The Lineage

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.


The Lineage
By 11


Chapter 04
Circus of Freaks: It Bleeds

Shikamaru is the kind of guy you can easily latch onto as a friend. He's easy to get along with, although sometimes he'll act like a stand-in for my missing conscience.

I've known him since the first grade, the best student ever, slightly apathetic; someone who can't be hurt by anything because he doesn't care. I'd never seen him afraid before a few weeks ago. I’ve never seen him sad or furiously angry, he was constant. Just by hanging around with him he was my friend; becoming friends was easy. I never thought it'd be just as easy to break that.

Of course I guess it wasn't entirely easy. We tried to kill each other, it was technically my fault - if you overlook the fact that he decided to come along when he didn't have to - and after that I was missing just long enough for him to decide to get his priorities straight.

I don't hate him. I don't think he really hates me either, he just knows that it's not in his best interest to be around me. I can't blame him, I wouldn't want to be around me either. I'm still tied as a maid and 'meal' to a psychotic killer after all. If he continued to be around me I might wind up actually getting him killed, I almost got us both killed before so I'd probably do the same thing to me and keep my distance if I were him.

Nope, there is no jealousy or anger in me when I watch him talk and joke around with his new group of larger friends, a few of which I think he knew from before too. He's started going out with that blonde girl now too. I don't know her name. She was friends with that other girl I had a run in with then graduated after ruining my non-existent reputation.

She's pretty too; she and Shikamaru look good together. I'm happy for him, even after that ordeal he can continue living like it never happened. Maybe I do envy him a little.

It’s pretty terrible for me now though. School used to be somewhat tolerable because I had someone to talk to, someone I could call a friend, but increasingly I’m starting to think it’s useless to be here on the outside at all. It’s probably wrong to think like that, a trick of some kind. I’d have given anything when I was first at the manor to be away from there; here even. Now it has become kind of the opposite.

Even though I understand his reasoning, he didn’t have to just start ignoring me entirely. If he knows I’m that guy’s prisoner now then he also knows that it’s gotta be difficult for me on my end, certainly more so than at his end! He got off easy thanks to me. Maybe I’m a little bitter. But without him to ground me here, to remind me what was so great about this stinking existence to begin with I feel like it doesn’t matter if I go to school or step outside the manor anymore. I’m positive that’s someone else’s thinking though; some kind of brainwashing, it’s got to be.

But without friends or anything going on with me here, it feels stagnant and empty. It’s torture now, with no redeeming aspects. Shikamaru was my only friend really, and now that he’s gone I feel more at home at the psychopathic killer’s place than here. Creepy, dead creepy, it has to be brainwashing. What else could it be?

My back entirely scarred over almost a week ago, I’m pretty much completely healed, though the flesh is still tender. My recovery was faster than I first expected. The wound is closed but there are still some dark parts of the flesh, so it’s easy to see where the scars used to be.

Since it’s healed I can start running back and forth again; though oddly instead of running to school and walking back to the manor, instead I walk to school and return at an easy sprint to the manor. I would think it’s funny, except it’s not. I shouldn’t be in such a hurry to return there every day.

Dust swells in the wake of the opening door when I return to the manor. I always come here to find the place empty. That old fart doesn't get back until a few hours before dinner, sometimes earlier if he wants me to clear up the blood room and those bleeding halls.

I remember, at first I thought that it smelled rotted and dead here. It seems to be a good smell though whenever I come back from school; maybe it's just because I've grown accustomed to it, but it doesn't smell so much of dark and mildewy gump. It's old but it's not tasteless. I clear the dust away every three days so I know the buildup isn't actually there. The colors are faded but that's only with age. If you look closely you can pick out the colors things used to be; this house once was really glamorous. The stone is still marble, even if the once white stone is mottled with gray and small miniscule cracks, like spider veins, permeate it.

Now it feels like coming home, and it’s mere routine to get the supplies and start tidying up the places I cleaned yesterday; it’s kind of necessary though otherwise things get dusty and ugly looking again. It’s still dark and dreary and stuff but in my opinion it looks a lot better without mold and cobwebs. The smell from before still lingers, it’s a kind of staleness of the air, but I don’t mind it anymore and according to my gut it’s a homey kind of smell – which is also an insane thought. Further proof, my gut is no longer reliable; at least not once I set foot in this house.

