Death's Angel {Naruto FanFic}

Chapter Ten

My heart should be in my throat... but it isn't. I should be enraged by what I am doing... but I'm not. Something should be telling me to back off, to stop it, to relax... but there's nothing. I should be grasping the last shreds of my dignity, of my pride, of my honor... but I'm just letting them go, like whispers in the wind.

I'm kneeling, placing my forehead to the cool floors, bowing down to someone far less powerful than me. My mouth isn't moving, my eyes aren't seeing, my thoughts aren't swirling. I'm standing now, too, watching myself pick herself up and dust herself off. I'm watching myself bow from the waist and look at the white mask that is offered to me.

I'm watching myself trace it, trace the black around the eyes like eyeliner, the shape of a cloud on the inside of the mask; I am watching myself look up blankly at Pein and place the mask on my face. I'm not angry. I'm not displeased.

I simply am.

Then I'm back into myself. My red eyes take in my surroundings with ease, memorizing all the little details. My white hair is spilling over my shoulders and down my back messily, but I don't bother putting it back into my jacket. I let it spill out and swish softly with every movement. Pein is giving me a lecture, telling me I need to control my emotions, as if I don't know that already.

I bow again as he finishes and leave the room, no sound save for the whisper of cloth rubbing together. I should be angry. I should be sad, outraged, enraged, depressed, sorrowful, horrified. I'm none of these things. I'm a shell of what I used to be. Each time I'm by myself, my memories present me with a new horror to watch.

I can still see the blood that stained my skin not so long ago. The scent of it won't leave my nose. My clothes, although freshly washed and blood free in all aspects, still carry the weight of countless lives. I've kept my demon stored under lock and key. She isn't allowed a view of the world for the next month or so until she atones for what she has done.

For once, I choose to sit with the other members. I don't know them well at all. I can match a face to a name, but that's as far as I can go. My hatred for this group would be complete, but I cannot bring myself to hate Konan or Itachi. No, Itachi has become something I depend on, whether he knows it or not. Konan is not hateworthy. She is too sweet, and I don't see her often enough to know if she deserves my hatred.

Itachi sits next to me so that he blocks me from the others, even if he doesn't know it, which would be strange. Itachi has always been someone who does things with full awareness and full intentions of doing what he does. He has a reason, a motive, behind everything movement he makes. My other side is the arm of the couch. He is blocking the others from me, not the other way around.

I can see how carefully he watches them, as if they are predators and I am the prey. His arm is brushing mine ever so slightly, as if to remind me that he's next to me. My eyes close, then jolt open. Blood spattered walls are etched into my eyelids. My dreams are haunted by death. I cannot sleep for fear of succumbing to them. I am tired, so, so tired. Why did I have to lose control?

Haru's heartbeat rests gently beneath mine, steady and strong. But now, now it is racing. We're connected by our blood, and I miss him so bitterly it almost drives me over an invisible edge. I want to grab him, to ask him why he's so sad, why he's so scared, or excited. I want to see him, to know him again. How long have we been apart?

Itachi seems to read my mind. "You'll see him again." He says, his voice low and confident. I dip my head in acknowledgement, but it doesn't help me. Itachi knows that I appreciate his words, I always seem to these days, but he also knows that I cannot take them to heart. I've grown colder than I've ever been. My demon has made me detach myself from others so I don't hurt them.