Angels and Devils T FOR CUTTING AND CUSSING. Naruto Fanfic. Login to Kupika  or  Create a new account 
 

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Angels and Devils T FOR CUTTING AND CUSSING. Naruto Fanfic.Category: Stories...I guess.
Saturday, 1 September 2007
03:31:14 AM (GMT)
I hate this life.
Ever since Asuma died, my life has been just a pile of shit. My family started to
hate me. My mother spazzes out about every small thing and blames it on me. I
won’t even be in the same room, but she’ll find a way to blame it on me. My
father doesn’t even care. Ever since I went mute, every little thing sets him off.
I don’t say anything, because only then can I blend into the background when they
start fighting.
My best friends left me to do their own thing. One of them decided that smoking was
the only thing that could bring back our deceased teacher, so he became a chain
smoker. I couldn’t stand it; the harsh, strong smell of the smoke sent memories
spiraling through me, and made my stomach churn. My other best friend took Asuma’s
advice to the extreme; he stopped eating. He dropped so many pounds, it scared me.
So, I forced him to eat. But he found a way around it. He would just throw it up. I
knew that no matter what I would say would stop or change either of them, so I
stopped talking. I just blended in. I became just another part of their day.
But, it was excruciating, realizing that didn’t even notice I stopped
talking. Their usual motor-mouth friend is quiet. But who cares? Feeling unwanted
hurt me so much. Like I was just wasting space being alive. I tried to take my life
one night; I sliced my wrists. But, being the pathetic coward that I was, I
couldn’t go in deep enough. I amazed myself when I opened my mouth in a smile for
the first time in months. I liked the feeling of the pain. It felt so good;
all of the pain that was built up inside of me leaked out and dripped from my wrists.
I loved it.
So I continued. My parents didn’t see. My friends didn’t care. I kept a small
blade in my pocket, waiting for the pain to come back. Whenever I saw either of my
ex-best friends, I would grit my teeth in pleasure. I felt an icy hand squeeze and
tug at my heart, but it always crept away along with my blood whenever I would cut
myself. I noticed that other teachers were starting to notice the scars on my wrists.
To keep it covert, I started to cut my thighs. But, nothing matched the pain from my
wrist. I ended up with a lot more long-sleeves than ever.
 It irritated me, though, how my exes could still continue on their path.
Couldn’t they see what they were doing to themselves, much less me? They
were each on a path of destruction, one that would eventually lead to their demise. I
knew that I was probably being hypocritical, but I wasn’t going to die from losing
a little bit of blood. I wasn’t going to kill myself—not when I had this amazing
feeling to look forward to. Them on the other hand…

XOXOXOX

“Ino! Get up, dammit!”
I rolled over in my bed. Fuck my parents. Where did they get off yelling at me? Lucky
for them, my vow was still strong. 
“Ino, get up, or so help me God…!”
I pulled the blanket over my head. Oh, how I just wish they would disappear… They
were the root of so many problems in my life. Haven’t they realized that their own
daughter is a cutter yet?
I felt the blanket being pulled off of me, and a hand tugging me up by my hair.
“Dammit!” I heard my mother screech in my ear. She pulled my hair higher, and
then dropped me. “Get up, get dressed, and leave this house! If you won’t do
anything good, then just leave!”
I glared at her, my hands clenched into angry balls. I didn’t need to grit my teeth
any longer—my mouth just didn’t have the energy to open anymore. I jerked my head
up, then down, then stood up. Fine. I’ll leave. I thought, wondering when
the flames would shoot out.
My mother growled. “Don’t you ever disrespect me!” She turned around,
out my room, and slammed the door behind her. A few things resting on my bedside fell
down with a crash. I heard my mother scream profanities as she stormed down
the stairs, and a few more crashes as she punched the walls. 
I stared bitterly at the door, waiting for the wall to break and fall on her. She was
so goddamn annoying. Why didn’t it? Shikamaru must have it good. His dad died long
ago and now his mother is just a lazy mourner. She would never scream at him the way
mine does to me. 
I sighed, breathing out from my nose. My tense body relaxed a little bit. I should
just dress and leave. Making a small plan in my mind, I opened my closet door,
carefully going over my wardrobe. Most of it was gone; the laundry hadn’t been done
in a month or so. I pulled out a long-sleeve black-and-red striped shirt and quickly
changed into it, pairing it with a pair of dark blue capris. After getting dressed, I
slowly walked around my room, fixing the posters on my wall; the things that fell
from my mother’s little rampage earlier. I stopped at my desk, staring at the many
objects resting on it. A backpack, some shirts and my cell phone. I slowly dropped a
shirt onto the floor to stare at my only refuge.
My pale blue box cutter knife stared back at me, its blade showing. I smiled wryly,
and slowly picked it up. I retracted the blade—it would cut through my pants and
cause a bloodstain if it was out—and slid it into my right pocket. I felt a small
sense of heat warming my thigh. Having this blade with me always made me smile, even
if I didn’t always know it.
I picked up my cell phone again. It was on silent—I had muted it last night because
Sakura and the other girls in Kohona wouldn’t stop calling me. Idiots. Didn’t
they know that I can’t talk? I turned it on vibrate and dropped in into my
other pocket, wondering why I even keep it. I shoved the other shirts into the
backpack—habit, I guess, I always like to have my desk clean—and pulled the
backpack onto my back. I turned around and walked out of my room. As I headed down
the stairs, I heard the muffled sobs of my mother. I ignored it, and kept walking.
The house was quiet otherwise—Dad must’ve left. As I headed out of my prison, I
stopped. On the wall right beside the front door, a small whiteboard had been placed,
waiting for me. I recognized Sakura’s handwriting on it. 

