Should I feel grateful that you allow me to be in your presence? Worship your every being, soak up your amazingly effortless talent?

Sometimes I just want to scream. I want to let out all the rage and frustration, rip out my hair, trash my room, show you that am fine on my own - I can handle it. I want to shove my strength in your face, rip out those all-knowing eyes and stamp on them.

I'm not weak anymore, I can punch through a wall for God's sake, I'm hardly fragile.

It's funny - you say that you protect me. You say that I need to be protected, and yet you smash through my confidence, slowly drive me insane with all of your oh-so-knowing comments, you hurt me.

If I could destroy these feelings for you, I would. Believe me - I've tried. I've memorised every little tiny flaw, every intricate twisted action that you do. I've told myself over and over again. You're not perfect. You aren't fucking perfect.

In fact - you're far from it. You forced yourself to gain perfection in the most brutal, grotesque manner, create those eyes of blood, kill someone you should love. It's not your fault, I know. But that doesn't stop me from thinking it, when I'm alone, with a smirk on my face.

You, almighty you, disgust me. You claim to care about me. You are a fucking liar. You can't express your feelings verbally, so you're forced to remain within a shell, to keep a façade up. You are so bitter and twisted inside, so sour and withdrawn.

I can lie too, quite well. I tell you everyday that I love you. I'm lying, you bastard, can't you see that?

I knew about the terrible things that happened to you. I felt horrible, my family were fine, alive. Yours were so horribly dead, so buried and so gone. It was empathy. Not love. I tried to help you, let you know that someone still loved you. You knew though. I couldn't hide it, underneath my ingeniune smiles and sweet touches, I loathed you.

You hated me for it - you didn't want my pity. You didn't want me.

You taste like dirt. I know - whenever you hit me, kissed me, anything, I tasted earth. It suits you somehow, in a way only you could achieve. Your looks were smouldering, and yet you looked right through me.You captured my eyes with a mere glance. You never looked away when our eyes met, I had to.

In time I grew to geniunely love you. I admit this grudgingly - my younger self wouldn't have told you at all. I loved the whole of you. Not just the suggestive looks, the risque comments. I loved how you would treat my injuries so attentively, and insist on it being you who patched me up after a battle.

We spar now - not just verbally, though we do that a lot - you seem to have noticed my new skill. This pleases me and yet irritates me that you refuse to comment upon it.

You told me once that you only cry in the rain. I replied that that made no sense - it didn't count. You seemed pleased- you always were odd.

You've never asked me to marry you. I'm glad somewhat - relieved. I've always been told by my friends that it's like some kind of unspoken agreement between the two of us - why is that?

I once gave a tomato that I'd bought - you'd seemed to want it anyway - you didn't say thanks of course, just nodded at me.

You gave me dango the next day, and asked me what my favourite foods were. Surprised, I'd replied. You delivered me it the next day. I gave you more tomatoes.

On the first day of the Academy, you'd sauntered up to me - egotisical even then - and demanded my name.

I'd told you. You murmured "the spring field of cherry blossoms, how appropriate". I'd not known what my name meant back then, so I just kept quiet.

Do you know how much you torture me? If we were on a mission, one of seduction, you had to be the one. You would always look at me before you kissed whichever target - not asking permission, teasing me. You practically screamed ' you want me but you can't have me.'

Do you know how many fucking tears I cried for you? I can't cry anymore. Physically - it's like I've run out of moisture in my eyes.

I hate you, Uchiha Sasuke.

I love you.

xxxxxxxxx

Wow, weird. I might write another chapter, about Sasuke's opinion on Sakura. This was basically me trying to sum up Sakura's feelings for Sasuke.

I could do this because it's kind of based on my personal experiances. A guy I've liked for at least nine or ten years doesn't trouble himself to talk to me, and yet he gets jealous when I go out with other guys. I was sick of being treated like property, so I told him to fuck off :D