Afraid of the Dark (KakaSaku)

Picking up the Pieces

Sakura stood frozen under his gaze, trying desperately not to break down. "I'm doing this to you because I like it," Kakashi said, his voice a low, cruel whisper. Her mind reeled. What kind of sadist took pleasure in tormenting others? Her breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps as her chest tightened, each breath more difficult than the last. He reached out again, this time twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers.

"Please... stop," she whispered, her voice barely audible. His touch made her skin crawl, a cold shiver running down her spine.

As if the universe had finally taken pity on her, the dryer dinged. His clothes were done. Kakashi glanced at his watch, tilting his head slightly. "I guess that's my cue."

Sakura remained rooted to the spot, too terrified to move as he retrieved his clothes from the dryer and dressed in front of her. There was a large tear in his black shirt, a silent reminder of the violence that had brought him to her. She couldn't help but think, with a bitter edge, why hadn't they finished the job?

Before leaving, Kakashi reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, waving it in front of her. His eyes bore that same dark, demanding intensity that made her stomach churn with fear. She had a sickening feeling about what was inside. Without a word, he turned and left the house the same way he had entered.

The moment she heard the door close behind him, Sakura crumpled to the floor, her knees hitting the cold tiles with a painful thud. Her chest heaved with violent sobs, the sound of her own desperation echoing in her ears. She clutched her knees to her chest, trying to hold herself together, but it was no use. The emotional toll was unbearable, a reminder of why she had left field duty behind. She wasn't strong enough for this—not anymore.

After what felt like an eternity, she forced herself to her feet, still sobbing, her body wracked with the need for the pain to stop. She stumbled into the living room, her vision blurred with tears as she grabbed her medical kit and dumped its contents onto the floor. Desperately, she searched for the vial of morphine. She needed something stronger than alcohol to numb the pain.

But it was gone. Hatake had taken it. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Anger surged through her, hot and blinding. With a scream of frustration, she hurled the scattered medical supplies across the room. Her last hope for relief had been stolen from her.

Determined not to fall apart, she marched to the liquor cabinet, grabbed the first bottle she saw, and took a long, burning drink. The alcohol hit her like a wave of warmth, searing her throat like gasoline. She gagged but forced it down, welcoming the numbing sensation that spread through her body. Anything to keep her from breaking down.

Sinking to the kitchen floor, Sakura felt the alcohol begin to take effect, dulling the edges of her pain. She pulled the envelope from her lap and opened it, staring blankly at the words inside.

Another drop. End of the week.
Same amount, same time.

- H

Her head spun as the gravity of the situation sank in. She would have to falsify more patient records, make everything seamless, leave no trace. It had been four months since the first time she had supplied him, two since the last. The thought twisted her insides, but as she made her way to her bedroom to grab her laptop, a disturbing realization surfaced: she was good at this.

His words echoed in her mind, "Anyone else would've fucked up by now..." She hated that the statement made her feel something, a sick semblance of pride. She was becoming a monster, her morals shattered and blurred beyond recognition. The thought that she felt anything other than disgust at his praise made her feel nauseous, but she couldn't deny the truth. She was changing, and she feared the person she was becoming.

The screen glowed back at Sakura as she meticulously altered patient files, adjusting doses and placing orders with precision. She had four days to deliver the goods—more time than usual, which allowed her to work with a steady hand, minimizing the panic that usually accompanied this task.

After closing her laptop, Sakura took a long swig from the bottle before dragging herself to her bed. She collapsed onto the dried, blood-stained mattress, not bothering with the sheets she had neglected to dry. Sleep was her only goal. Her exhausted body sank into the mattress, and she quickly fell into a deep sleep, hoping that her nightmares might provide some escape from her waking nightmare.

Sakura woke the next afternoon, her head pounding with a vicious hangover. She practically crawled into the kitchen, desperate for water. She mixed in some salt and drank the concoction down, refilling her glass and chasing it with plain. She was severely dehydrated, and every throb in her head felt like a hammer striking her skull. The pain in her temple reminded her of the wound, and she winced as her fingers brushed against it.

Making her way to the bathroom, she caught sight of her reflection. Her hair was a tangled mess, especially on the side where Kakashi had dragged her out of bed. Dried blood clung to her cheek from the cut on her temple, and his blood still stained her hands and shirt. She peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her. But the warmth did little to soothe her. She scrubbed her skin raw with soap, trying to wash away the stench that now only reminded her of him, of how he had used the same soap just a day before.

Her stomach churned at the thought, and the full weight of the previous night came crashing back into her now-sober mind. Her first instinct was to reach for the bottle, to drown it all out again, but she felt too sick, too worn out. She realized she needed a break from it all.

After her shower, she forced herself to eat some toast, though she felt like death. She was grateful for the day off, giving her some time to recover. But her heart nearly stopped when she heard a knock at the door. She froze, panic bubbling up inside her as she listened. After a second, faint knock, she slowly approached the front door, her heart racing. Peering through the peephole, she saw Ino standing there.

Sakura exhaled, relief flooding through her. She opened the door to her childhood best friend. Ino's bright smile faded as she took in Sakura's appearance. The bruise on her temple, her still-wet hair, the dark circles under her eyes, and her frail frame painted a grim picture.

"Damn, Forehead, are you alright?" Ino asked, concern etched across her face.