Uchiha Collision (Sequel of Uchiha Corp)

Crimson

Trigger Warning:

The silence was deafening. The weight of the truth settling into her chest like the blade of a knife. She was alone. True to his word, Obito didn't return that night. Y/n blinked in an attempt to clear her vision from the film that covered her contacts. Straining to push herself into a sitting position, Y/n glanced at the clock.

3:13 AM

Groaning as she stood, she tried to ignore the crusty feeling on her thighs. Falling asleep on the hardwood floor wasn't the brightest idea. Y/n was so drained as she laid there, refusing to move after Obito closed the door. She regretted the choice as she hobbled to the bathroom.

Reflection blurred in the mirror as she stood before it. Yet, she could still see the bruising as it began to form. Sighing, Y/n removed her contacts before grabbing her glasses from their case. Peeling the cami from her body, she decided to rinse off in the shower before she soaked in the tub to ease her body. And hopefully, her mind.

Washing away the signs of sex, Y/n ignored the way her body ached. Instead, it ached with a need to be held close. While it also ached with a desire to feel the rush of emotions ooze from her husband. Something was seriously wrong with the woman. Who would want the man they love to treat them that way while they have sex? Or any man, for that matter?

Ignoring the thought, Y/n turned the shower off and made her way to the tub again. Then, filling the vessel, Y/n moved to grab Epsom salts to add them. Sitting on the edge of the tub, Y/n closed her eyes and sighed. Again. Where did she go from here? Where did they go from here?

Turning the water off, Y/n eased into the water for the second time in just over twelve hours. Nausea rocked her stomach, though she tried to ignore it. No matter how much she tried to will the pain away, it still lingered. The tears fell into the water as Y/n sat up, clutching the side of the tub.

Was this physical pain? Or had her emotions morphed and taken on a palpable sensation? Was she beating herself up? Ripping the seams that Obito had recently stitched back together?

It was as though she had spilled the stuffing as she walked from the kitchen into the bathroom. The stitch was long frayed and unfixable. No sewist could mend this broken woman. No tailor could repair the tattered and beaten soul. There was no salvaging the patches that covered her heart.

The thoughts swirled in her mind. The fleeting and trailings ideas of ending it all had twisted into a looming and somewhat alluring philosophy. Taking herself out of the equation, there would be no downside for all of those involved. Everyone's pain and suffering would come to an end.

It was the same thought process as the night Zabuza had found her. It began the same way. Y/n in the bath, alone, and her brain attacking itself. Her intellect not actually thinking things through. The incessant need to forget it all. Everything. Let it all wash away.

Next came the scrubbing. The scars, visible and not. No matter how hard she scrubbed, nothing washed away. Her flesh was raw, dotted with blood blisters. No contacts in, the tears obscured her vision even more as she sobbed. Compulsion always won when she was in this state.

Moving to the next phase, a scream would tear through her as she began to throw a tantrum. Flinging the closest thing to her across the room. Last time, it was the shampoo bottle. This time was the glass jar of smelling salts. Hurling it against the mirror, the container shattered while the reflective glass cracked.

Breath coming in huffs, Y/n plunged herself into the water, fighting the urge to end it all. Another scream rippled the water before she shoved herself out of upward. Sitting as still as night, Y/n closed her eyes.

The solution seemed so easy. What method was best, though?

Y/n snorted as she recalled the same clarity as the night Zabuza saved her life. Back then, she had sat and weighed the options of how to take her own life.

A bullet was messy and no guarantee.

A knife was messy and slow.

Alcohol was a terrible way with the amount she would need to consume.

A car accident was painful and, again, no guarantee.

Jumping, cliff, or bridge: too much time to regret the decision.

Drugs... slow. Painless if you used the right combination.

Drugs won last time.

The morbid thoughts made the same trail through her mind in the twilight hours today. Turning slightly, Y/n's eyes fixated on the medicine cabinet across from her. Running through the list of its contents, she knew she could do it.

Who would care?

If she did it right, it would seem as though she drowned in the water. The perfect combination would slip her into unconsciousness, and she would drown. Would they do a toxicology test? Would they- the baby.

Obito. He'd blame himself if she did it. He would always wonder if he was the cause, drugs in her system or not. And the baby, their son, would suffer because of her choice. Kikyo. Tsuki. Zabuza. Kakashi. Her parents. Naruto. Her forever growing family with the Uchiha and Hyuga.

Y/n Uchiha would live. For today. And tomorrow. For now.

One day at a time, Y/n would make sure everyone she loved was safe. Her motivation. Her goal. To kill the only threat that separated them from happiness and comfort. Put an end to tyranny that lurked in the shadows. Destroy the devil incarnate.

For Y/n to live, Madara must die.

Draining the water, Y/n sat and watched as it swirled. Then, as it fell into the depths, Y/n's solace rose. While her marriage may be spiraling out of control, she would worry about that later. Making sure Obito lived and never knew the truth was all that mattered.

Making sure her children, as well as her nieces and nephews, grew to be happy and well taken care of- that was what drove her now.

Her life didn't matter anymore, only theirs. She would live so she could protect them. That was her role in life, it seemed. The protector of those she loved. Carrying the weight, they couldn't handle. Lifting the burden from their shoulders so they could breathe.

No matter if her seams had been shredded beyond repair. Y/n would make sure that no one else's seams would even begin to fray. The glue that had been stripped from her would be used to patch everyone else together. No one would unravel as long as Y/n had a say in what happened.

A weight lifted off her own shoulders, Y/n headed for the bedroom. Dressed in a simple pale blue gown, Y/n peeled back the comforter. A few hours of sleep, and she would face the day.

Picking up her phone, Y/n confirmed her fear: Obito never called or texted. Sending a single text, saying that she loved him, she placed the phone on the bedside table. One knee on the bed to crawl in, she paused for a moment.

One knee still poised, she lifted the knee-length gown. The crimson on the bed was the only sign she needed. She had ignored the burning in her abdomen, passing it off as nerves and emotions. The nausea as depression and anxiety. The dizziness from the crying. It was none of that. Or all of it.

No matter the cause. No matter the reasoning. No matter the events leading up to it, the ending was all the same.

Alone.

Distraught.

Nothing to prevent it.

Nothing to change it.

Nothing to stop it.

Y/n was losing the baby that she had just vowed to live for.

Crimson.

The color of love.

The color of passion.

The color of life.

The color of death.