For Ino. Please use this. Write what you think, please. We’re all so worried.
Sakura.

I read it twice, disgusted. My eyes locked onto a small heart just under her name. I
grimaced at both the heart and the note. How far was she going to go? I pulled the
whiteboard off the wall, and tucked it underneath my arm. I changed my day
plan—First, Sakura’s house.
On the way there, I walked slowly, breathing in the morning air. I got up a little
late, so all of the shops were already open. I smiled mentally—no one can seen me
smile in public—and gripped the whiteboard tighter, my fingers curling up in
excitement. Sakura would be out at her job. I could leave the worst message on this
piece of crap, and not have to wait for her to finish talking. I walked slower, but
with more excitement. 
When I reached her house, I grinned slightly. I kneeled down on her porch, writing
slowly and clear. My handwriting was usually sloppy, but I needed her to read this.

Sakura, I started. I hate you. I’m not going to talk any time soon, and
anything you try to do to me WON’T WORK. So, why not just give up? Look, I’m
going to leave this as a last warning. NEVER contact me again, unless you want my
blade to go deeper. Ino.

I frowned a bit at the end, wondering if I should erase it. Sakura was always so
“caring”, and she hated when I talked about my cutting. She was already freaking
out about my silence. But, that suicide card always kept her quiet for a while, so I
just ignored the little angel on my shoulder. I scribbled a little heart by the side,
mocking her own note, and left it on her door. I stood up, re-reading my message. I
mentally smiled contently. She wouldn’t bother me for a while.
I frowned again. But now, I had nothing to do. I could wander around again. It was
fun yesterday; I sat in the back of a coffee shop, staring at the customers, trying
to figure out their insecurities and problems. I finally settled on the fact that
most women were worried about their weight and men were eclectic; from the ball game
that night or whether he should order a snack with his coffee. I always enjoyed
watching other people struggle through their trivial tasks—it made me feel a bit
better, like life was normal somewhere. 
As I mused over the options, I unconsciously decided to start walking. After I
settled on wanting to go to the park, I realized where I was going. I exhaled sharply
out of my nose, and turned around. There was no way I was going there; even if
I was “always invited”. The last time I was there, I had good
memories. Memories that hurt me just as much as Shikamaru’s smoke did—maybe
even more. I felt my stomach churn as my mind started to dust off the forbidden
memories, and my heart thumped unevenly. I stopped, unable to handle the pain
anymore. My hand flew up to my mouth, and I squeezed my eyes closed. The ground was
spinning—not good. Why was I heading there, anyway? What was my unconscious trying
to tell me? There was no reason for me to go back. It wouldn’t do anyone good.
I bit my tongue. The pain reminded me not to cry in public. Even if these houses were
empty, anyone could be walking their dog out, or something. If I was seen crying, I
would never be able to go through a day without at least twenty calls from
Sakura. The pain spiraled through me; my heart thumped louder and my chest felt very
tight. I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to remember my mom the morning—that would
get me aggravated, not sad. Suddenly, my right thigh felt very warm, and I was
reminded of my knife. I pursed my lips and opened my eyes. Now, where was a good,
private place I could go? I dropped my hand and ran, headed towards the park. 
When I reached the park, I dashed into the girl’s restroom. In the last stall—the
largest—I leaned against the wall, breathing through a break in my lips. I pulled
out my knife, and smiled when I heard the click of the blade being pulled out. I
pulled up my left sleeve, down to my elbow, and overlooked my scars. Most of them
were still in scab form, but some were in its angry, puckered, pink shape that would
stay with me forever. I found and opening in-between two slashes right below my wrist
bone, and laid the cold blade there. I closed my eyes and my mouth opened in a smile
when I felt the sharp edge burrow into my skin. I pulled the blade to the side,
making a larger, deeper cut. I laid it back down, diagonal over my new cut, and
pressed again. 
After a few long seconds, I lifted up my blade. My blood had been pulsing out with
each heartbeat, running down my arm and onto the bathroom tile. My blade had blood
streaming down the edges. I giggled a little inside; the sight of my blood always
made me a bit high. I slowly ripped some toilet paper off, and wiped my blade clean.
I threw that into the toilet and ripped off some more. I folded it thrice and laid it
on my cuts, pressing down. I sighed in content. The dizzying pain that strangled my
heart so badly was gone. All I could feel was relief.
Well, cutting myself never really did fully heal me—it always just lifted
the pain. It was like medicine. It took away the feeling, but the pain was always
there. Allowing my blood to spill out of my arms gave me a soft, numbing feeling. One
