And if I die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take,

Because I'm ready for a funeral.

Turbulence

Out of all the years you have known her, not once did you think you were good enough.

Take an everyday activity, for instance. You would look at yourself in the mirror every morning of every day, like most people. But if you truly were akin to everyone else, you suppose that you would've been proud with what you see in the reflection. In reality, you probably should be. Look at yourself. You are flawless. You have the pale skin that appears as if it's a thousand snowflakes merging together to form a perfect, icy complexion that glows incandescently. You have the cheek and jaw bones that don't make you look like a ghost or someone fragile, but a person who holds themselves completely, framing your entire face into a masterpiece. Your eyes are from the deepest onyx gems of the Earth, and they can either gleam with the purity that they are, or smoulder as if it were burning liquid from under the core. Your hair is almost an abstract artwork; it is splattered in all different directions, but it is somewhat right. The stygian colour of your hair shines midnight in the sun and moonlight and it trails down the crevice of your jaw like gumdrops.

You don't think you even need to consider the rest of your physique if you were a downright selfish fool. People think you are, but you're not. You may have the body of a Greek god, however you can never be as wise or holy as one. You know that every morning of every day when you look away from the mirror, you are disappointed, despite all the reasons you should not be. You are successful. You have the best work ethic that anyone could ever hope for. You are more than comfortable with your economic and social status. You know that you could get up in the morning and know that you were higher up than most people out there.

But that's just it. You're an Uchiha. Nobody sees you as Sasuke. Everyone idolises your so-called perfection, even if this perfection is nothing close to righteous. Your perfection is systematic, robotic, empty. You may do everything right, give your patriotic one-word answers and thwart the rest of the workplace under your condescension, however are you actually good enough for anyone? Maybe it's that perfection that distances you away from everyone. The fact that people believe you are so high above them, that they are just aching to get past the glass ceiling so they can do more than just look when it comes to you—even when all along, you have been the person looking up at them.

You are alone. Utterly, utterly alone.

You are a replica of Gordon Gekko. Maybe even worse. At least sometimes, he gets his head out of the clouds. People weren't kidding when they said money never sleeps, because in your world, it never ends. Sometimes you wish you had just taken off like your faceless brother had, but then you clench your jaw and claim that no, you won't, because you are obligated to so many expectations that are held in front of you. Your father would want you to be doing this. He wouldn't want you to be running away like your nuisance of a brother. He wouldn't want you to be a failure. He wouldn't want you to be... yourself.

There are times that you are able to just lay in your lonesome bed and pause time. Just maybe have a few seconds—is that so hard to ask for?—to give to yourself. You so much wish that you could live for yourself. You are drowning under the surface, stifling your breaths and seeing the limitless sky above you. The freedom that you will never reach.

And that is where she comes in.

You have known her for years, but it really feels like centuries. You met her in a retirement castle: you were young then, perhaps not being a CEO, but still fulfilling your father's wishes. Your father wanted you to experience a variety of environments that considered the work place, and you had to admit you had groaned audibly at the thought of a retirement castle. As of present, you can't quite decide whether or not you would take back going there.

As a boy of youth, you were capable of having a vast knowledge of technology, one that most elderly people lacked of. You remember the grayscale atmosphere of the retirement castle and having to repeat over and over again on how to bring up the internet explorer, because everything seemed unrealistically new to the elderly people. You first see her once you decide to block the reality of monitor screens, clicking buttons and eternal questions. You know that from the very start, you are entirely different to her, and that no matter what you did, you would never catch up to her.

She was helping the more discontent elderly people—well, that was one way to put it. Some of them were mentally disabled, and you wondered why on Earth somebody would want to take on that job. It confused you even more when you saw the smile on her face. It wasn't a smile that marked a façade, but a smile of earnest. You had seen that smile many times, from your now-dead mother. It was a smile from helping people. The smile readily acquainted her soft face and her glistening emerald eyes, of which shone through the monotony of the retirement castle. She had a slight natural rose blush on her cheeks and the shade was mirrored in her bubblegum hair that was messily tied up in a high bun, a few escaping strands framing her face. She had a petite figure to say the least, and she looked fragile, toppling over the edge. More than ever, you had realised how easily you could knock her down.

