The Dango Gesture...

Chapter 8: Stupid Things

Itachi's Pov

Continue from Previous Chapter

Itachi woke from a fitful sleep, tossing and turning, it wasn't the first time. He rolled over and slipped his legs off of the side of the bed. His hair was in disarray, falling uncoordinatedly over his shoulders. He felt the open windows cold air against his back and felt goosebumps on his forearms. He sighed and placed his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook them until the silky locks felt rested instead of painful.

He breathed in deeply, or as deeply as his lungs would allow. He felt a coughing fit, but pushed it away before it could wake Sakura. He looked behind him to find her, turned away from him and her bottom half of her torso wrapped in the blanket. She was really out cold, wasn't she?

Alcohol would do that to someone as young as her. He remembered the first time that she'd come in contact with the distasteful substance. His mouth felt bitter and he had to throw the thoughts away before they got the best of him. At least this time she wasn't in the chance of being raped. He watched as she breathed deeply and exhaled, her back and chest moving with her.

He smiled slightly at the memory of only a few hours ago. They all drank to celebrate Sakura's recognition, as Kisame called it. Tsunade had insisted, he knew that the woman, being a lover of alcohol, would be thrilled by the idea.

He faced toward the window and found himself transfixed by the crescent moon, it's fingernail shape was alluring to him. How it could change with such ease mand him cringe, and he wished that reality was as easy as this was.

He stood and let the moonlight illuminate him. He knew that his posture was absolutely relaxed, and that made him smile. Tsunade had assured him that this place was secure, and he himself was positive of that after checking himself. The people around him were people that he respected greatly. The one that had been sleeping next to him more so than anyone else. He wouldn't say that she had completely received the brunt of his respect, but he made it a point to let her know that he cared about her.

He made his way to the add on bathroom and shut the door after him. He stared at himself, lightly tracing the stress marks on his face as he did so, they didn't look as deep as they did even a month ago, they used to be so deep he was almost afraid that they might consume his face.

He felt it hurling its way through his system again. His thoughts would remain unfinished for now, because he had to double over to try and hold his cough down. It was fruitless, he knew, but he didn't want to wake her.

It racked his whole body, and he shook with the violent need to hack and cough. His lungs hurt and it felt as if he was burning from the inside out. This always hurt so badly. It was similar to the Katon Jutsu, but so much worse. This made him want to keel over and die. This was a force that shook him to his core, and it hurt so badly.

He knew that when he opened his eyes, there would be blood, thrown about his face and hands, and most likely his stomach.

He was not disappointed, he hung onto the sink with all his power and forced himself to look up, finding what he had dread to come everytime that he did so.

The color red was an epitome of sadness to him at this point. It brought with it the memories that killed him from the inside out everyday.

He wished that he was color blind. It would make things so much easier, so, so much easier. He thought that maybe, if he didn't know what color blood was, then maybe it might've made things better, just maybe. But he knew that it was in every humans DNA to see that some colors meant danger, whether they were taught that or not. It was natural instinct to react to the color red with fear. It was how it was meant to be.