Anger is short-lived madness. – Horace

Panic is a sudden desertion of us, and a going over to the enemy of our imagination. ~Christian Nevell Bovee

Thought No. 104

Sometimes I feel very, very small. I have a recurring dream when I'm lying in the bottom of a well, and even though there's no pain, I know my back is broken and I can't move. There's a circle of light above me, bright and inviting, and I can't even reach towards it.

Sakura took the pen away from the paper and chewed the end of it. There. Another secret. She tore off the strip of paper with writing in it and shoved it in the back of her bottom drawer.

Inspiration struck once more.

Thought No. 105

Some people like to say 'we're all dying anyway.' I want to say to them, no, actually, dying is a physical state in which you are near death. The fact that one day you will die doesn't mean you are dying right now, believe me. Stop being morbid.

Thought No. 106

Speaking of morbid, sometimes I feel like something is chewing away at me, leaving me piece by piece until I'm broken and torn. Do I have a logical reason for this? No. Do I hate it? Yes. It's like pain is constantly gnawing at me.

Thought No. 107

When I feel calm, totally calm, I panic that something is wrong because I'm so used to being angry. I used to get that calm state from alcohol, but I can't even have that now, so I'm frightened of being calm without reason.

Thought No. 108

I listen to soft piano music a lot. Clear, high voices of female singers. That makes the pain and the anger settle down to a dull roar. But I love angry rock and the adrenaline I feel after listening to someone scream their feelings to the sound of screeching music. I want to start a band someday. I'm sure there's some role I could fill. I could hold the bottled water.

Thought No. 109

I'm not even the main character of my dreams. Isn't that funny? I'd settle for a supporting role. Fiction is all very pretty and neat and sparkly, isn't it? I'd like to live in a young adult novel, where the troubles are trivial and the pain is minimal.

Thought No. 110

I write songs. Crappy, angry songs written in pen so the lyrics are smeared and messed up – just black words on notepaper with scribbled hearts and skulls in the margins. I'm a big old angry cliché, and that's just grand. Being aware of how much a stereotypical 'angry girl' teenager you are makes you embarrassed by your own behaviour. Am I typical or atypical? My self-esteem needs to make up its mind.

Thought No. 111

I used to keep a diary, but my mum found it and went mad. I guess I kind of spammed the F word a bit too much and the grammar could have been improved but did she really need to throw it away? Sure, I said some mean things about her friends, but she does that too. Should I throw her away?

Thought No. 112

I've only been back at school for a day and I already have a new nickname. 'Angry Girl,' oh, it's so original, so witty, I'm lost for fucking words. Why is it that even stupid, moronic people can say stupid, moronic things that can still hurt so much to hear? Honestly, these people couldn't even spell their own names right, yet I still get upset if they call me crazy.

Thought No. 113

I'm not crazy, by the way. I have it certified, isn't that handy? The psychologist said she thinks I have anger problems, but I won't tell her the truth so she can't say anything for sure. What's there to say?

Thought No. 114

I need to stop writing these things, I'm running out of ink and problems.

Sakura sighed and ripped out the entire page, securing it in the drawer. She took out the key she wore as a necklace and locked it. It was the only way she could get her thoughts out of her head but safely locked away so that no one else could read them.

She wrote down everything that bugged her, hurt her, upset her, made her laugh, made her cry, and most importantly, everything that made her angry. It could be trivial, like her hatred for people who went crazy over attractive celebrities and genuinely believed they were in love with them, or a vital, ever-present rage that never left her thoughts.

She liked to lie on her bed and work through her problems in her mind. If she didn't give herself some time to sort things out, she ended up with a cramped mind full of issues and annoyances that usually bubbled over to the point where she'd start using her fists instead of her pen to spell out her anger.

A guy filled with rage, who threatened people frequently, who had a history of violence – he was frightening, someone worthy of respect and wariness.

A girl with anger issues had 'PMS' and was worthy only of laughter.

She didn't like being laughed at.

But then again, sometimes she just wanted to be a normal girl who watched normal TV programmes and chatted to her normal friends at school about them, who never felt like locking herself away because she'd punched someone again, who never felt like a monster.

So she was bitter and sarcastic and caustic and that was all fine and dandy when you enjoy easily making barbed comments to your enemies, but it sucked majorly when you wanted some friends but they didn't like your constant irritability.

Ino tried. She really, really tried. But Ino was a Barbie Princess at heart, she liked butterflies and sparkly things, and her best friend, her true friend was exactly the same as her. Sakura couldn't be that person any more.

Sakura was darkness and rage and Ino just couldn't understand that.

She sat down on the edge of her bed and looked at the broken green band in her palm. That strange boy had seemed apologetic after he broke it but she had still been filled with such rage…

She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled a number, lying back on the bed.

