Rating: Young Adult/Mature (see warnings below)
Characters/Pairing: [Deidara X Sakura H]; Akatsuki; Konoha 12
Themes: Drama, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship
Warnings: Strong language, implied drug/alcohol use, and possible sexual content
Chapter One | That Girl is Poison
In the past few years, I've learned a few things. I've learned about probabilities and exponents, the evolution of man, and dates that I'm sure I may never need to remember ever again. I learned everything and anything that I possibly could from those I so timidly shadowed, but I never really learned anything until I came here to Konoha. I lived in Suna before that, where this particular story takes place; it was far south of the bay so it was almost always hot and humid—it drove me crazy because I didn't have the endurance the townsfolk had.
I guess we can say my life started when my sophomore year dwindled towards the end of its life. I met a girl who was so beautiful at first glance that it made me somewhat uncomfortable to even stand beside her. I don't want to recall her name, or her face or anything about her, but I remember that she had a smile that could steal your breath away, and she was so dauntingly angelic that you would think her otherworldly, almost. But she was like a venomous flower in how she worked; her gentle scent and her alluring act charmed you closer, and once you'd fallen for her touch, there was no escape. From the inside out, she tore friendships apart—friendships that once withstood the trial of time—and she basked in that power. She was a hedonist; a girl with a clandestinely poisonous personality; I always seemed to overlook the malevolence in her stupid smile…
So yeah, this is exactly where my life started…
Normal POV—5:56 PM Monday October 15, 2012—Fairmont Boulevard, Suna;
An odd sound escaped Sakura's pale pink lips (something amid a whimper and a sob if anyone had to guess, but that didn't really matter). The mangled hand of reality pierced through the illusion she so sweetly rested, its serrated nails tearing away the fine drapery of her thoughts and its poison seeped through her wounds. She couldn't completely comprehend what exactly happened, but she understood that she was in terrible pain. (The first sign of anxiety—the tightening of her chest and hyperventilation—had kicked in)
"How many times do I have to fucking tell you? I don't love you anymore." Those words—so harsh, please don't be true—had tainted every happy thought that once made her heart flutter, and reduced her into a sobbing mess of a child. "It's over Sakura. It's been over. Get over it already!" It was a boy who said it—a boy she had once given her heart to, she remembered. And the intonation of his words had been cold and careless, empty like her belly. All Sakura really wanted to do was cry and scream and throw everything within her fingers' reach, and it took all her might to avoid such a self-indulgent calamity. She had loved the boy on the other end of the phone for a year, ignored all those painful sensations in her gut that warned her about his affairs, and yet, he had the gall to call her from across town and destroy what they had meticulously built.
Was he too fearful to leave her in person? Or did he not want to feel as guilty?
She didn't know, and the motives behind his phone call didn't necessarily matter. Their conversation had been straight to the point; he uttered his confession of disaffection before she could even finish her tired "hello", and for a moment or so his words went unrecognized. The cold fangs of veracity pierced her flesh when she finally comprehended his sudden comment, and she was sure her tears only made things worse. There came forth the second stage of her condition—trembling and muscle fatigue, followed by a pulsating chest pain. "Are you happy now? You finally figured it out—you basically pushed me into her arms, so don't get mad at me. Get mad at yourself." He sounded so angry with her, as if she'd done something terribly wrong. But she hadn't; had she? Of course she did—she always fucked something up. Sakura didn't want to listen to him anymore and threw her phone at the wall across the room to end their conversation. It was too painful to listen to his voice, for when he spoke, the rest of the world suddenly became insignificant. All her thoughts, all her mental reminders and trinkets of thought had vanished with the warmth of her skin, and she just allowed it to disappear. That was called emotional detachment and disassociation, and caused memory problems.
Don't remember. Don't think.
It had probably been twenty minutes before Sakura felt her extremities twitching (it was hard to tell with her sobbing), and from there she forced herself to leave her room. She didn't think about where it was she was going, as her aloofness had taken over her thoughts, but acknowledged that familiar voice that yelled, "Can you not barge into my room like that?"
