Uchiha Collision (Sequel of Uchiha Corp)

Failure

Possible Trigger Warning: (Obito POV)

———

Lights blurred.

Sound shifted.

Eagerness.

Desire.

Euphoria.

I was high.

I knew better when I went to the bar, but I wanted to forget. The clawing thoughts that she had cheated on me wouldn't leave. No matter how many times I replayed the encounter at the Senju mansion over in my mind: I didn't believe her.

I listened to her voicemail, over and over, I still didn't believe her.

Her text messages. Nothing.

I had lost faith in my wife.

So, I took the same pills she did when she wanted to escape. One day, years ago, I had asked Y/n why she kept taking the Vicodin after she had Tsuki. 'I get warm, and everything just feels better. It's like being high, but not. I really can't describe it.'

Now I know what she meant. I rarely took them; even when I had my appendectomy, I avoided the medication and took something weaker. But now, now I was sure that this is what Y/n felt. Warmth spread across my chest as my head became light. But I could still function. And I did.

The bar was down the street from the penthouse, one we've frequented over the years. There was no one I knew in the bar, which was good. I wanted to be left alone. Forget. Forget everything going on. Forget there was impending doom hiding around every corner.

Forget.

I wish I could forget now. The flashes come like an old 8mm movie film on repeat. I can't make it go away. I can't make it disappear. I try to ignore it, but I need to remember too. I need to see where I went wrong. What choice did I make that led to this?

As I stare at the ceiling, I try to wash my vision with anything but the memory of last night. I can't. DAMMIT! I should've known. I should've realized what was happening when it was happening. But why didn't I? Why can't I make it go away? Why can't I go back in time?

A face. One I know. She enters the bar. With a sweet smile on her face, she sits next to me. We talked like nothing was wrong for a while. Then she asked the question I knew she would. When I answer, her attitude changes. She's flirty. She's perkier. She thinks there's a chance.

When did everything get fuzzy?

When did we start dancing?

Did I take something else?

Am I that drunk?

The Vicodin?

Lips against mine. They're wrong. But they make me forget like she says they will. Her kiss tastes like an ashtray mixed with rum. Sweet and toxic. Like her body. It's poisonous. It's foreign and familiar. It's wrong.

"I'll take care of you, Bito," the words sound right, but the voice isn't angelic. Her tone is devious. She's pleased with herself.

I don't say no. Did I try? Did I want it? Did I want her?

The fragments are splintered, like my thoughts. I can't piece it together. I don't want to. I do want to. I need answers. I need the truth so that I can take care of myself. So I can beg forgiveness. There has to be a reason I did this.

"She lied to you," she whispers. Maybe I did try and tell her no. "She's used you for years." She's trying to justify her own actions. "She doesn't love you like I do."