"Mum?" She said the moment the phone connected, "I require large amounts of bacon. Can this be done?"

"Why don't you come downstairs and see?" Her mother asked dryly.

Sakura looked down at her bedroom floor as though she could see the kitchen through the carpet. She screwed up her face.

"I don't think I can make it that far, Mum." She said seriously, fiddling about with the band and frowning.

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to make you bacon and then bring it to you upstairs?"

"Brown sauce would be lovely, thank you."

"Would you like bread with this feast?"

"Hmm… two slices, possibly encasing the bacon… almost like a sandwich…"

"Any other dietary requirements?"

"Glue," Sakura said quickly. Her mother snorted down the phone, "Not that kind. Do we have any glue?"

"I don't think so, your father used it all up on his last project."

"Oh. Damn. OK. I'll just use tape or something."

"Tell me you aren't going to tape this sandwich together. Please. I need to hear it from you, so I don't think I completely failed at teaching my only child basic health and safety."

"Believe it or not, glue and bacon tastes fantastic together. Thanks Mum."

Sakura hung up the phone and rolled back over on her bed to face her laptop.

After a while of searching the internet and scowling at random factoids the webpages threw up for her, she heard her mother coming up the stairs.

She glanced at the screen.

"renal cell cancers (RCC). They are sometimes called renal adenocarcinoma. There are different subtypes of renal cell cancer which can be identified by looking at the cells under a microscope. The most common subtype is clear cell. Other less common types include papillary (or chromophilic), chromophobic, oncocytic, collecting duct and sarcomatoid."

She closed the webpage just before her mother knocked on the door. They'd talked about knocking before – Sakura had explained how it was absolutely essential to her happiness and privacy and her mother had rolled her eyes and grudgingly agreed. Sakura figured she was afraid her daughter was engaging in satanic rituals in her bedroom, and if she allowed her the split second it took to knock, she'd have time to hide the slaughtered goat and terrified virgin in her wardrobe.

"I come bearing bacon." Her mother called through the door.

Sakura grinned, "Come in and place your offering on the table."

Her mother sighed audibly, but deftly opened the bedroom door with the crook of her elbow.

She looked around the room. "On the table… where?"

Her room was covered in acres of crap. Energy drinks and plates littered the tables. Clothes got together and started families on her carpet, lying around in masses of cotton and silk. She hadn't looked under her bed in a month, but she was certain there was a monster that specified in spewing out random items of garbage living under there. She had no other explanation for just how untidy her room could get.

Books were piled up on the floor, they only things with any semblance of order, neatly stacked in every spare inch of otherwise bare carpet. It made getting to the safe haven (the bed) challenging. She had rehearsed the journey many times, but she found that twirling around the first stack of books by the door, tiptoeing around the clothes and plates and leaping wildly onto the bed usually did the trick.

Her mother, holding a plate of bacon and bread (commonly known as a sandwich) and a glass of something fizzy, was incapable of twirling, tiptoeing or leaping, for that matter.

Sakura held her hands out and accepted the offering personally, smiling at her mother in thanks.

"Right," Her mother said in that authoritative tone only parents possessed, "This room. Tidy. Now."

"Later." Sakura focused on her sandwich.

"No, right after you eat your lunch. Look at this mess! For God's sake –" She stopped at the strained look on Sakura's face, "I'm sorry. It would be a big help if you could keep your room tidy."

Sakura counted to ten mentally. It never helped, but she liked to conform to her mother's expectations. Besides, it gave her time to formulate a reply.

"OK." She said shortly. Boy, she was just bubbling over with wit and eloquence today, wasn't she?

"By the way, we have a visitor from your school downstairs." Her mother crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway, "A boy."

Sakura's heart leapt. That strange redhead boy…?

"Serious, quiet boy. Keep him company while I go pick up your father."

"What? Mum, no! I have things to do!" Sakura protested. How could she possibly go downstairs looking like this? Well, to be honest, she didn't care what she looked like. But she could do with less rumours floating around about her mental instability.

Her hat was shaped like Winnie the Pooh's head and she wore knee-high rainbow socks, denim shorts and a yellow T-shirt that said 'I'M WITH CRAZY :)' in big, thick black letters.

"Like what?"

"I have – I have to tidy!" She said triumphantly.

"This enthusiasm for cleanliness is rather sudden, don't you think?" Her mother picked up a sock and gave it a disgusted look, "After you keep him company, you can clean the whole house, just to rid you of this sudden urge to tidy."

She left the room with a smirk, tossing the sock behind her.

Sakura pummelled her pillow for a while until she felt better. She gave the bacon sandwich and drink a wide berth, since they were the reason she now had to tidy everything.

