Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ A Red Rose ❯ Chapter 6 ( Chapter 6 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

IMPORATANT NOTE FOR PAST READERS!
A/N (06-27-13): Please see the A/N in the Prologue.

----____----____----

I cautiously followed Itachi into the darkened room. Tall bookshelves that had spiked my curiosity before now loomed ominously over me. I noticed that my bags had had already been placed at the end of Itachi’s bed.

“The bathroom is over there,” Itachi said, pointing.

I grimaced at the thought of the white yukata I had been wearing for the past couple days and darted for the bathroom door.

The first thought I had when I got there was, ‘Thank god, a mirror!’

The second was, ‘That’s me?’

I looked horrible! My hair was an absolute ragged mess, I had dark, sleepless shadows under my eyes, and my cheeks still had blotchy spots from previous crying. The previously white yukata was crinkled, tear-stained, and streaked with dirt. I looked like a zombie!

I had a lot of work to do. So I scrounged through my purchases for the much needed supplies. I successfully found the shampoo, conditioner, soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush, turned on the shower’s faucet, and stripped while I waited for the water to warm. A knock on the door interrupted me just as I was about to step in.

“Hello?” I asked.

“What are you doing in there?” Seriously?

“What does it sound like I’m doing? I’m taking a shower.”

A moment of silence.

“Don’t take too long.”

I rolled my eyes. I was female; I couldn’t help but take a long shower after not having one for – well, who know how long.

I listened as his footsteps moved away then stepped into the blissfully hot water.

“Heaven,” I moaned.

Using the soap, I viciously scrubbed my body until my skin started turning pink. That done, I slathered the shampoo liberally into my hair, not bothering to attempt to undo the tangles and knots at this point. The soap had been unscented but the shampoo had a slight smell to it, almost floral but I couldn’t place it. Shaking my head amusedly I rinsed and moved on to the conditioner. This too had the slight floral smell and I let it soak into my hair in an attempt to loosen up the knots as I breathed it in. It smelt nice.

After a minute or so of soaking it, I began the daunting task of coaxing my hair into a more manageable shape. I ran my fingers through the knots, snagging them often and having to nearly rip the dark red strands apart. I briefly thought of cutting it short after this but dismissed the idea almost immediately. My family might not recognize me as well with short hair.

After almost ten minutes of working at the knots and tangles, my hair was relatively knot free. The conditioner was long since rinsed out too, so I just shut off the tap and reached for the fluffy white towel hanging on a hook beside the shower. ‘Was that there when I had gotten in?’ I wondered. I couldn’t remember.

Ten minutes later saw me cozily wrapped up in my new pyjamas and ready for some much needed rest.

----____----____----

I could see the woman from my previous dreams. She had long flowing hair that reached down to her hips. It was the same colour I remembered observing in my own hair, a dark red. She wore a traditional cream-coloured kimono as she knelt over a lush garden, absorbed in her work. Focusing on a small bush with tiny, golden flowers that I didn’t know the name of, the woman continued pruning the bush, unaware that she was being observed.

Where am I? I wondered. This was not what I last remembered. It was all very confusing, to say the least.

I stepped forward, intent on questioning the woman, when the quiet garden scene suddenly shifted to one teeming with human life. Small children played jubilantly on the park structures under the watchful eyes of their mothers, fathers, siblings, aunts, or uncles, at least one always within arms reach of their young one.

Even knowing that I had to be in some kind of dream, I attempted to make contact with one of the parents. This dream was different than my previous ones where I had had no control over what happened in it. This time, I felt as though I were within the scenes themselves and able to affect them.

However, as I approached, they took absolutely no notice of me, as though I wasn’t even there. Then I again noticed the same red-haired woman from the garden and my previous dreams. She was moving around after a little girl of about 3 years of age. The little girl had her mother’s hair colour and I also recognized her from my dreams. Me? I wondered.

Curious, I watched them a little longer, wondering where this dream could be leading me. Unlike the last time, which I remembered quite well, this was not dark or gloomy or frightening in the least. Instead, it was calming and warm, with a soothing air that made you feel as though everything was alright with the world.

