With a duffle full of clothes hanging over her shoulder, Sarada trekked up the cobblestone drive of her parents' mansion. She mentally prepared (as she did every weekend she spent with them) to embody the perfect daughter they wanted her to be. But with her newfound fears that her mother secretly resented her for prematurely ending her career and the added pressure to flourish because of it, that part felt exponentially harder to play.
Before she even reached the bottom of the steps that led to the front door, her quiet reassurances were interrupted by a squeal of excitement. Dark eyes snapped up to find her mother had practically flung the door open. Dressed in a tight white tennis dress, Sakura stood at the top of the stairs with a bright smile on her lips.
Sarada raised a confused brow as her mother dashed down the stairs and scooped her up in an especially tight hug. It had only been a couple of weeks, there was no reason for her to be this excited for her visit. "I missed you too," Sarada mumbled anyway.
Sakura pulled back just enough to look her daughter in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell us you were promoted to prima ballerina?!"
"Oh…" Sarada hesitated. Maybe she was still waiting to make sure that this wasn't some crazy dream or that Director Uzumaki didn't change his mind. "I waited because I wanted to tell you in person."
Her mother seemed to accept that answer and gave her another affectionate squeeze. "This is so exciting! Are you excited?"
"Who told you?" she countered, dodging the question because excitement wasn't necessarily among the list of jumbled emotions Sarada was still sorting through.
Sakura released her from her hold but didn't back up much. "Naruto told us when he called to invite us to the annual fundraiser!"
Jade green eyes wandered over her face as concern slowly furrowed her brow. Her mother grabbed her cheeks and gingerly dragged her thumb across her skin. "Oh honey, you look so tired! Have you been getting enough sleep? And drinking enough water? Have you been taking care of your skin?"
Sarada's hand instinctively reached up to touch her face. Her skin? What was wrong with her skin?
Sakura inhaled a sharp breath, her face lit up as if a light bulb had just illuminated over her head. "Oh, I know! Why don't we do a spa day to celebrate your promotion?! We can get you a much-needed facial and a hot stone massage! I'm sure your muscles could use some relaxation after all the stressful rehearsing you've been doing!"
"Um, yeah, that sounds nice," Sarada replied, managing to smile despite feeling unsure how much-needed a facial was. But she seldom argued with her mother in these situations.
"And then we can go shopping to get you a gown for the fundraiser! We'll make a fun day of it!" Sakura clapped excitedly. Sarada just nodded, hoping to end this conversation sooner so she can get inside away from the summer heat and set down her bag.
"Oh perfect, we'll have such a fun weekend!" Her mother grabbed her by the hand. "But that's not all! Come inside!"
Sarada allowed her mother to lead her into the house. She kicked her shoes off by the door, dropped her bag in the hallway that led to her childhood bedroom, and then continued into the kitchen.
Raven brows rose in surprise to find pink and white balloons consuming just about every inch of the tiled floors. A big 'Congratulations Sarada' banner hung above the large window that looked out into their backyard. Sitting on the edge of the marble kitchen island was a professional cake, several layers high with buttercream icing and elegant pink piping the same color as ballet slippers.
"Oh dear! Where'd your father go? Sasuke?!" Sakura fussed as she wandered into the other room to locate him.
Sarada remained where she stood, staring at the top of the cake. Under loopy script wishing her congratulations, was a photo of a young Sarada. Probably no more than six years old, wearing a big pink tutu. Her much shorter raven hair had been pulled into a tiny bun. Her smile was so genuine, so happy.
Her vision slowly began to blur as tears filled her dark eyes. What happened to that little girl's smile?
That little girl just loved to dance. She wasn't burdened by the fear of disappointing anyone. She didn't think there were conditions or criteria to be worthy of anyone's love. And she certainly didn't step on the scale every morning, just to berate herself for the number that appeared.
How was it that she felt so completely disconnected from this happy, little girl?
Truth be told, it wasn't recent and it wasn't sudden. It was probably only a few years after this photo was taken that Sarada (like many others her age) became acutely aware of her own body.
The girls who were complimented most for their beauty always seemed to be thin, whether they were her peers, older classmates, or famous ballerinas. After hearing that over and over, a seed took root in her young mind that told her being thin didn't contribute to being beautiful, it was a requirement.
It's the beautiful girls that dance center stage, that get the flowers and the adoration. That's how it worked for her mother.
That ideal was reinforced over and over as she got older. In high school, then college, it became even worse because that was when she realized that the beautiful girls are who the boys like. What followed was years of restrictive diets and extreme exercise, but it wasn't until the emotional eating began, that she resorted to making herself sick. She found it was the quickest way to get rid of the bad food before it could make her fat.