She grabbed some tape out of her drawer and tried to fix the band. It just kept slipping off and finally she threw the tape and the band at the wall.

"Fuck." She gritted out. She'd have to order another wristband from the internet and then ambush the postman before he got up the path to prevent her parents getting the package first. Joy. Well, the alternative was explanations and the ensuing recriminations, tears and rebukes, blah blah blah.

She'd kept quiet this long, forever wouldn't be too tricky after a couple of years practice, right?

She'd mastered the art of sullen silence in the face of interrogation long ago.

The front door slammed shut as her mother left the house.

She slipped off her bed, landing on her tiptoes to manoeuvre around the piles of rubbish and books. She bit her lip and picked up the fallen wristband, holding it tightly.

Right. Time to sit in sullen silence with the redheaded strange boy. Yay.

She made it downstairs without incident and pushed the living room door open.

Oh.

It wasn't him.

The guy sitting on her couch, sipping tea delicately and staring into space, was pretty. He had odd, light cloudy eyes and long dark hair that spilled about his shoulders. His facial features wouldn't have looked out of place on a statue of a particularly fine-looking angel. Sickening, really. He was prettier than she was! Right, that was it, she hated him.

He looked up at her, blinking his long eyelashes slowly, every movement languid and relaxed.

She realised she was peering at him through the crack in the door like a maniac and straightened up, stepping into the room.

"Hi." She said awkwardly, looking away the moment he made eye contact.

His gaze felt measuring.

After a few moments of intense, agonizing silence, he spoke up, his voice condescending yet pleasantly modulated, "And you would be?" He asked, resting his chin on the back of his hand, eyes on her face.

"Santa Claus." She said dryly, not liking the tone of his voice at all.

His eyes closed halfway, leaving only a strip of pale lilac to show. He dragged one pale hand across his mouth, using one finger to wipe away some excess tea from his lips.

Sakura watched the movement closely, mouth hanging open gormlessly.

"Well, Santa Claus," The boy said, his voice articulate and precise, "You have a lot of explaining to do."

Sakura frowned, confused.

"I didn't get a pony last year like I asked." The boy yawned.

She burst out laughing.

The corners of his mouth twitched up slightly.

"My name is Hyuuga Neji." He offered her a tiny nod in greeting, sounding formal.

"Well, my real name is Haruno Sakura, but my friends call me St. Nick." She replied with a smile.

He eyed her strangely, "You go to my school."

She sighed, "I see my reputation precedes me."

"Reputation?" He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, looking intrigued.

Huh. Interesting. He hadn't heard anything. Yet.

"Nothing," She forced a smile, "Just a few rumours flying around about me."

"True or not?"

"Hmm… exaggerated. Damaging, anyway. What are you doing in my living room? I didn't wish for a boy to magically show up in my house. At least, not that I remember."

He sipped his tea, holding it differently than she was used to, all delicate and precious, as though holding the mug too tightly would shatter it. How adorable.

"Your mother's colleagues. I came to the hospital for training, wanting hands-on experience, and they sent me here to ask your mother. Her reaction makes it obvious that they were messing me about." He sounded quite bitter about it.

"Can't wait for medical school, huh?" She said with a short laugh. He wanted to be a nurse, or a doctor, or whatever… what did it matter? She'd had enough experiences with the lot of them.

Her mother, for one.

He stroked the rim of the mug, looking thoughtful, "I merely wished to get ahead of the curve. Work experience is vital in such a competitive field, you know. Your mother assured me that she would be back soon, and that she would help me study these."

He pointed to a stack of dusty, heavy-looking textbooks by his foot. They looked around about… eighties to nineties dated. Practically useless, considering how often medicine changed.

She told him as much and was surprised by his frown.

"You can talk," He said, pointing to her hand, "If that's a kidney cancer band, it's the old version, dark green. You should have the new one… I think it's orange."

She stared at him, shocked. He knew what the band was from… what, memory? Had he actually memorised what all of the cancer awareness wristbands' colours meant?

She tucked it into her pocket.

"Just don't… don't even mention it, please." She said with forced calm. Great, now the memories were just flooding back.

"Alright, I won't talk about it." Neji said, serenely composed, seemingly unaffected by her sudden change in mood.

"Thanks." Sakura said gratefully. Plenty of people took comfort in talking to people about their problems, bad memories and such, but she preferred to keep things to herself. It was her problem and no one else's. Besides… to talk about it would mean dragging up painful, personal memories. She didn't want to do that.

Neji seemed like a pretty cool guy.

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Hinata sat down on the old, creaky leather sofa, breathing in incense fumes and close to hyperventilating with fear.

"Be with you in a moment." A woman's voice, matured and deepened with age, called through the bead curtain separating the living room and the kitchen. Hinata could just about see a dark figure of a woman through the curtain walking around slowly.