Oh yeah, my back, the one that got bloodied up a few weeks ago when I first started working for the psycho as his maid or whatever, yeah it’s finally healed up. The marks are still visible at the skin level; point the scabs are off and the skin has it entirely covered over. Now I get to bellyache about discoloration of the skin and whatnot.

“You are almost done here?”

It’s the old man. I don’t start whenever he appears out of nowhere. Even though I try to be wary of him, my gut registers him as non-threatening. “Just about.”

“When you are finished, you’ll need to tidy up the blood room.” He tells me before slipping away into the shadows, movements so surreal I can barely register that it happened. Part of the atmosphere of course, for some reason my vision always seems groggy here where the old man is concerned.

My thoughts wander again as I descend, heading towards the blood room. It doesn’t seem right that this place makes me feel better than when I go outside and to school nowadays. It’s something I know I should probably feel self-loathing for, or something akin to it; but I don’t. It seems natural and only my mind acknowledges that it isn’t; it’s a little scary, if my mind ever started to agree with my gut… that would make me crazy right?

The door creaks open and I wince slightly. I’ll need some oil for those hinges. Of course they keep rusting up with the red stuff, but still they make horrible noise. The familiar scent of dried blood and flesh reaches me; my gut coils pleasantly in appreciation. I didn’t even realize that I was faintly smiling, as I went about clearing the left over limbs and wet blood on metal weapons. I found out only when I saw my own faint reflection in the blade of one of the knives I wiped down. Why am I smiling down here? Have I finally cracked?

I frown quickly, studying my reflection; face now guarded with a look of carefully empty expression. No I’m not insane yet, though someday – possibly very soon – I likely will be because of all this. It’s the smell; it’s calming… great now even the smell of blood has become a thing of relief for me. I used to have an affinity for it, but it’s getting worse now that I get to be near it practically all the time. I feel like a drug addict somehow.

This whole place is dark and cool; and every physical part of me in inclined to find it soothing. Even the decrepit construct seems to have an appeal and has become attractive to me. The manor is a consolation to me against my mind’s demands. Consolation from what, I wonder, the outside world that I so desperately tried to reach?

I let out a short laugh, devoid of mirth. I toss the knife aside and set about finishing cleaning quickly so I can head back to the house; the smell of blood is less strong there.

I won’t lose myself to this.

`

“You’re a vampire or something, right?”

My last bid for sanity.

“Hm?” he nearly purrs, sounding amused.

He’s not a vampire, though the psycho seems to think he is; he never told me, but since he has this ritual of drinking my blood every night it becomes rather obvious what he thinks he is. But he’s not a vampire; otherwise I probably wouldn’t be here.

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”

He gives a short grunt, something like ‘hmph’. So he does think he’s one. Interesting. Figures though. “I am.” His voice is always dark velvet, choking me and silencing all at once.

Again his teeth sink into my neck, and there is the rupture of blood. I can feel it slowly flowing out, but there’s something else that is always present. It is that same heat that invades my skin and slowly pours hot liquid iron through ever nerve. Rendering my mind blank and unintelligible I fall into oblivion soon after, barely aware of my surroundings and I awake to the dawn.

Then everything repeats.

`

“Why aren’t I a vampire?”

I have found a hole in his fantasy world, I intend to exploit it.

“What?” he nearly snarls, the sound trapped in the shell of my ear; involuntarily making me tremble. I manage to quell most of my shivers. I don’t want to let him know I’m afraid.

He hasn’t bitten me yet tonight; my words stopped him just before he did. He doesn’t release me though. He won’t respond either.

“Although you have bitten me many times,” I begin, my voice unfaltering, showing a calm I did not necessarily feel. “So why am I not a vampire?”

With a short growl, his words laced with venom, “Because I do not will it.”

I’m thrown roughly to the side, and my head collides with wood or stone, I can’t tell which, and consciousness is ripped from me. When I wake, he is gone.

There is no new blemish on my neck. I have successfully planted the seeds of doubt in a psychopath’s imaginary world. I’ll let him figure out the rest, and maybe help him along towards shedding this world that begins to disturb me in it’s pleasant rotting state.

It’s the middle of the night and I rise to lay on the cot that serves as my bed until the sun rises. It’s the last day of the week tomorrow. I hope I’ll last the weekend with all my time here.

`

‘Because I do not will it.’ Surest words of denial if they ever were.