The tiny toddler I had been observing ran around the slide in joyous glee, managing to avoid her mother’s hands as they reached for her when she got too far. The girl’s father was nowhere in sight.

Still succeeding in staying a step ahead of her now annoyed mother, the little one rushed past the other playing children towards the swings behind me. The child didn’t seem to see me.

About to step out of her way, I watched as she tripped over the edge of the jungle gym’s sand pit. Reaching down instinctively to catch her as she fell, my arms merely ghosted right through her tumbling body.

Amazed and shocked I watched as the girl landed hard and her mother rushed, yelling, to her side. Crying with tears running down her porcelain face, the small child was immediately scooped up into her mother’s arms and held close as she embraced her daughter.

After a few moments though, the older woman shifted the girl back until they were face to face. Speaking comforting words to her daughter, I heard with surprise the mother telling her daughter to heal the scraps on her tiny hands.

Completely baffled and not understanding at all what was going on with this bizarre dream, I merely stood speechless, unable to think.

“Here, I’ll show you,” the mother was saying.

She raised one hand in front of the little girl and a second later it began glowing a soft coppery-red colour. What was even stranger, or almost as strange, was that none of the people around the playground, nor the daughter, seemed surprised at all. A few glanced over but no gazes lingered.

The little girl lifted her hand to copy her mother. After a few moments, her hand flickered with the same colour as her mother’s only fainter. It only lasted a second before it flickered again and went out. The girl’s face scrunched up in juvenile frustration.

“Why won’t it work, mommy?” she questioned, waving her hand in front of her mother’s face as though that would make her answer faster.

The woman merely smiled. “Just try again,” she said. “Just think hard about what you want to do and focus all of that thought on your hand.”

The girl squeezed her eyes tight; concentrating with all her young mind’s will power on bringing forth the small amount of iridescent light her mother had produced.

When the girl’s hand flared brightly after a few seconds of concentration, the girl’s face broke into a smile of pure joy at her obvious accomplishment.

“Amazing,” the mother whispered to herself, though I could hear every word as though she were speaking directly to me. “Still so young…”

As I looked on, the wounds on the girl’s glowing hand were instantly healed over. A minute later she managed to do the same with her other hand.

On an inclination, I looked down at my own hands. Was I able to do such a thing? Heal myself as the young girl had? Itachi had mentioned that I had healed  fast before, but I hadn’t done that consciously...

Before I had the chance to test my theory the scene switched right before my eyes. The girls were the same but this time there was also a man in the picture.

The mother and child were reclining on a large bed, secure under large, downy sheets that sheltered them from the cold penetrating the room through the glass of a window that showed a winter scene beyond it. Candles burned, offering muted lighting so that the woman could read to the child in her lap. The man, who I assumed to be the father, was seated on a high backed chair in the far corner of the room watching the loving scene, though not directly a part of it.

I tried to get a better look at him but the shadows created by the candles hid any features from view and no matter how close I got, the shadows wouldn’t dissipate. As the girl continued to listen to her mother, absorbed in the story, the man just sat there, saying nothing, not moving.

Strange was the only way I could describe it. The feeling I got from it was one of discomfort, as though I was intruding in a private moment, which I supposed I was.

“…‘But that’s too close to your mouth,’ said the gingerbread man. ‘You’re going to eat me!’ ‘I told you, I don’t like gingerbread!’ the fox growled. ‘Well, ok,’ said the gingerbread man. And with that, he climbed onto the fox’s snout…”

The story captured my attention. It was amazing how children’s stories, while seeming so innocent and carefree, were able to impart the lessons of life within the thin folds of their pages, instructing unknowing minds on how to act, how to speak, how to feel, how to live. It was frightening, the powers these stories could hold.

“…The minute the gingerbread man reached the fox’s snout, the fox flipped his nose and sent the little cookie sailing into the air. The gingerbread man fell into the fox’s mouth and disappeared with a slurp…”

‘Well, that sucks,’ I thought.

“…‘I don’t like gingerbread,’ the fox growled as he reached the other side of the river. ‘I love gingerbread.’ And had Mrs. Mixit been listening at that moment, she would have been very pleased for the fox said the gingerbread man was the best he had ever tasted.”