"Sasori?" Inwardly, Sakura cringed at the low voice that managed to escape her lips. She was beginning to panic—her arms were trembling still, her fingers had stiffened; her breathing had grown labored. Yet another sign of anxiety…
Sasori's rich amber eyes flickered away from his television screen to meet her gaze, and seeing how Sakura stood at his door sent him immediately to his feet; his Xbox controller fell, forgotten. He set his palms on her cheeks, bending slightly so he could get into her field of view. Those lovely pools of beryl she had been blessed with, were smoky with her pain and frustration, and almost seemed to look past Sasori rather than at him; and she battled tears with her lashes with a desperation that riled his anger. "Sakura," he gently but firmly called, his hands sliding to rest atop her shoulders. He gave her a shake. "Sakura. Hey, look at me," he said, with other similar demands until she finally brought her eyes upon his.
Her step-brother, Sasori, was unjustly handsome, and it seemed that everything Sakura ever wished she could be, had been gifted to him. He was so confident in everything that he did, even when he lacked perfection; and he was popular even when he didn't want to be. He never seemed to have a problem with any of that high school bullshit most people seemed to have, since he mostly stayed away from everything, and he had this air of badass regality in the way he swaggered around the world. His hair was a deep shade of red, almost purplish in a certain light, and his eyes were hazel. He had a silver piercing in his left eyebrow and a pair of studs on either side above his lips—no tattoos as of yet, but he always talked about getting some. He was also a tad bit short, just barely a few inches over Sakura's head, but that never seemed to stop him from being so intimidating. Sakura loved his height about him more than anything though.
"Sakura, what's wrong?" Sasori inquired. Sakura pulled him into her arms, nails digging into his shirt and nose pressed into his chest, and she stressed out one line—"I'm so stupid." Confused, Sasori sighed and tightly held her against him. (It was good to ease the nervous system—he learned that on some TV show Sakura loved to watch) "You're okay Sakura. Just breathe, just breathe." He pressed his palm against her ears and shouted for their parents with an intonation to his voice so unlike himself.
"I can't," she whimpered, and the thundering percussion of her parents' footsteps grew closer towards them. They were coming—they would see—no, don't come.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Good. Relax. Go to bed.
I never thought it was possible for one person to be so angry. All day, every day, I was a frustrated mess of emotions that I couldn't even begin to understand. I would wake up with a miserable droop, annoyed by the day's warmth before I could even climb out of bed. I'd feel empty as I showered and ate; lonely as I walked the halls. I was angry whenever I passed by something that evoked a memory of him—which was basically everything. I was being overdramatic, I knew, but I just couldn't help it. Everyone tried to help me but it just didn't really seem to do much. I'd be happy for a minute, then I'd return to my usual state. Even I hated being around myself at some point. I made a stupid mistake by trying to gain attention; I told a lot of people what happened, looking for sympathy—people who I knew really didn't care. And for the most part, I got it—their pity—but I also got a lot of hate for it. I only made things worse, now that I look back at it. But I guess that's what life is about—making mistakes.
So you're probably wondering what I learned from all of that.
First of all, girls never smile a real smile at one another. No matter how close we are or how nice, our smiles hold a snippet of dislike. We're always jealous, even when we don't think we are. We usually don't notice it, and we may deny it but it's true. All the negative thoughts are in the back of our brains, slowly taunting us at inopportune times, and we never notice it until later. Jealousy isn't something we, or anyone for that matter, can control. It shields our possessiveness and our insecurities, and acts as an internal critic. It's that little voice that tells you, "don't trust him" and "she is prettier than me." Dopamine, the chemical we associate with happiness, is regulated by jealousy, which is why we suddenly feel so down; and the frontal cortex seems to be the center of it all.
Understand what I'm saying?
I learned to cope with my jealousy and my anxiety pretty well since then, and I have my cousins to really thank for that.
That is the newly revised chapter one.
Its not too different from the original, and it's a little short
but I still hope you guys enjoyed it.
I feel so bad for neglecting this story, especially when
I had gotten so far into the story, then
just deleted everything, and started revising it, and then
forgetting about it.
I hope you aren't too mad at me and
at least enjoy the new revisions. They should
be coming in quickly.
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This chapter's title was inspired by the song That Girl is Poison by BVD.