It may or may not be safer to seek my escape by trying through the crazy guy’s already seriously screwed up psyche, but it’s a viable idea I’m willing to test; until it’s hurts me. I’m in class right now, but I’m not thinking about the teacher, or the subject, or other students; always my thoughts are centered on that crazy old man and that dark mind trap. It’s not right that I like it there.

At least I’m still trying to escape, with this idea, right; this way I know I’m not entirely insane as well; yet. Escape, it’s what I’m trying in a way, right. So I wonder why it feels like I really don’t want to escape, as if I’m truly not trying. Technically I’m not. Technically… but then, do I believe that guy’s own insanity. That guy… I don’t know his name. I never asked, so he never gave it to me. It’s unimportant anyway.

I didn’t hear the bell for end of school ring. I finally noticed when I realized that almost everyone had already left the classroom. I head out, if I’m late that crazy old guy will be mad. Why do I care? I don’t know, I don’t want to make the guy who could kill me angry with me I guess. I do want to live, more than anything.

“Been a while you little turd!”

I didn’t even realize anyone was there. The secluded, unmonitored spot on the school grounds, the narrow brick passageway. Shui is there. He’s not alone. Three others, some friends I suppose; I think I may have kicked one’s face in at some point but it’s hard to remember too clearly if it was him or some other guy. Doesn’t matter either way.

“Hey Shui, missed me?” I ask an easy grin spreading on my face. Finally something I remember from the time I used to live only in the daylight world. Shui was injured and regrouping; it doesn’t feel the same without a fight. My hands are already in my pockets, I don’t have a weapon with me this time. Too bad, they might have weapons with them. Should I go in anyway? Of course. As long as I don’t hit the ground I’ll win.

“Yeah, I figured it was about time I paid you back for what you did to my face, you piece of shit.” He sneers. Pre-fight banter, it’s not the same without it. “So you gonna come over here or run away? Bloody coward.”

“Bleeding pig.” I return, my hands leaving my pockets as I step forward.

They lurch forward the moment I am within the alleyway. But I expected it. Their movements are fairly easy to read.

The two who attempted to convulge on me fall against each other awkwardly. An opening; and my fist embeds itself in the stomach of the third. His body is thrust backward.

I turn to Shui. He lances his arm in a wide motion. The knuckles gleam and I see his arm move. Dodge, his aim is weak. The arc too wide. My fist collides with his jaw.

I whirl to take in my other assailants positions. One right behind me; attempt to grab. I let my body fall vertically.

My hands touch the pavement and my leg kicks out. My foot cracks against his leg and his body falls forward. He knocks Shui to the ground.

I twist my body from between them. Jump to my feet to meet the other two. They have already regained their feet.
Their bodies seem to plummet forward. I move. They both are wearing knuckles; just like Shui.

I twist again. My punch catches a shoulder. My arm catches the second guy's. His arm as leverage I drag him to the ground.

Release, and stand. My eyes scan the other three. I deliver a last kick to the grounded one. Then rush to meet my other enemies. To take them down. To walk from here victorious.

Even this is something I can handle. They're all fools. They all brought knuckles this time. But no knives. Did my skill in the last encounter impress Shui this much?

It's almost the end. I take in that only Shui and the other are still here. The other two already ran off somewhere. Bored or scared; it doesn't matter.

Shikamaru is standing under the breezeway.

Normally after knowing it wasn't a person who would report the fight I would simply continue. Shikamaru had never seen me fight Shui and his thugs. But I had told him about it whenever he asked me how I got the thick scrapes and bruises on my face and hands.

But something in the way he stood there. Frozen in a wave of revulsion. His eyes filled with utter disgust. He wasn't watching the scene itself. He was entirely focused on me. His eyes portrayed nothing but detached disdain, horrifying distaste, and complete loathing.

Idly my mind processes that the look is similar to when I would talk about things... like this. My strange obsession. My brain connects the lines and arcs, and it ponders; that Shikamaru in fact has detested me all along. He has always hated me, in one sense or another.

Did he hate me all along? Were we never friends?

It was only a moment of hesitation. But that was all it took. My own stupidity. My face meets the dust. My teeth clack harshly together at the impact. I've hit the ground. The fight is over. But not the aftermath.

The blows do not cease. A leg jars harshly against my back. My gasp is ragged with the effort of trying to keep myself from giving them too much satisfaction with this.