When her parents walked into the kitchen, Sarada quickly wiped her tears with the back of her hand and plastered on a smile. "Thank you both. This was very sweet," she sniffled.
Sakura rushed over and wrapped her in another hug. "Of course, sweetheart!"
"We wanted to take you out to dinner tonight to celebrate," her father added. "Anywhere you want."
With a fluffy white towel wrapped around her bare body, Sarada sat on the tiled risers, soaking in the eucalyptus-scented steam. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the humid air seeped into her skin and soothed her sore joints. With a near-constant fear of falling behind her colleagues, slowing down and relaxing had always been difficult for Sarada. But her morning spent at the spa with her mother had actually proved quite refreshing.
As she waited for her mother to finish her treatments, Sarada tried to concentrate on taking deep, meditative breaths. But in the quiet of the foggy steam room, her thoughts soon wandered to her conversation with Director Uzumaki.
Uncertainty about her ability to represent the company was trumped by her curiosity about Boruto. She reviewed her interactions with him again and again, now with the lens that he was lonely like his father suggested.
From the way he seemed to sneak in the back hall to call his mom each morning to how he so quickly jumped to help anyone and everyone, Sarada thought him sweet, not necessarily lonely.
Then again, every so often she caught a glimpse of emotion swirling in his blue eyes, something poignant that was buried beneath this happy, helpful facade. It was like he seemed to keep any of his feelings tamed to a level he thought palatable to others.
Except the other day…
Memories of the way his anger devolved into ripping open her tights and unapologetically ravishing her flashed through her mind. Her knees pressed together as the steam room suddenly became too hot to bear.
Sarada stood and pushed the door open, a cloud of steam followed her out into the ladies' room as she fanned herself with her hand. She grabbed her robe off a nearby hook and found refuge on a chaise lounge a few steps away.
The memory served as a reminder that she still needed to sort through how she felt about all that transpired with Boruto (and his suggestion that it could happen again). But now with the idea that he was lonely in her mind, it reinforced her fear that he was looking for companionship with anyone, rather than her specifically.
She reached over to retrieve a cold towel from an ice bucket and dabbed the sweat from her brow. Did her own parents worry about her like that? Did they worry she was lonely?
Was she lonely?
Sarada didn't necessarily think so. Though she could definitely use more friends, for the most part, she chose to keep to herself because she was afraid to let anyone in. She would rather hide, subconsciously rejecting others than give them the chance to reject her.
After the spa, Sarada was ready to head back to her parents' home and continue relaxing, but her mother insisted they at least browse a few boutiques for a gown for her to wear to the company's upcoming fundraiser. It was a black-tie dinner at one of the swankiest hotels in the city.
Both Sarada and her parents had attended in previous years. But with the way Director Uzumaki implied she would have a bigger role in the event as prima ballerina, Sarada wanted to make sure she looked her very best.
Mother and daughter walked arm and arm as they strolled through the affluent shopping district. Mannequins posed in large shop windows boasted the latest designer handbags and shoes.
"So did you have a color in mind? Were you thinking something more slim fitting or fun and poofy?" Sakura asked. Eager green eyes scanned the window displays as they passed.
"Umm, probably something poofy," Sarada replied. She hadn't given it much thought before, but certainly, a dress with a voluminous skirt would give the illusion that she was slender, right?
"I think that will be really fun!" her mother agreed.
When they finally entered one of the posh boutiques, they were immediately greeted by a perky saleswoman. "Welcome! Is there anything I can help you with today?"
"Yes!" Sakura replied. "We're looking for a gown for a special event, if you could get a dressing room started for us that would be great!"
The woman nodded and scurried off to the back as her mother began sifting through the racks. Sarada followed suit, wondering if she would be able to find anything she liked.
"So, Naruto told me he brought Tsunade in for the prima ballerina auditions," Sakura began conversationally. Sarada looked over to find her eyes lingering on a silky emerald green dress. "Did she make anybody cry?" she asked with a laugh.
'Yeah… me,' Sarada thought. She still didn't know if she could ever broach the topic of her mother's retirement, so she forced out a laugh. "Hah, she definitely is honest."
"When I studied under her she was relentless, but I credit all my success to her teaching. There's really so much you can learn from her, so make sure you listen."
"I know," she mumbled.
Her mother turned and held the dress up to her body. "What about something like this? I think the color would look great with your complexion!" Sarada must have made an uncertain face, because Sakura amended, "Why don't you just try it on before judging?"
"Okay," she relented.