Title: New Girl
Rating: M 16+
Pairings: LeexOC, slight GaaraxOC (later chapters)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Naruto franchise. All rights reserved to Kishimoto. I only have rights to my OC.
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Introduction: First Cousin
"Yamada Sho, am I saying your name correctly?"
"Mhm, that's right."
A young male ninja, not a day older than twenty-one, itches his dark hair as he reviews my roommate application for the fifth time. Leaning forward over the kitchen table, his odd circular spectacles pass over my features before returning to a row of papers spread out before him. My violet eyes blink curiously as he rummages through the paper work and plucks out a film image.
"I am sorry for getting confused," he finally speaks, laying down a polaroid on the table. "From your name and this picture, I thought you were…well, excuse me for saying this, but I assumed you were a boy."
I inwardly blame my parents for my more masculine name. Awkwardly, I shift my attention to his fingers tapping lightly on the picture. A sudden lump forms in the back of my throat, coming to the realization that I actually submitted a picture with him still in it.
During my drunken ice-cream stupor yesterday night, I had cutout my ex from all forms of proof of us co-mingling. I'm embarrassed to admit that I had done this along with filling out the roommate application. And so, here I am sitting and wondering if I had done this by accident. Perhaps my less than coherent self decided to keep this picture in hopes to salvage the relationship. However, if it had been salvageable, I wouldn't be here in the first place. Wondering why I made such an inexcusable mistake.
Wondering exactly what on earth was so attractive about a tattoo stamped right above a bimbo's crack?
"Oh, that is, um…" the words feel slippery on my tongue; some find my lips while others stumble to the back of my throat. "My first cousin."
My lips tighten as his abnormally thick eyebrows lift high into his forehead and further behind his bangs. I decide to sell it further.
"This was the only recent picture of myself, which was taken at a family get together. I'm not really that photogenic so…"
"Yamada-san," the green-attired ninja chimes in once my sentence dies, along with most of my remaining self-esteem. Staking the papers together neatly and placing them off to the side, a radiantly warm smile crosses him. "Thank you for applying. I will be sure to contact you soon when I have made a decision."
We stand from our seats and extend our hands to each other, and I attempt my own smile, albeit a bit lackluster. "No, thank you, Lee-san. For taking your time to interview me."
After shaking hands and saying 'good-bye', I motion myself out. I sigh, noticing a man waiting just outside for his own interview. Stepping aside, I can't help but feel my chances of getting picked dwindling. But it's understandable; someone who isn't used to living with the opposite sex would usually stray from being in that particular situation.
As I continue to estimate my chances and a whole bunch of different scenarios, I soon reach my (or rather my ex's) apartment. Each step I take to climb the stairs towards the apartment door feels like I'm being weighted down by a ball and chain. Only, I partly wish this were the case in hopes it will drag me down the stairs and kill me. Not the most positive way of dealing with a break-up, but it would the most efficient way of not having to see him ever again.
Somehow I make it to the door, and surprisingly in tack. Taking out my keys and opening the door I quietly walk in. I turn to face the living room partly littered in boxes. While some are taped others are wide open with barely anything inside. Today, I'm going to finish packing my things then continue to sleep at a nearby hotel, praying for the call that will whisk me away for good.
Taking off my shoes by the door, I make my way into the living room. About to sit on the floor I notice a body from the corner of my eyes. Turning my head, my caramel brown hair slaps me in the face, but that doesn't make me flinch. No, it's the sight of the blond bimbo walking half naked across the apartment that makes me twist my neck. Painfully, I might add.
My nose scrunches at the sight of that cheap tattoo marked right above her bum, a mark that clearly brands the status 'home wrecker'.
"Oh, it's you," the revealed blond drawls out as she turns to face me. "Eiji didn't say you'd be coming by today."
"Oh, really?" My lips stretch to form a rather friendly smile. If I can even call it a smile, "That's Eiji for you, always forgetting what's important. Well, I told him that today I was going to get the rest of my stuff while he was still at work—"
"Hey, baby. Who're you talking to?"
