Lies: Chapter Five
The hall is bright with artificial luminescence, brighter than the bathroom had been. And there are people out here, ones that know me, that might see how wrong I am right now. Why hasn't anyone commented on my my lack grooming? On my wrongbad state of mind and obviously sub-par health?
Paranoia hits me hard in the chest, stealing my breath away. They know. They must know! They're just biding their time, waiting to see what I will do, waiting for me to slip up and do something unforgiveable. Something they can lock me up and cut me open for.
My fingernails bite hard into my palms as I force myself to move. I need to get out of this place, away from the people who know me, who watch me with eyes that see how wrong I am.
Nurses nod politely as they pass me by, but behind every perfunctory smile I see fear and anticipation as they wait for my mistake.
I brush through the swinging doors, out into the hospital foyer. Potted plants and clinical cleanliness, floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the afternoon sunlight. Patient's families and friends keep the sliding doors busy- a ninja village's hosiptal sees more action than most, and if we didn't burn our dead we'd no doubt have fields full of graves.
My neck prickles with fear, every muscle tense, my brow furrowed. I know this is no way to avoid suspicion. In fact, my actions are incredibly suspicious. But I can't seem to recall my years of training, how to fit in where you don't, how to conceal your emotions, how to lie. I'm shaken to my core, terrified of what I might be and afraid of what everyone else might know. There is no room left for stealth beside the crazy that's currently filling me up.
The automatic doors retract with a low hum and the sun greets my pale face, fresh air pushing its way into my lungs as my chest expands with relief. Home. I need to get home where I can think, where I can figure this out. There is, of course, the nagging feeling that home won't fix anything, because the thing that's wrong is me. Can't go anywhere without me, right? Ha, ha...
Nevertheless I have to be somewhere, and home seems like the most private place for me to have my little psychotic episdode. Less external stimuli to interfere with my thoughts. Less chance of someone seeing him behind my eyes.
Said eyes squeeze shut, wrinkling with the force of the action. Okay, I need to relax, and I need to do it fast. It'll take ten minutes, tops, to get to my apartment. Then I can let out all the crazy in private.
"Sakura, how are you doing these days?"
Oh god. Kakashi.
"Fine sensei, thanks for asking," I reply brightly, smiling wide and fake.
The grey-haired jonin squints at me with his one eye, a friendly, genial smile. But something is off here, I can feel it. He seems... concerned? Or is it suspicious?
"Well, to be fair, you do look fairly disturbing, little Sakura," the voice sneers silkily.
I start, the smile stuttering on my face, before I fix it back in place. "Well, gotta go, sensei! Have a good day!" I make to sprint past Kakashi, no longer caring if I seem odd to him- I just need to get home so I can have a serious chat with the voice in my head. A hand snatches my bicep firmly, spinning me around.
"Not so fast, Sakura," sensei chuckles softly. "I haven't asked how you're doing?"
"Uh, I'm f-fine. I mean, yeah. A little tired, I've been working a lot, but... I'm okay," I pause, then end softly, "Thanks, Sensei. I really gotta go, though..."
Kakashi's smile dissolves into something gentle and sad, and he slowly releases my arm. "Sure, Sakura. Take care of yourself," he offers a head-tilt and a lazy wave of his hand as he turns away.
The urge to grab him and tell him that there's something really, really, bad going on in me right now, that I might be a danger to the citizens of Konoha - please, please Sensei, fix it! - almost overwhelms me. But I can't do that. They'd kill you, little one... I don't know if the voice is him or me, now.
I crouch a little, gathering energy in the lean, strong, muscles of my legs, and then spring onto the rooftops and speed home.
It's the wind whipping in my eyes that sends gentle trails of tears down my cheeks. I'm not crying. I'm not weak.
It's just the wind.
AN: For GoldenPiggy and anyone else wondering about the choice of genre as 'humor'- it may not be entirely appropriate for this story, and I will likely end up removing it, however for now I will leave it as is and see where the story goes. Thanks for the reviews/comments, guys!