But what you did not expect was how she would be coming for more.

Only at the end of lunch do you decide to actually approach her. She is cleaning up the remaining plates and scraps of food when you do. You stand a few metres away from her, however it is close enough for her to notice your presence. As always, you do not say anything, as you are waiting for her to initiate the conversation. She places the plates and utilities in the basin and turns around, instantly facing towards your direction. She crosses her arms, a smile emerging on her face as she leant against the basin, scrutinising you.

Her eyes sparkle. "Hello, stranger," she remarks, sounding more joyful than you think she should.

You take a moment before you reply. "Hn," is all you say. Typical. Nonetheless, she is not yielded by your lack of a response. In fact, she actually had seemed curious, and her eyes crease in wonderment.

"Who are you?" she asks, a rather generic question, but there is an edge of the inquisition that she is unable to hide.

You have heard the question a thousand times, so you answer in the same way that you always do. "An Uchiha." If you had to really look back on it, this was really a ridiculous way to answer such a question. Despite that, it was how you were made. You were made to get through life by your name, not by who you were. Everyone always accepted you because you were an Uchiha, even if there were underlyings of disdain and envy. You say it in such a dead-panned voice that she raises her eyebrow, surprised by your response. You can tell that she knows who Uchihas are because that was just how it was for your clan. You were recognised beyond belief and glorified even more.

Strangely enough, she just shrugs. She returns back to the basin and turns on the tap, rinsing the plates. After a few seconds, she turns her head by her shoulder, her smile even wider across her lips. There is an unmistakable feeling of understanding that swarms in her irises, as if she knows how you are already. As if she knows how much of you is conventional to your clan.

"Silly," she murmurs, in a soft voice, the tone like a caress. "I asked who you are, not what you are." If it were anyone else, you probably would've taken this as an offence. Claiming the Uchiha name as just a 'what'—a seemingly insignificant thing, was unheard of. But you know that she doesn't mean it in that way, because she waits quietly for your reply, acknowledging that you need the time.

Your eyes pierce into hers. "Sasuke," you say, with a new-found strength, with fresh confidence. You suddenly feel like yourself. Not a model actor.

She swivels back around so that she is facing you again, and the next thing she says makes you almost believe that your mother is still alive, because this strange, strange girl sounds so much like her. She makes you feel warm all over, the calm that you have never felt ever since your mother had died. It had been replaced by the idiosyncratic cold of your father, and that's all you've ever known. The constricting of your throat and the burning of your chest is surely real and alive at this moment, but soon you know that it will blossom into a spring. Change.

"Well, Sasuke," she whispers, her voice even softer now, the tantalizing crawl on your spine almost unbearable now. "You aren't just an Uchiha."

You can hear the unsaid words as she walks away from you, deafening and immobilizing. So don't try to be one.

You wonder sometimes now, why you didn't ever listen to her words.

Of course, you're usually blinded by the veil of ignorance and at first you didn't realise the meaning that was held in the words she said. You used to believe that you were able to survive this world on your own, because that's all you've ever known. You're so filled with obligations that you think one day, you might just crack. You are no where close to invincible. You can't take everyone's blows. You've never been designed to be a hero for any matter. Or at least you think.

These days when you pass her, you are aware of how you act towards her. In fact, it's rather brutal, and if it was anyone else in her place, they would've surely given up on her. You talk to her like she's a stranger, even if she's probably the best thing that has ever walked into your life. You can't bring yourself to say what you want to, especially when every part of her beckons you to cradle her in your arms. You can't because you're an Uchiha. You're not meant to be friends with anyone. You're meant to be successful, have a comfortable life and be isolated so there is nothing to weaken you down.

You question why she still bothers with you. You know how you are. You might as well be a demon. Your eyes hold nothing that can be given away. Your skin has aged to the extent that it makes you seem ancient; the complexion holding so much anger, so much adulteration. Your hands are the very fingers of death and surely enough, you destroy anyone that you brush past.

She catches you on one of your scarce breaks from the company, from all of the stress. You are sitting under a cherry blossom tree, and really, it is no coincidence. She finds you from metres away because she has your image edged into your mind, just like hers is for you. She walks towards you in a cautious manner, as if you are going to explode at her, and you can't help but to feel scornful at yourself for causing this unease. The light in her eyes has been harder to find every time she approaches you, but even if it is getting inevitably less and less, you know that if you looked far enough you would find it. You always would.

