Boruto was right there. Right there. He couldn't imagine what would have happened if he had simply stayed where he was, watching Sarada struggle. No, he had done the right thing. Even if it was dangerous.

He really should've thought about using his shadow clone jutsu beforehand, but there was no time for that. Not when Sarada was in trouble. Sarada, Sarada, Sarada. What was it about her? They fought all the time. Sure, they had grown up together, they had pretty much become the cliche childhood frenemies, but.. Somehow it felt different than the comic books he used to read when he was a kid. Not that he's any more grown up than he was back then.

He hadn't even started thinking about her in that way until..what was it? The week before the whole incident with that weird girl who kept picking fights with Sarada? He'd heard the story from Mitsuki, at least. Yes, around then, when she promised him that she'd always be there for him.

His dad hadn't shown up for another one of his mom's birthdays. Hinata didn't dare reveal what year she was turning to her kids, but let (after less than a few seconds) Himawari and Boruto split the first piece of cake upon seeing their dejected faces.

Naruto hadn't even bothered with a shadow clone either. And the rest of the night passed by with Boruto's hackles raised, the metaphorical elephant in the room only making moods sour as the hours ticked by.

Boruto had ran out of the house after they had given up waiting. By then, it was 23:00. And, don't ask him why, he ran off in the direction of Sarada's house. When he got there, he stood under the Uchihas' roof for an uncomfortable minute before realizing where the hell he was, and Sarada would never let him live this down for the rest of his life! and ran towards the woods near her house, ironically, the same woods he was in now.

He didn't feel uncomfortable around her like other girls. Obviously, the sworn rival kind of uncomfortable was very much present, but the "uncomfortable" he was talking about was the opposite sex kind of uncomfortable. The uncomfortable that, even though he knew her back when both of them were just taking their first steps, Sarada was..of the female population.

Back then, in that moment, he had thought he didn't need friends, especially not a girlfriend. Not that he even thought of her in that way, of course! Not when he had a reputation to uphold, either. An ego to protect.

Apparently, Sarada had seen him through the same window Boruto had broken in through what felt like months ago, right before she was going to go to bed, and immediately took off after him, saying that he looked "pathetic, but not your natural pathetic. You shouldn't ever be that pathetic." He had laughed out a tear, which she had wiped away but never brought back up and so it had stayed in the silence between the two of them since then.

And he had been pathetic, he'll admit. But she corrected him, even after telling him herself that he was being pathetic. In fact, she had said,

"Boruto, believe it or not, everyone has their moments. Except me, of course, but most people."

Her smile had hit him like fucking concrete. Or whatever. Something really hard. In that precious moment, she didn't have any scratches on her face like she did now, her skin looked healthier, livelier, pinker, and her eyes had seemed gentle and compassionate and it was almost like the sun was shining down on them even though it was almost midnight-

She was beautiful. And then a bunch of shit happened that messed that up. Well, she was still beautiful, kind of, but Boruto's top priority was to hunt that smile down until it came back.

But, that smile was long gone, by the looks of her.

Girls are so, so, weird.

"Sarada, stop, Jesus Christ, what are you doing?!"

She was throwing up next to a fucking rock on her knees, and Boruto prayed to God that the shit ton of blood on that rock was more dramatic than the situation actually was.

By the looks of it, the very least was that that hand wasn't going to be handy for a while, at least not without medical attention.

Sarada couldn't bring herself to even lift her head from the thick, yellowed mucus-slob dangerously close to her face. A string of saliva hung loosely from the corner of her lips, still connecting her to her own puke, shoulders heaving with a reluctant tenseness. Her wet hair clung sickeningly to her head and neck. If her hair has ever been alive, it was definitely dead now.

"S-Sarada?" He was crying now, again. Hell, he knew he had been sinking to all-time lows lately, but this was ridiculous. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to give a single shit. Please, let her smile, please. There's still gotta be hope for her yet."Sarada, are you okay?"

"Sarada, talk to me! Now! Please!" He didn't dare step any closer than he already did. Now that he had a closer look at the horrific scene in front of him, he could see a bloody mix of broken bone and mangled flesh next to-it was her hand. God, if you exist, I'm begging you.

Her cheeks lifted and her nose scrunched up, and Boruto could see the faint outline of the curve of a smile at the corner of her mouth. As if reading his mind, she turned her head as much as she could and presented a full-out grin, but it wasn't the same. This smile didn't radiate. It dulled.

And that's when he couldn't stand by any longer, he made the right decision, yes, he did, and he was pretty sure he was still crying (again, again) when he hugged her.

