The Ardor of Every Day

15.

TW: self-harm

Sasuke had promised his dad that he'd arrange some stuff over the weekend before they came back. Since he was with Naruto the whole time, he hadn't done anything of that sort. He was back home and even though it was night already, he decided to empty at least a couple of boxes to avoid an argument. He wasn't sleepy anyway, as he'd taken a nap in the afternoon. He had gotten into the rhythm of organizing once he had put enough things away. It didn't take long for the reality to set in and for his sentiments to catch up to him.

Sasuke's family had been very patriarchal for a long time, and things didn't repair when it came to his father's marriage. His mom was a housewife and spent a lot of time with him. Sasuke was extremely close to his mom, she was his biggest attachment. He had always been introverted and his mom provided a shelter for all his anxieties. His parent's marriage wasn't a happy one, and it only got worse as he grew up. He and his brother were close at first, and Itachi would make an effort and safeguard him from all the screaming and trauma whenever things got bad. But after they both grew up, they also grew apart. Itachi had things going on in his own life and they were both old enough to handle things on their own. Itachi was almost six years older than Sasuke as well, so as soon as it was time for him to graduate high school, he chose to leave the drama and go away for university. Their bond was quite severed at this point since the brothers barely saw each other after Itachi moved away. This way, Itachi also saved himself from the worst of his parents' relationship. Sasuke's mom was an ambitious woman whose hopes for her career were crushed after her marriage. She knew what she was getting into but did not expect her in-laws to be this intense. She married Fugaku because she loved him more than her own will. The problem was less with her husband but more with his side of the family. Although her marriage was essentially a failure, during the time she was sick, things changed for the better. During that time, Sasuke's dad finally comprehended where he went wrong in the relationship and tried to make it up to her, but obviously, it was too late. Because Sasuke was already a reserved and anxious child, the circumstances of his life made things worse. He was at his worst when his mom was sick and when she passed. Everything right now was reminding him of her. Every single thing that he touched to put in its place was a reminder that she was gone forever. He was still not himself, but he thought he was recovering, little by little. The present seemed to be proving him wrong.

Right now, everything was a trigger for all the memories he was harbouring. All of his limited time he had with his mom was flashing through his head like a series of polaroids. He put down the box he was holding and supported himself by putting his hands on the kitchen counter and trying to focus by staring at the granite. His body slowly enclosed the space between him and the cabinets as he started trembling. He sat down on the floor and brought his knees to his chest. He tried to concentrate on his breathing but his lips slowly started quivering and his head started throbbing. He knew what was going to happen but he couldn't control it as much as he wanted to. The intrusive thoughts about the past and the future flooded his head, and he pinched his eyes close together and tightened his grip around his legs. He rocked back and forth slowly as tears spilled from his eyes and his head lowered to his arms. Even though there was no one else in the house, he tried to keep his sniffles short. He hated what was happening to him right now. He hated being weak, and he had become weaker. He would never cry in front of his dad and brother, even at his mother's funeral, he couldn't shed a tear in front of them. Ever since meeting Naruto, he had become like a helpless child in his mind. Of course, people knew that they were hanging out, but for Sasuke, it was like this secret relationship that no one else knew about. He was slowly opening up and was starting to be who he really was in front of someone who didn't know much about him. It was like his new persona. He just wanted to escape this void of a dark feeling and trauma which had been like a shadow to him all his life. Even though recovery was soon approaching, to him things only felt nastier in moments like these. He was in denial, he still hadn't processed all of his emotions. And suppressing them resulted in panic attacks such as these. He was hyperventilating, a total mess. His nose was dripping and the hot tears didn't stop. The pain was what his mental state was making him feel, but in reality, he was so numb from the inside. He was tired of feeling like this. These familiar mementos and scents were making him brim but he couldn't feel anything except the empty abyss that was his body. Thoughts of hurting himself entered his temple as his brain made him believe that he wasn't real anymore. Would he still shed blood? It was impervious for him to even try to do such a thing. By any chance, if the marks were even noticed by his father or brother, it would be tragic. In an attempt to stop this harmful thought from becoming an actual substance, he took a few deep breaths with his mouth. He urgently got up, tied his hair back into a small ponytail, splashed some water onto his face and cleaned up. He sighed, feeling sorry for the person he was, he blamed himself for not being able to handle himself. His brain was a misty forest of invasive thoughts putting him down. He had to steadily ignore his mind and keep himself occupied as to not pay attention to it and get caught in a spiral. He shook his head lightly to purge the memories of the panic attack and the darkest thought he'd had. With a heavy mind and heart, he continued to organize and do some chores with an invariable memory of his mother. After finishing up more than he'd promised due to lack of sleep, he went back to his room. He sat down at his desk fiddling with his lighter. He got up and got out the pack of smokes from his bag. He put on music and started walking rounds in his room until he was holding the last of the pack. It wasn't clear whether his eyes watered from the smoke or something else. Instead of killing the final cigarette somewhere random, his brain directed his fingers toward the wrist of his other hand. Without a second thought, he pressed the lit end into the crevice where his palm ended and wrist began. The pain made his eyes shut as a tear ran down from one. He poured some water on the wound and decided to call it a day. A promise was made to himself to never indulge in this kind of thing ever again. It was a momentary lapse. His head felt buzzed enough from all the nicotine that he decided to pass out and try to sleep.