Her father had driven her here with the warning that if she embarrassed him, she could look forward to being grounded and deprived of dinners for the next week. He was just annoyed because Neji had managed to slip away without explaining or asking for permission.

The front door had been unlocked and she'd moved into the next room without thinking, following the sound of the woman's voice telling her to come through.

And now she sat there alone in the darkened room, the smoke from the incense stick curling around her face thickly, squeezing her hands together until they hurt.

When her father spoke of her coming to see her grandmother, he'd almost acted as though she was going for a miracle cure of her shyness, and that she was sure to come back talkative and cheerful.

She was absolutely certain she'd return home a nervous wreck. She had visions of an old woman who looked vaguely like Hiashi shouting at her until she cried.

Besides, no one could 'cure' uselessness.

The beads rattled against each other as the woman walked through the curtain.

Her grandmother was a tall, thin woman with white hair that she kept long and hanging down her back in a silvery curtain. She had dark eyeshadow and matching lipstick on, making her complexion chalky white and unhealthy-looking.

"You must be my eldest granddaughter, Hinata." She drawled, sitting down in the armchair opposite the couch, "My son managed to produce actual offspring after all. Colour me surprised."

Hinata swallowed and nodded, not daring to look up at the older woman.

"So," She said, sounding brisk and no-nonsense, "You don't speak. He says that you are rude, wilful and disobedient. That you lack discipline, basic eloquence and respect."

Hinata's head got lower and lower with every cruel word.

"But," Her grandmother said sharply, "My son is also an idiot."

Hinata couldn't stop herself from gasping and looking up at her, aghast.

The old woman smiled ruefully, "I hold my hands up and admit, of my two children, one was wonderful and the other is a fool. Hiashi blusters about, throwing about harsh words and criticism, but he is blind to his own faults. The moment he called me up and told me that he had a silent daughter, I knew where the fault lay."

Hinata knew what was coming. Her father had said it enough. Laziness! Outright disobedience and poor behaviour!

"With him, dear child, with him." She said, looking intently at her granddaughter, "There is always a reason for a child with problems and those problems are usually caused by the parents. I want to make one thing very, very clear now if we are to do these little weekly visits. You will absolutely not at any point, feel forced to speak. If we spend the hour in total silence it wouldn't bother me. I will never try to force speech out of you. Shouting at the deaf never helps them hear, why would it help a mute speak? No. I agreed to these visits because I believed I could help you, and I will do everything in my power to do so. It is a shame you weren't born in my era, Hinata. Your parents would have been pleased with a quiet child."

A fat old cat, white and fluffy, sauntered into the living room. It looked around the room, its blue eyes fixing themselves on Hinata. It jumped onto her lap and purred, digging its claws into her thighs.

Hinata felt tears come to her eyes. This was so unexpected, so kind, so unlike what she had imagined would happen –

"For the first hour," Her grandmother said, holding the remote up with a smile, "We will watch my programmes in complete silence. After that, if you can manage it, you can say one thing about any of the shows. If you don't want to, simply shake your head. I'll make a spot of tea and a bit of lunch – how does mackerel on toast and a slice of lemon cake suit you?"

Hinata swallowed again, trying to clear the blockage in her throat.

"No, it's fine, dear, just nod or shake your head."

No.

She could do this.

Just think of Naruto…

"T-thank you." She stammered, face violently red and trembling.

"It's no trouble, sweetheart," The old woman said, sitting back with a pleased twinkle in her eye, "I'll be happy to assist you in whatever you need."

Hinata mouthed the words 'thank you,' again when her voice failed to respond.

The fat old cat kept purring and purring as she stroked it, a shy smile coming to her face when she looked down at it.

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Thought No 115

Hyuuga Neji has a very pretty face for a boy.

Hmmm… still setting up character stuff, working out details and things. Need to name Hinata's grandmother, would like it to begin with H and be Japanese… Does she have a name? Have we met Hiashi's mother in canon?

Wanted to show Sakura and her mother have an odd, fractured relationship. Probably more on that in the next chapter.

Neji is in Sakura's living room? Did you expect that? XD

Thank you for all of your reviews! Thank you to EmpressofEvilBunnies for the advice on anger issues :)

Second chapter already, my my…

The chapter title is from a song called Smile in the Crowd by Durutti Column, apparently :)

Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter :) I love hearing from you all!

See you later, my dears!

Quick poll for fun: All of the characters from Naruto are on a very widely-spaced cliff edge. You have to choose one to save and one to push. Basically, who are your favourite and least favourite characters from Naruto?

No poll suggestions.

I'm pretty sure I've asked this poll question in a different story but, oh well!