There's only two of them now. If I could only get up this wouldn't be so bad; since I know I'd be able to walk away from here. But I never get the chance. They don't stop. Another leg kicks into my back. Two at once.

The scarred over tissue from my back has broken open. I felt the skin tear open. Now the blows are fresher and I can feel them sinking deeper into the red and soft flesh.

I'd be groaning out like a pained animal right now; if it weren't for my own self-control.

They're insulting me, and I can hear their voices. But they don't form words. Just masses of unintelligible sound. Even if they were words I can't listen to them now. My ears are catatonic on the ground. My mind turns inward.

The world around me ceases to exist. Soon even I no longer exist, and there is only the void. The misty darkness that recedes and then swallows me again at different intervals. I never wake.

But through it all brown eyes filled with loathing. Watching me as if I'm not even worthy of live. Then I am a bug, a cockroach, an abhorrent creature that needs to be stamped out of existence.

The darkness repels me back out into the daylight world. A world where even daylight is fading.

My eyes open; and I'm lying on my back. Shui and the others are long gone. The day is almost done. I feel cold; and I wonder why I'm awake when I can still feel blood slowly rushing out of me. Is my body still trying to cling to life? Thus it woke me to try and make me avoid this fate?

I tell my muscles to move. My body to stand; but I can't. My body is drained of it's mass and filled with lead. It's probably already been an hour; but I'm still in the alleyway. No one knows I'm here. Chances are no one will know. Not until another few days or so.

Idly my mind processes that Shikamaru never even went for help for me. Inwardly I smile a wry grin; as my mouth refuses to twist into the grin it imagines. Of course not, that part of me thinks sarcastically, laughing at my optimism. It's true; we were probably never friends.

Once those thoughts settle and clear themselves. I remember that by now I've missed the old man at the manor. I will probably be punished, just like he warned me. Then my immobility and the stain of red on the ground; just across my peripheral vision, reminds me. The old man can only kill me if I don't die here. It seemed nearly miraculous that I am awake now. But I can still feel my blood pouring out; and I watch the puddle of red slowly swell and grow.

I will die soon if no one finds me.

Huh. Dying... a few weeks ago I would have given anything, anything at all, just to live a little longer. Even though in retrospect I really have nothing to live for. Now... it seems pathetic and pointless how I was.

There's the sting of tears at the back of my eyes. I still don't want to die. I'd still give anything not to die. But there's nothing I can do about it. I have nothing to live for but to live; but that was enough. I liked being alive; even if there was no defined purpose.

Death isn't the closure a person may expect when reaching the conclusion of a movie or video... a documentary of a person's life. Those biographies of dead poets and philosophers and other historical figures. Reading their lives seemed to have a direct beginning and defined and satisfactory ending.

'I only regret I have only one life to devote to learning' he said. The following week the man's funeral was held at his lifelong home; attending by friends and family.

Friends? Family? I have neither. I don't want to die; this isn't closure; it's unexpected. It's unfair.

And I can’t do anything about it.

A warm tear slides down the side of my head and back into my hair. The skin is cooled by the air; and I realize how cold it is outside. I’m crying now… I really don’t want to die.

My eyes are blurred and my head starts to feel light and fuzzy. A dark shadow looms over me; different from the shadow of the alley walls. It’s a figure; hooded and dark; nothing but shadows. I feel like laughing but I can’t. After all this must be the reaper come to take me away.

I never thought anything like that would actually happen.

The reaper leans in close. I close my eyes as a breath of chilled icy air sweeps across my face. My skin prickles but I can’t shiver. Maybe I’m just imagining things at this point. I wouldn’t be surprised.

A similar cool touch brushed at my neck; but the feel is distant; as if I’m already floating away somewhere where the nothingness consumes everything. Soon I won’t exist.

I’m jarred back into my body roughly as something sharp viciously tears through the skin at my neck. I cry out; but the sound is raw and weak.

The pain and shock registers dimly in my mind. There is something different about this bite from the kind that old man bit me. It’s not sucking my blood out, but something else is warping in. Through my bloodstream; and all sensation ceases.

My eyes are open but I can’t see as my vision blurrs and darkness descends. Again oblivion comes, and there is a whisper on the edge of my memory before I greet the abyss.

“Your blood tastes the sweetest.”

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