that took away the aching in my heart and the churning in my stomach. It made me feel
better, like I could live through the day.
I smiled, standing up. I threw away the bloody paper, and ripped off some more. I
wound it around my wrist, slid my sleeve down over it, and walked out of the stall. I
dropped my blade back into my pocket, and pursed my lips again. I couldn’t stay
here. If someone saw me run in hysterical and sees me leave calm, they would probably
question me about it. Or…I sighed. Sakura. Everyone knows everyone here. Plus,
Sakura is a town hero. They would definitely be able to pick out her
used-to-be right-hand girlfriend.
I stalked out of the restroom, keeping an eye out for anyone I knew or saw before. I
was able to dash out of the park without being seen, so I was clear for now. But, a
problem still loomed over me. What was I going to do today? It seemed so strange that
I was worrying about my day plans when I had blood still dripping out of my wrist,
but it was the only thing I could think of. I was always irritable when I had nothing
to do all day. I changed a lot, but that never went away. I thought mildly of going
to the coffee shop again, but the shop owner would probably kick me out if I didn’t
order something—something I couldn’t do.
I noticed a bus bench, and wondered if I had enough money for a trip. I could go to a
new place. That would give me something to do. But my plan was shattered when I
realized that my parents had completely cut off my money flow. I didn’t have a
cent.
I ignored it, and sat on the bench anyway, trying to figure things out. I heard the
angel on my shoulder tell me to go to Chouji’s house—he would still talk to me,
but I tried to ignore him. The devil on my other shoulder shouted across me, telling
the angel to shut up. Every cell in my body ached to want to agree with the devil,
but I had to agree with my angel. It was no fair to Chouji. Just this past week he
started to try to talk to me again—he called my house and left a message asking me
to come over. I ignored him, because I didn’t want painful memories to invade the
empty space I had in my mind at the time. But, he was finally making contact; he was
trying to become my friend again. I couldn’t just ignore him.
I stood up, my heart thumping too loud. I scowled mentally at it. Why was it like
this? It was just Chouji. Nothing bad was going to happen. 
Nothing good, either, My devil snickered. Just ignore him.
No! My angel protested. He wants to be friends again—take this
chance!
I growled at them and they shut up. I wondered if Chouji actually wanted to become
friends again or if he was being pressured into this situation. I decided that he was
being pressured, and headed down the street anyway.
I knew the way to Chouji’s house by heart. I used to walk there every Sunday; I
used to skip down the long brick road that led to a dirt road which led to his little
house. His mother always had some sweets waiting for us—a plate for Shikamaru and
me and a plate for Chouji. It was a better time. A time where we could just laugh off
our problems. But now, laughing wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t change
Shikamaru’s habits; Chouji’s problem; my scars. It wouldn’t change the fact
that Asuma was dead and Kurenai was a widow. 
I felt my body involuntarily stiffen at the sight of Chouji’s small house. It
seemed smaller now. I wondered how his parents were, compared to mine. But I shook
off that thought, and walked down the small path that reached his front door.
As I reached out for the doorbell, I froze. My hand wouldn’t move. My eyes were
wide open, frozen. My chest tightened and my stomach churned once more. I felt the
icy hand that I always felt before I cut myself grasp at my heart, tugging at it and
mangling it in it’s cold, dagger-sharp fingers. I felt my knees shake, and a lump
rose in my throat. I couldn’t stop it. The painful memories that always lead to a
new scar ran through my mind, flickering in front of my eyes. I wanted so bad to pull
out my blade and slice into my skin, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move my body. I
felt a bit lightheaded—I had forgotten to breathe. 
I had to pull myself together before I started crying. If I didn’t, the tears would
swell up and rush over my eyes, streaming down my cheeks, showing no signs of
stopping. I had to prevent that, no matter what. I forced my hand to go down,
reaching for my pocket. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain hit my head. It took me a while
until I realized that my knees had buckled, and my head had hit the door. I pulled my
lips together, biting them both at the same time. I bit harder, reminding myself not
to cry, until it broke through the skin. The bitter taste of blood filled my mouth,
and I opened it ever so slightly to let it drip out. I smiled slightly at the sight
of my blood dripping, forming small red pools, and the pain lifted by a fragment. I
lifted my arms, resting my hands over my head. My pocket felt very heavy, and I knew
it was my subconscious reminding me of my blade. 
I ignored it.
I squeezed my eyes shut, then slowly stood up. I could do this. Even if my heart gave
out, I would try and try until I could see Chouji. I had to do this, no matter what.

