The Harsh Truth

Chapter 15

The scream pierced through the air. Their stares pierced through his body. The air pierced his lungs. The motion, the piercing: to pierce, passing through, to tear something apart. He recalled the metal tip of the Kunai flashing in the light of the midday sun. He remembered the heat that suddenly was no longer there. The warmth that suddenly turned cold. The blood, splattered on his jacket. He didn't remember the walk, without thoughts, back to his compound. He didn't even recall if anyone saw him. He didn't even care if that happened. He just remembered the order to wash and then go to bed. He did just that. It was four in the afternoon, but he went to bed. The curtains closed, the windows shut, the door locked. In utter silence the covers crept over his head, and he stayed there, Akamaru whining pitifully next to him. Had he really been this ignorant? Had he really been this naïf? He was going to be a shinobi like his aniki, yet he couldn't stomach a kill in cold blood? The thought sent him back to the kunai. He had closed his eyes and the man hadn't died immediately: he had screamed. He had screamed like his very life depended on it. Would he scream too? If the roles had been reversed, would he scream too? If it had happened to Akamaru, if Naruto had asked them to kill each other, would it have happened to them too?

He didn't know. The guts in him told of the impossibility of such a thing, but it could still happen. It happened somewhere, probably even then, someone died just in that moment? Was someone dying just now? Was someone being killed, murdered, assassinated? Would someone die while he slept? Would a life be taken while his eyes were closed?

He shivered in the room. Without the windows open the heat was oppressive, yet his sweat wasn't due to the heat. It was cold sweat. He began to weep in silence, Akamaru still there, nudging his wet nose against his cheek.

There was nothing he could do, could he? No. He had killed him. He had passed. His team had passed. Team nine was official. Naruto Senju was their sensei and they had passed his test. Now they had time to think over their actions. This was torture. This was hell. This was being a shinobi, being a cold blooded murderer for money.

But it wasn't the truth. Naruto had been clear, and he was always right, his aniki was always right. Everyone carves his own path, be it through blood or not, through hell or heaven, through darkness or light…he could stay there and rest, stay there and weep…but the dead would remain dead, the blood would remain in his hands. He didn't know if he fell asleep then, he didn't know. He knew it was dangerous. He couldn't fall asleep with his door closed. He shouldn't. Yet he did.

Maybe, deep down, he just hoped to finish his pathetical excuse of a life.

Maybe, deeper still, he just wanted her to care for him, maybe a bit.

Even deeper…he was the one who didn't care.

In another side of Konoha, the village hidden in the leaves, Hinata Hyuga sat in her room. She had taken a long bath. She had scrubbed her white skinned hands clean so much they had turned slightly red. She was staring at the picture of her mother, of her father, of her baby sister being born. She looked at another picture, portraying Naruto, her sensei now, holding her with one hand, during one of the many days he had been tasked with escorting her to the academy. He was still a Chuunin then. He was the reason school wasn't boring. School wasn't boring to begin with…at the time, it brought her away from her house, from the oppressive atmosphere, from the elders, from her father. Her gaze moved on to yet another picture, this time with Yuhi Kurenai, another one of her escorts, in the later years, when Naruto was away in missions. Further away on the bed desk, yet another picture, of her, Anko-san, and Yuhi, all three eating dangos, when she had started to open up drastically. Finally, one last picture depicted her in her current attire, and she was holding Yumi-chan's hands as she made her first steps: she still recalled it had been Anko to take the picture, and she had run off home and back to the dango shop, to show it.