Roses are Red

Youths' Love and Hate

Recappy From the Last Chappy: "Krystal!" In all possible haste, Zakuro bounded up to her fallen daughter's side and was careful in moving the shurikon, not wanting to land another single scratch on the genin. She placed two fingers at Krystal's neck and checked her pulse, confirming that she was still alive, but her breathing was shallow. "Oh thank God . . . ."

To the exit alternative to the one she and Krystal entered, she ran and slid the doors open, revealing two medical ninja she had kept in reserve, just in case something like this had happened; standard protocol, in her book.

"We have to get her to the Hospital, posthaste! I am almost completely sure I did a lot of damage to her internal organs, and she collapsed!" she reported, and they rushed in with a stretcher. Zakuro helped them load her onto it and then followed, feverishly, as she was transported to the Hospital.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Youths' Love and Hate

Wonderful, becoming all too familiar, moans and groans accompanied her as she slowly and periodically shifted in her half-conscious state. That consciousness grew, as she could not seem to find a comfortable position to stay in. Her bed felt strange, wider than normal and possibly holding more padding. The sheets were thinner. She was wearing something different from her normal bed attire. Someone was holding her hand.

She was not in her room.

Krystal launched to sit up with a start, her heart beating frantically as she opened her eyes to the dimly lit room, dawn-time, gasping with immediate regret while her pains erupted sharply from points on her body to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Her nostrils flared with heavy breathes as she tried not to let the agony force her back down or scream, searching the room visually. To the right of her was a machine measuring the pace of her heart, and she was wearing grey capris and a green square-collared tee under the light blue sheets. After pending further investigation, her heart and the heart monitor began to calm, as she realized she was in a hospital; she cursed.

Something beating against the mounds of her palm, another pulse, reminded her of the hand holding hers and she realized that the same someone was laying their head against the edge of the bed, also on her right. She squinted to see who it was, and ripped her hand out of Zakuro's repulsively. Wanting to avoid pain, she eased herself back down, sighing and shifting to put a little distance between her and her visitor. Absent of mirth, she stared at the ceiling and pounded her fist on the side of the bed opposite of Zakuro, eyes watering. That arm was bandaged from under the sleeve to the middle of her forearm.

She pounded it again. And again and again and a few times more, swearing both under her breath and in her mind. These stirrings disturbed Zakuro, making her move slightly, and then lift her head groggily. Still hovering, she murmured in half-awakened gibberish as her arms fell to her sides. Krystal stopped hitting the bed when Zakuro straightened and they then met eyes just as the latter rubbed under her left one. The woman's hand slowly went down, blinking once.

"You have finally awakened . . .," she said in a falsely listless tone. "It . . . it has been a couple of days; you fell unconscious. You had me worried that you would not wake up. . . ."

The teen rolled her eyes and scoffed, turning away and clenching fists that trembled. Yeah right.

Zakuro's face saddened. "The doctor said that . . . your heart and stomach received some heavy damage, and your kidneys somehow started failing. It could be due to . . . my jyuuken, though when it comes to the kidneys, it is more often toxins." Her face bowed, full of shame, and she clicked her nails together. "It will be another two weeks before you will be well enough to go home. You will be exempted from missions and training for about a month, and then you will come in for a check up. . . . They expect a full recovery." Hesitantly, she lifted her head a little and brushed a lock of hair from Krystal's cheek. "I. . . . Honey, I am so sorry-"