste it on someone who wants it."

I knew I was being insulted on purpose, so I kept quiet.

"Don't think you can fool me." I said quietly. "I know."

"You know nothing." He said harshly, spitting the words at me like daggers, piercing me. My heart. It hurt. Shattering.

I scuffed the carpet with my shoe.

"I'm sor-" I began again, but he scowled once more, and I stopped abruptly.

"Just… I'm leaving, okay?"

And he turned, stalking out the door into the sunny afternoon with chirping birds and sleepy cafes beginning to open up.

I heard the bang of the front door, and I reddened. It was my fault. I knew that.

How much must I have hurt him?

Complaining about my father. His father abused him.

Complaining about my family. He has barely anyone left.

Thinking he had a perfect life. He was torn in two.

I sank to the floor, head in my hands. I breathed in sharply as my eyes heated up. I bit my lip angrily, pushing them down. It was my fault. And then I completely broke down, watching silently as tears slid gently down my cheeks on the soft carpet below.

I brushed a hand through my hair, drawing in more shaky breathes, attempting to maintain myself.

But I could still taste the footsteps and dust left behind by him. His scent. Woody, sandy, pine. I could still smell it, though it was fading so quickly.

I could see it, taste it. I always knew it was there. Why didn't I do anything earlier?

His sorrow.