Chapter 4

The world is still dark when I opened my eyes, but as I rub them, I realize I'm not wearing the blindfold anymore. I sit up slowly. As my eyes adjust to the absence of light, I begin to discern my surroundings: a simple room, twice the size of my bedroom back in Konoha. Unlike the room at the previous hideout, this one has a window and it's open. I can hear the crickets outside.

Itachi? I look around and find him sleeping less than a foot away from me, covered up to his chest, breathing slowly. I freeze. I've never seen him asleep before. My mind is racing. If I can sneak up to the window, I can run. My heart picks up its pace, fluttering madly. I could escape. I can almost taste the freedom.

My hand trembles as I pull the covers and slip out of them soundlessly. My sandals are all the way across the room, so I leave them. It's not worth risking the chance for a pair shoes. I tiptoe towards the window, pausing every now again to look over my shoulder. Itachi hasn't stirred.

Three steps. Two. One. My hand touches the window sill and I see a sliver of the moon among countless stars. I push chakra into my legs, feeling euphoric, but as I move forward to jump, I hit something soft and warm. I pull back to see Itachi standing between me and the window, his eyes still closed. When they open, there is no trace of the Sharingan in them. They are dark, like Sasuke-kun's. His arm is barring my way out.

"No," I whisper as frustration builds up in the pit of my stomach. The chakra from my legs moves into my hands, which I curl into fists. Without thinking, I launch a fully chakra-infused blow, aiming for Itachi's side.

His other hand catches my fist in an iron grip, immobilizing it. He's not going down without a fight. I have no idea what I was expecting. Before I know it, he turns me around, twisting my arm. Now every move I make is laced with pain. One of his arms is holding me from the front, so I bite down on it hard enough to fill my mouth with the metallic taste of blood.

He lets me go, pushing me away from the window, then stands in front of it, holding his injured arm. I spin on my heels, my eyes swimming in tears.

"I hate you! I HATE YOU!" I start screaming, losing all control faster than I knew I could, all my training gone with the wind. I rub my shoulder. The seizing of my arm stretched some ligaments. It could have been much worse, but I don't care right now. I'm seeing red, and it's not the Sharingan. He hasn't bothered with it, since I'm clearly no threat to him. Somehow, that only makes me angrier.

I launch myself forward and hit. Once. Twice. Again. He blocks them all. This is child's play to him, I realize. He must find me terribly amusing. I let my arms hang. I'm trapped, I know. It doesn't matter how clever I am, Itachi will always be one step in front of me. Just like everyone else.

"Sakura," he says. It takes me by surprise for some reason. Clearly, he knew who I was the moment he took me hostage, but it never crossed my mind that he might know my name. I look up at him and now that the tears have rolled down my cheeks and are not blurring my vision anymore, I can see just how tired he looks.

The dark circles under his eyes look like bruises in this light. His skin is pale, clammy. I thrust my arm forward towards his chest, but he grabs my wrist before I can touch him. I glare at him.

"You're sick," I tell him.

"I know," he says, his grip not slackening one bit as his eyes measure me carefully. I don't think he has enough energy to waste on activating the Sharingan right now. He's worse than I thought.

I may not be as good at taijutsu as he is, admittedly, but medical ninjutsu is something he has no way of countering. And he doesn't trust me. Why would he? He knows I could hurt him if I got to him. He knows I could paralyze every nerve in his body, rewire them, destroy them root and stem. He knows I could make him hurt in a hundred thousand different ways. But he is hurting already.

"All the suffering in the world wouldn't be punishment enough for what you did to Sasuke-kun," I say.

After that, I feel strangely empty. It's like I've been drained of all emotion.

Sakura turned around and walked back to the bed. Itachi leaned against the window sill, bringing a hand up to his chest. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out a few times, slowly, so as to not cause himself too much pain. He had not managed to get much sleep before she woke up and he doubted he would be getting any now.

After a while, Itachi closed the window and placed a seal on it to make sure she would not be able to open it. He then walked soundlessly across the room, more shadow than man, opened the door and slipped out.

I lie in bed for a while after he leaves. Try as I may, my eyes just won't stay shut. I know he sealed the window, so I won't even bother with it. Knowing him, he's probably sealed the door, too. There's nothing to do except stare at the ceiling, hoping to fall asleep. But it seems sleep continues to elude me.

I think about Sasuke-kun a lot. About how him and Itachi are almost nothing alike. I think about Naruto, too, and wonder where he is now. I hope they're not coming after me. Or rather, I hope he and Kakashi-sensei don't find me. I think about my parents and how my selfishness must hurt them. And Tsunade-sama must be outraged. I even spare a thought for Ino.

Then I'm all out of people to think about and I'm left with myself. I'd rather not. I should find something better to do. I turn on my side and notice Itachi's cloak, neatly folded beside his unmade bed. Weapons, I think. He must have weapons concealed in it.

I jump out of bed, unfold it and turn it inside out. It's got quite a number of concealed pockets, but my hope drains as I find each and every one of them empty. How can this be? Where does he keep his arsenal? I almost leave it there like that, not giving a damn if he notices or not, when my fingers brush over something strange.

I touch it again. It feels like a small, hard object sewn under the lining. My curiosity is piqued and, having nothing sharp to cut it out with, I put some chakra in my hands and tear the fabric. A tiny scroll drops on my lap.