How devious. The gingerbread man had been tricked and deceived by the sly fox and, in the end, was eaten. Obviously, the moral of this story was to never trust strangers.

“Why did the fox eat the gingerbread man?” the little girl asked. “He was supposed to help the gingerbread man across the river.”

The mother looked down at her daughter.

“Not all people are nice,” she said. “You have to be careful.”

The girl stuck up her nose.

“There are no bad people here,” she said confidently.

“And why is that?”

The girl’s looked at her mother as though she had just asked the most obvious question in the world.

“Because Daddy protects us,” she said, smiling at her father, who was still seated in the corner.

The mother’s eyes widened in surprise and then she smiled at her husband as well. She patted her daughter on the head.

“Of course, dear,” she said, smiling.

“Of course.”

----____----____----

It was probably the lack of Itachi’s constant breathing that roused me again from my sleep. Upon opening my eyes, I found myself alone in the semi-dark room with the moonlight still streaming in from the open window. The bookcases lining the walls were shrouded in shadow.
I extricated myself from my mat on the floor and silently moved across the room. The first thing I did was try the door handle.

To my growing amazement, it was open. Peeking out first to make sure Itachi wasn’t just outside waiting for me; I slipped out into the darkness of hallway where I was completely shrouded in shadow. Softly and slowly, I crept past closed door after closed door; not trying any of them for fear that there might be someone on the other side.

The end of the hallway halted my steps. The shoji screen doorway there was lit softly by a natural looking light on the other side. Testing my luck, I moved the screen open a sliver, just wide enough for me to peek through.

It was the moon that was giving off the light. The door led outside.

Not believing my luck, I slid the screen open the rest of the way and made my way out silently, sliding it shut behind me.

I was in a garden. Trees, bushes, shrubs, and flowers of every colour were bathed in the pale moonlight. A few of the trees were laden with ripe fruit, the varieties of which were utterly foreign to me. Berries decorated the bushes and I could see rows of earth-growing plants and vegetables farther down.

It was beautiful.

I giggled with girlish delight at having found such a paradise in this gloomy place and promptly stuffed my mouth full of juicy berries, sudden ravenous with late-night cravings.

Some of the berries were tart and some were sweet but all were delicious. The larger fruit followed at a more sedate pace. Tangy, sweet, and sour all blended on my tongue as I tried each and every one I could see.

Gathering a bunch in my arms to take with me, I began searching for a place to stash my horde when a sound stopped me in my tracks.

It sounded like something sharp hitting wood.

“Thunk.”

I listened, trying to pinpoint the source.

“Thunk.”

It was coming from deeper into the garden. Distracted by the fruit as I had been, I hadn’t ventured far. Now I was curious about what was over there.

Setting down my bundle behind a thorny rose bush with peach-colour blossoms, I made my way as quietly as I could closer to the sound. It suddenly came in rapid succession and made me pause.

“Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.”
Like many other things I was experiencing recently, the sound was familiar but I couldn’t pinpoint it. I listened again to see if I could recognize it but no more sounds came. The garden was suddenly dead silent.

I shuddered with nervousness. What was I thinking? I should have left with my food and been away by now.

I was turning back when I heard a sound that was distinctly human.

Laboured breathing.

Cursing my bad luck and terrified of being caught, I tensed to dart back the way I had come in case someone had spotted me.

After I had stood frozen for a couple minutes and the unknown person had moved neither closer nor farther away, curiosity once again became dominate in my mind.

Cautiously creeping forward and avoiding the few branches that littered the small path, I drew nearer and nearer. Pushing aside the hanging branches of a red-fruit bearing tree, I caught my first glimpse of the source of the sound.

My breath left me in a sort of half strangled gasp and I clasped my hand over my mouth to stop it from reaching the ears of the person not a few feet from me.

It was Itachi.

And it looked like he was fighting an invisible enemy with all his rapid kicks, turns, and movements. There were a couple times when my eyes couldn’t even follow his movements, they were so fast.

And he was shirtless.