I jumped a bit at the door opening. I suddenly realized, with a mix of shock and
horror, that my head had been resting against the doorbell. I looked down, avoiding
Chouji’s face.
“Ino,” Chouji breathed, sounding incredulous. “You came.”
I nodded ever so slightly, looking out into the forest that surrounded his house. He
was wearing a short-sleeve and I didn’t want to see his skin.
“Come in, please,” He said. I could hear a smile in his voice. “I-I have so
much to say.”
I frowned. His voice sounded haggard—he always sounded like this when he first
started his bingeing. I could see him in my mind—deep dark circles under his eyes,
his cheekbones jutting out, his eyes so cold and distant even if he smiled.
I followed him inside, trying to focus on the stripe pattern of my shirt. My heart
thumped in a strange pattern, and my stomach did a one-eighty. I lifted my hand up to
my left wrist, and pressed down lightly on it, trying to bring back a little bit of
the pain. It didn’t work, so I just bit the inside of my cheek.
Chouji led me into a small, dark room that only had one window. The blinds were down,
but a small stream of sunlight peeked into the room. I recognized it as Chouji’s
room. It was bare, the walls white, and the floor clean. A closet door on the left
side of the room was open, clothes strewn about beside it, and a small bed on the
right side. Chouji sat on it, his head turned to the window. I leaned against the
doorframe, crossing my arms, and I wondered what he was thinking about, but then went
back to my shirt.
“You’re probably wondering,” Chouji said after a while. “Why I asked you to
come here.” He chuckled a little; it was a cold, bitter sound. “I’m surprised
you even cared. I thought you hated me.”
My frown deepened.
“I needed to tell you that,” He took in a deep breath, then turned his face
towards me. He spoke so quickly; I struggled to keep up. “That I’m sorry. I know
that I was acting like I was a jerk—well, I am, but that doesn’t change
anything. I should’ve noticed your silence. I thought you were just giving me the
cold shoulder, like you used to, remember? But, when I noticed you started to wear
long-sleeves, even in warm weather, I knew something had to be up. That’s
why I asked Ms. Kurenai to invite you over that night. I wanted her to find out what
you were doing. I mean, I read stories about people who used to inflict bodily harm
to themselves, but I never thought that you…! I knew that I must’ve
crossed the line when Sakura told me that you started to ignore you also. My fears
were confirmed when Ms. Kurenai told me that you had run out crying when she told you
that you could always come back. She told me that she saw your scars, and the way
your hand always hovered over your pocket, like something was in there that you
needed. I felt so horrible—I thought that if I had paid more attention to your
silence, then maybe you wouldn’t be cutting yourself!”—He shuddered on the last
few words—“I feel so horrible, Ino. Please, tell me that you forgive me.
Actually, don’t. That’s too much to ask for. Too understanding.” He shook his
head then continued. “Please, Ino. Call me every bad name in every language you can
think of. Tell me that you hate me and that you wish that I was the suicidal o
Last edited: 1 September 2007

Comments 
eragon_gal14 says :   1 September 2007   589153  
Awesome! I can't wait for more.
 
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