Salvation
Disclaimer; All rights to Naruto belong to Masashi Kishimoto.
Chapter Seven
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Though Sakura could never recall being rude to her parents, she never really stopped to take the time to appreciate them. Now, after not seeing them for nearly ten years, she was in tears. She hadn't even crossed through the doorway of her home before her father had hoisted her up into a crushing embrace, dramatically crying at his daughters return. Her father had always been one for theatrics.
Her mother, stern woman she was, sighed at the sight. "Kizashi, let the girl breathe."
"But Mebuki! Our daughter has returned safe and sound! Her first mission outside of the village, how could you be so heartless?!" He said, painfully stroking the pinkette's short locks, "She even cut her beautiful hair, my little girl is growing up!" He sobbed.
Mebuki sighed once more but none the less cracked a smile at her daughter, "It's nice to have you home." She said, giving her daughter a small wink before incapacitating her father with a good-natured crack to the head.
While Kizashi was off nursing the lump forming on his head, Sakura and her mother stayed behind in the kitchen, Mebuki presenting a pink cake with small white lettering to congratulate her on her first out-of-village mission. She remembered this day once being annoying to her, but now it felt so good just to be home.
Later that night, she found herself in her room, smiling at the rectangular, shiny-green wrapped gift in her hands. She already knew what it was, but she was gleeful to open it anyway. A red scarf, long, made of a heavy fire-resistant material and a white zip-up top with a crimson Haruno crest proudly sewn into the back. She'd discarded the outfit when she received it, dubbing the outfit 'not cute', but now that she looked at it, she loved everything about it.
She zipped the top over a small white crop-top made of a clingy spandex material, and coiled the scarf lovingly around her neck, it was wide, every so often shielder the lower region of her throat, but it's warmth and presence was comforting, soothing her broken mind.
She'd chosen a subtle pair of black capris. Looking at herself in the body-length mirror across from her bed, she felt satisfied, strong. She touched her bare, unscarred knuckles gently. She remembered that this body had yet to see battle.
With such a warped mind, it felt strange to have an unscarred body. She pondered the idea as she curled up in bed, the light still shining brightly. She couldn't bare to have it off- not alone once again. She couldn't.
She fell into a light, restless sleep.
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