He had a day off?
My breath catches in my throat as the familiar voice calls from the bedroom and out to his new 'baby'. I keep my lips tightly sealed; and return to my belongings on the floor. I pick up a random book and place it into an open box.
"No one, Eiji. Just that girl whose here to get her stuff," the succubus then responds.
My eyes are tempted to roll in their sockets. Where does she get off calling me that girl?
"Really? Alright, never mind her and just come over here so we can finish what we started."
My head throbs as the girl's flirtatious giggle punches me right in the ear canal. I keep my eyes on the items surrounding me, placing them one by one in each box. I even start singing nursery rhymes to keep my thoughts away from what exactly started and 'needed to be finished'. For my innocence sake, they were just going to finish a lovely game of twenty-one pick up. Yes, that was it. I mean, what other activities would a man and women do?
In one bed.
Did I say alone already?
Luckily, I muster ideas of possible board games they could be fancying themselves with, speeding up the time rather quickly. After placing the last shoe in a box, I stand and wipe the invisible sweat from my brow. Viewing the space, I notice all the boxes with the last of my stuff are packed and ready to go.
Except for one thing.
My shoulders slump as I recall leaving my favorite shirt in the bedroom where the deviants still remain. Rolling up my long sleeves as a tough girl gimmick I walk down the hallway towards the bedroom door. I clear my throat loudly as the sounds of sheets shifting, the bed creaking, and awkward mating calls resound from inside. Knocking clumsily the noises cease and the sound of footsteps make their way from the other side. I turn my head slightly away as the door opens. I find it difficult to stare my ex in the face, so I settle my gaze onto his bare shoulder. My eyes squint against his revealed skin, is that a cat scratch? We don't even own any cats! How is that even possible?
At this point, I realize some life proverbs are true: 'There are just some question's better left unanswered.'
"What is it? Did you leave something in here?" He asks, shifting under the frame of the door.
I nod, averting my eyes away from his face and especially what lay naked inside his room. "Yeah, just my favorite shirt. You know, the red one."
I watch cautiously as he disappears behind the door, then reappears a few moments later with the shirt in his possession. "This is it, right?" he questions as I take the article of clothing.
Relief welcomes me knowing that I can now stare at my shirt rather than a spot on his body. I then hear him scratch the back of his neck, "Yeah, it was in the bed. It might have some stuff on it, just so you know. "
My eyes widen and twitch in disgust as I suppress my urge to scream on the spot. Instead, I bob my head weakly and hold the shirt with shaking hands. Walking away and hearing the door close I hastily run into the kitchen and throw my now ex-favorite shirt into the garbage. Flicking my hands in the air like some strange tribal dance, I jump to the sink and rinse my hands with hot water.
Overwhelmed with complete distaste, I ignore the scalding pain stinging the top of my palms. Shaking my hands dry and my head free of any tasteless thoughts, I hold myself from vomiting all over the kitchen counters. And so, after that pleasant incident, I finish counting all my boxes and make the trek from the apartment to the hotel where I currently reside.
The rest of day I spent moving the packages to the hotel while covering my mouth every time I caught sight of my ex or the blond harlot.
Two days follow after reclaiming all my things, and I return to my ex-boyfriend's apartment to check my mail. A small frown tugs at the corners of my mouth as I rummage through the large amounts of junk mail. My lips curl even further as I spot one addressed to my ex's new girl toy. Holding my breath I skip over it, just about ready to call it another day. My frown then melts into a curious pucker as I spot the last piece of mail addressed to me. Instinctively, I assume it's junk mail or a letter from the school board. Yet, to my surprise, it isn't.
My thumb grazes over the sender's name. I can't contain a tingling smile as I open the letter and read its contents. A small gasp escapes me and I cover my mouth out of reflex. My toes dance in my shoes as I note my application has been accepted and my moving date is just three days away. Looks like things are turning for the better. And since I've already lived with one man, nothing can surprise me.