Heaven wait (Hashirama x Madara)

16. Bittersour helminth (Madara)

I realised how badly I had fucked myself up one day when I woke up sober. I wasn't sober because I had refrained from substances willingly; it was because the substance had knocked me out for so long, I had had time to sober up in my sleep. Or my unconsciousness, whichever it was.  

Years had passed since I had left Hashirama, and there had been nothing but radio silence from him. I felt like reading his last message sent three years ago, but couldn't since my phone had been stolen by a man I had sold sex to. As I looked at myself in the mirror, however, I looked even further beyond the few years between Hashirama and now. 

I was thinner than ever. My hair had not been cut for all these years, and was tousled beyond saving. I didn't remember last time I had a shower, and I had drooled toothpaste on my T-shirt.

How did I let it become like this? 

I felt tears running down my face out of sadness of how I had treated my body. 

I got to work with my life. 

I bought a new flat in a skyscraper. I hired an interior designer to come and furnish it. I called the porter and had him buy me four big bags of groceries, and filled my big fridge up with fruits and vegetables, bread and cheeses and jams, yoghurts of different flavours and almond milk, hummus and salmon and beans. I filled the freezer with frozen berries and vegetables, and the pantries with couscous and pasta and rice cakes and dark chocolate and oat biscuits and crackers. Then, I cooked some pasta and made a pasta salad with tomatoes, cucumber, olives, feta cheese and beans and had that with some bread. 

Feeling full on food for the first time in years, I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth with my electric toothbrush twice, flossed and used some mouthwash I was very good at using when I lived with Hashirama. 

Then, I just took the kitchen scissors and cut off the big tangle that was my hair. I didn't cut a shape; I just need to be able to wash it properly. I showered for two hours, washing my hair four times with shampoo, scrubbing and shaving and then scrubbing again. I switched the temperature from scolding hot to icy cold and back again. When I was done, I was so clean I could hardly speak. 

Then, I called Fabiano the fashion photographer, the one who had taken pictures of me and Hashirama all of those years ago.

"I need a hair dresser in New York that can come home to me and cut my hair now. Preferably gay."

"Are you looking for a new boyfriend?" Fabiano asked.

"No. They're just better at cutting hair."

He sent me one over, and after much nagging from his side, he cut my hair into a short K-popish style with a side part I never in a million years would have thought I would like, but it suited my face well. 

Then, the coming months, I got to work on myself. First of all, I got a lip piercing just for the hell of it. Then, I did a sleeve on my left arm that I had longed for for years but haven't been able to do because of modelling, and promised myself I'd do if I got sober and didn't plan on letting the modelling industry own me anymore, which I had decided was now. The tattoo was in crisp black and white, with a woman's face with a butterfly covering her mouth, a skull missing half its lower face, a wolf with flames for eyes, and a lion rising up from a rose. The tattoo didn't have a meaning other than me being in complete control of my body, and it was a beautiful piece of art I could now carry with me forever.

I went to the gym five times a week. I ate three meals and two snacks each day. I won't even tell you how much protein powder I consumed; I was ashamed of the stereotype I depicted. I built some weight back on, both muscle and fat, and got a lot of energy back. 

Then, I contacted my university, and after having explained the situation, they gave me my place back.

So I went back and continued my studies to become a nurse.

I had nobody to come to my graduation to congratulate me; I had been too busy keeping myself in check to get friends. As I stood in the line of nursing students, I saw the others smile and wave at their family and friends. But I had nobody to smile and wave to. I found myself looking for Hashi in the audience, dreaming that he would have come, but then I reminded myself that I had been the one who left him. The thought saddened me deeply. 

Even so, I think I was the happiest one there. I shook the hand of the principal, and as I hugged my diploma to my chest, a tear ran down my cheek.

This education meant so much to me. I disconnected me from the world that had caused me so much suffering, and it disconnected me from it permanently. It showed me I had it within me to turn my life around from something detrimental to something amazing, to something I loved. And I had done it all by myself.

When I was about to leave the ceremony, I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I turned around. One stupid part of me thought it would be Hashi, for just the fraction of a second, having come to congratulate me after the ceremony, but who it actually was was also good.

It was a group of several nursing students, now made nurses, and they were all holding one flower each. And when they offered it to me, I realised that I had gained friends, and that those friends had together made a bouquet of flowers for me.

I cried when I hugged them.