Afraid of the Dark (KakaSaku)

Uninvited Guest

Sakura froze, panic surging through her as her vision blurred with tears. Despite the haze, she could see the cold darkness in his eyes. With trembling hands, she reached up and placed her hand over his, gripping the gun. His voice was a harsh whisper, laced with menace. "There are a lot of things worse than death, sweetheart." Then, with a swift motion, he drew his hand back and slammed the hilt of the gun into her head. The impact split her skin, and she felt the warm trickle of blood down her face.

But Sakura didn't cry out. The alcohol had dulled her senses, numbing the pain. Kakashi, clutching his side, was visibly out of breath. She stared at him through a fog of intoxication, noting his discomfort. Her thoughts had finally slowed, the weight of despair settling in. "I have pain medication... if you want," she offered, her speech slurred and sluggish.

He eyed her from his seat on the bed, the gun now back in his possession. "If it'll help you snap out of your pity party," he muttered, his tone edged with irritation.

Sakura sighed, realizing the futility of her despair. She was trapped in this situation, with no clear way out. Resigned, she stumbled to her medical bag, fumbling as she prepared a syringe of pain medication. As she turned to him, ready to administer it, his hand shot out, grabbing hers. "I think I can handle it from here," he said, taking the syringe from her. He injected himself, inhaling sharply as the needle pierced his skin and the medication coursed through his veins.

They sat in tense silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Kakashi leaned back, the relief from the medication quickly easing his pain. Sakura wiped at the blood on her temple, retrieving alcohol wipes from her kit to clean the wound. The sting of the antiseptic was sharp, but she barely flinched. He watched her with a more relaxed expression and cleared his throat. "Not that you had a choice, but... thank you."

His words caught Sakura off guard. She hadn't expected gratitude. "You're not welcome," she snapped, her voice dripping with venom. Her glare was murderous; if looks could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot. This man had destroyed her life, pushed her to the brink of ruin, and now he had the audacity to thank her as if they were allies—as if she wasn't drowning in alcohol to numb the fear that had gripped her ever since he'd broken into her office, threatening everything she held dear.

He looked as though he was about to say something else when the shrill ring of a phone cut through the tension. Kakashi reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a cell phone. Glancing at the screen, he brought a finger to his lips, signaling for her to stay silent.

He answered the call with a curt, "Hatake." He listened intently to the voice on the other end, his expression unreadable. "Successful. They were taken care of. I'll be there in two hours."

Sakura felt a wave of relief—he would finally be gone. He ended the call and shot her a look before checking the time. Slowly, he stood up, retrieving his shirt and vest from the floor, both still stained with his blood. "I'm going to use your shower," he announced before heading to the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Sakura stared at the closed door in disbelief. "You can't! Your stitches are too fresh..." she called out, but her voice trailed off. She knew he didn't care. She sat on her bed, hearing the sound of the water start through the closed bathroom door. As she glanced around the room, her eyes fell on the stained bedsheets. With a resigned sigh, she began peeling them off, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. The mattress underneath would need time to dry before she could even think about cleaning it. For a fleeting moment, she considered buying a whole new one, but how would she explain a blood-stained mattress?

Next, she tried to collect the feathers from her ruined pillow, stuffing them into a garbage bag along with the torn pillowcase. The room looked like the aftermath of a violent pillow fight, and in her drunken state, the thought struck her as absurdly funny. She found herself laughing, the sound brittle and manic, until it was abruptly cut off by his voice.