And covered in sweat.

And now I knew why he was so nicely toned.

My ogling, of course, came to a halt when he looked my way.

Blushing furiously, I dove back into the cover of the trees, racing in the direction of the compound and ruthlessly berating myself for getting caught.

Naturally I didn’t get far.

Itachi’s hand enveloped my wrist and pulled me back to the little clearing. He didn’t let go as he turned me to face him and demanded what I was doing there.

I turned my head away and stubbornly refused to answer.

Itachi’s free hand came up to grasp my chin and forced my eyes to meet his. Once again they were blank of all emotion. I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of anger in those bottomless black depths.

He asked me again, “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” I muttered mulishly.

His eyes narrowed slightly but otherwise no emotion escaped from his internal grasp.

It was probably wrong to provoke him but I was already half crazed with fear and adrenaline so I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.

“What are you doing here?” I taunted. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding me?”

The grip on my chin tightened and I could feel the heat from his hand on my skin. His eyes flashed once with suppressed anger and a fearful chill enveloped my quickened heart.

“I have better things to do than guard you,” he replied, his words harsh.

Then the hands holding my face and arm let go and he was moving away before I even had a chance to catch my breath.

“Leave.”

The stoic command was like a blow to my chest after I had already had the breath knocked out of me. I stood there like a fool trying to clench my hands tightly enough to stop them from shaking and failing magnificently.

Itachi’s black eyes pierced mine as he resumed tossing what I could now see were kunai into an old tree, never looking away from me.

Gulping heavily, I fought to get the fear, hurt, and anger that threatened to overwhelm me back under control.

I managed to turn around stiffly and near-ran all the way back to the shoji screen that I had come out of what seemed like ages ago. Leaning on the wall and gasping from my little sprint, I delayed going in for as long as I could. Looking back into the trees I could just make out tiny flickers of movement between their branches.

Why had I reacted like that? Somehow, I got the impression that people did not normally react so strongly when they sensed a threat. Rather, everyone seemed self-sufficient in that respect, even at a young age. Yet my hands were still trembling.

Why was I so different? First the healing thing, now all those feelings. I knew I had reacted strongly before but I had always assumed it was just shock from the amnesia. It was just all raw emotion with me, it seemed.

Deliberately turning my mind away from continuing that thought, I slunk down to lean my back against the wall and decided to wait for Itachi there. I had no desire to return to his room like an obedient little captive now that I had my composure back (more or less). I could always try running away again, but I knew how that would end.

So I waited.

And waited.

I ate a piece of the fruit I had collected earlier then waited some more.

And waited.

I yawned.

And waited.

When my eyes began to droop and I knew that I had to get up and do something or else risk falling asleep right then and there.

Fighting off the fatigue, I resolved to satisfy my curiosity and find out why what Itachi was doing that was more important than guarding me. Screw him and his orders.

Moving through the trees, not bothering to be quiet about it, I came upon Itachi still shirtless and sweating as he performed sharp, swift movements with various kunai. Every time he threw them, they each hit their target dead on. Not one mistake.

“I thought I told you to leave,” he said.

“No,” I said determinedly.

He paused, mid-throw, to scowl at me. I scowled back.

“Fine,” he consented, to my unending surprise. “Just don’t bother me.”

Then he finished his throw, my annoyance passed, and my curiosity returned full force.

“What are you doing anyway?” I asked.

“Training. Now be quiet,” he said.

I stuck my tongue out at him when one of his lunges caused him to turn his back on me.

“What kind of training?”

“Not a kind of training you would know about.”

Well, that was uncalled for. He just had to bring up my amnesia. And now I was pissed.

“Then show me,” I challenged.

Itachi turned back and looked at me. His expression was hard but he actually seemed to be considering it. I’ll admit that the possibility of training with Itachi excited me.

“You should be sleeping,” he said.

“So should you,” I countered.

He frowned but didn’t say anything to that.

“Please?” I gritted out.

Itachi seemed to let out a sigh and reached over to grab another kunai from where it had embedded itself into a tree.

“Maybe just a couple of moves.”

I clapped my hands with glee, smirking widely.