When Sarada blinked, she could've sworn she was staring her mother's dead, morbidly caved-in face. But now she was in the hospital, in what looked like the same room she was in last time. Then again, aren't all hospital rooms supposed to look the same? But she was certain that this room was the only one with those specific holes in the walls. It was a weird feeling. She couldn't explain how, but she just knew.

Someone was sobbing in the distance, and Sarada's ears rung. Her sight was blurry without her glasses.

She slumped against her hospital bed in exhaustion, then tensed up at the shooting pain that ran up her arm.

Oh god.

Oh god. Oh no.

She had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or living in some sort of imaginary, fucked-up world inside her own psycho head. She couldn't be seeing right. This wasn't real.

It's not real, it's not, it's not-!

Oh god. It felt real. Sarada experimentally tried to move her thumb, but found that her muscles hadn't even twitched at the command.

She was going to be sick.

Okay, so she was definitely out of her fucking mind, she had to be. Why else-and how else-would she be able to do this to herself? Scratching herself was one thing, destroying her entire fucking arm was another. Even if it had been on purpose, the pain usually would've kicked in by then and made her stop.

It didn't look too bad, now that white bandaging held the pieces together prettily. But then Sarada was remembering what it was. What it had been. In that forest.

The sobbing was getting louder. It was coming near her room.

Part of her hoped it passed right by her, and another part desperately wished that whoever it was came into her room. She didn't want to be alone, but she didn't want to have to comfort someone else either. Hell, she'd be happy if the person just came in, pressed the nurse call button for her, and left.

Sarada could move her other arm, the one closest to the call button, just fine. Stupidly, Sarada found herself too scared to move another inch. Scared as if that, alone, somehow, would jumpstart the unimaginable pain that was to come inevitably as a consequence of doing.. this.

As the footsteps grew closer, and the sobbing grew surprisingly quieter, as if the person didn't want others to know that they were crying, Sarada laid in tense, still, silence. Her eyes couldn't even make out the door from her spot on the hospital bed.

Then, it fucking bitch-slapped her. Before getting here, she had been staring into the dead eyes of her own mother, and one of them had popped like a goddamn pimple, just lying there, irreversible. Did someone else get to her?! Was she in another room?

Sarada needed to go see her. She needed to apologize, she needed to tell her how much she loved her, that she didn't mean it, and she would do anything, just please, please forgive her and let their family go back to the way it used to be. They used to be so happy.

The door opened, and by the gritting teeth and wheezy sniffles, Sarada assumed it was the mystery guest of honor that she had been listening to this whole time.

"Mom?"

Sakura was a mess trying to be anything but.

Sarada's face lost all former tension and smoothed with overwhelming relief upon seeing her mother's face. Both eyes were still intact, the only thing wrong with them was that they were both really swollen and red from crying. Her watery smile quivered and her eyes started to tear up and burn, and Sarada was so, so glad.

Oh, thank god..

"Mom.."

"Sarada, you're awake." So, so cold. Sarada's eyes widened, barely conscious of the fact that a few tears had just fallen from her eye, simply acknowledging that were her cheeks always this wet? She felt the sudden urge to get up, snatch the IV out of her injured arm, and stagger up to Sakura to clearly see her face right now.

She needed to know. She needed to know how to help.

And, to think, she even thought that someone should be comforting her, right?

"Mom-"

"Just wanted to let you know that you won't be leaving this very room for at least a week. After that, we'll see where you're at and act accordingly."

"What? Mom, let me-"

"Enough, Sarada!" She was used to hearing her mother's angry voice and angry tone, especially the natural pose she unconsciously took on whenever she was mad. But that had been different.

Never, had Sarada, ever, seen Sakura angry enough to yell in a shaky voice.

Oh god.

The floor dropped from under her, and Sarada immediately swallowed quietly. Sakura never looked so serious either.

"You're staying here and that's that." Her stark white, clenched fists shook at her sides as she stiffly pivoted around and began to exit the room. She stopped abruptly in front of the white door, heavy breathing starting to pick up and resound throughout the small room.

"I'll be back in a couple hours to see how you're doing." A pause. "Or not. Maybe another nurse here will."

She was gone, and the door had shut without even a single creak.

Sarada stared at the white door blankly. And she was back with that goddamn nothingness that led her to this point in the first place.

As if that couldn't be any worse, her own mother hated her guts now too.

Sarada isn't sure if she even did beat Sakura's face into oblivion or if she didn't.

Sakura could've gotten healed with her power combined with the other nurses at the hospital with the amount of time Sarada had probably been passed out.

If she had, her mother would have a pretty reasonable grudge to hold against her and everybody, even herself, would cry just looking at her own demonic face. And she'd probably throw up again. Multiple times, in fact.

If she hadn't, her mother still hated her and she still would never get that image erased from her nightmares. And she was officially insane. And she'd probably throw up again in this situation too.