But most of all, her eyes look sad. You can't say that she's disappointed... it's more of a self-defeating expression. She looks like she's blaming herself on your downfall. It was always coming, though.

She sits next to you, touching your arm. The feel is so unfamiliar that you flinch away from her, and that just reminds you how much you really do distance yourself away from others. However, you have never distanced yourself away from others because of dislike. You have always done it because you believe that they deserved better; somewhat a protection from yourself.

"Sasuke," she whispers, every syllable engraved with apologies. You don't know what she's sorry for, and the long-lost suffix of a '-kun' does not go unnoticed.

You don't give a reply. You stare forward to the grass that's swaying slightly to the breeze, and the wind is a relief to the endless burning that rages inside of your very soul. You decide that you can afford to look at her, but the moment you do, you regret it. She looks so tired and worn down, perhaps worn down by you. She appears as if she's about to give up, but such a thing was unheard of when it came to you. She was always relentlessly coming back for more, trying again and again to no result.

You cringe at how much you've brought her down. You don't deserve one second of your presence, her purity, her light. She's really like a guardian angel, but you believe so thoroughly that you're not the person she's meant to save. She could be so much happier... You stand up, and you ignore her how stance crumbles when you do. "I have work, Sakura," you mutter, dismissively. Your voice is laced with ice, and you fight to not grimace when her eyes fill with tears. It's been like this for a while now, and you honestly have no idea how you could've let it change to this, though you're sure it's because of you.

She grips your arm in desperation. "Sasuke," she gasps, as if choking on air, "please. I'm your friend." The word choice of 'friend' makes you start for a moment as you turn back to her, considering. One part of you appreciates that she had chosen the non-romantic method to address this lingering problem, but the another part of you knows that everything of how she acts towards you negates that. This pulses through your veins, an unquenchable poison. God, you know that you do love her. You still do. And perhaps, you always will.

Don't be...

"We haven't been close for a while," you say, with nothing in your voice. You might as well be announcing the time.

You watch her bite her lip and try to conceal her tears. The phrase annihilates every part of her, and god damn, you just wish that she would break. You just wish she wasn't strong enough to stand back up again. You just wish she would hate you. Like everyone else. She shakes with the pain that pronounces through her, and the need to comfort her shudders through you.

You speak again, delivering the words that you know will crush her, but words that you won't stop all the same. "We weren't always like this," you muse, staring up at the air, smirking cynically. "Begging on small talk. We've never had anything in common, Sakura. And that was the death of us. We can't work." The blows that you rain on her, you know, will never be as painful as how they crash upon you.

She straightens her neck and stares at you with that same defiance you've always known. She doesn't even attempt to screech at you and tell you that it's your fault, even if it is. She definitely could, and that would be the end of it, but she doesn't. You know what she's going to say.

She swallows, hard. "If I were to give up on you, Sasuke," she mumbles, breaking with every word, "who would I be?" She looks at you for a moment, requesting you to answer the question, but you don't. You just continue to drill holes into her head. She sighs. "I would be like everyone else," she concludes for you. "I was never meant to do that. I wanted to make you happy, because I knew that if I didn't, who would?" She laughs weakly at herself, as if trying to convince herself that she wasn't melting away as she was.

She takes in a deep breath, and her eyes renew with the glow and growth of green. "Sasuke-kun, I love—"

"No," you break in, your voice like a cutting razor, "stop." She doesn't, though.

She's pleading. "Sasuke—"

You turn yourself away from her harshly, interrupting her again. "I don't care." You admit that the words did come out all wrong this time, and that you probably went too far this time, because you can hear her sob and you cannot ignore it. It's right there in front of your eyes and you just can't run away from everything anymore. For such a fearless person, you were afraid of a lot of things. You were afraid of not pleasing people, because you always had to fulfil obligation after obligation. Even if you didn't want to.

You cannot bring yourself to face her as you say the finishing statement. "I don't deserve you, Sakura." Yes, you do. YOU DO!

...a damn Uchiha, Sasuke.

But you know that when you walk away from her, it's never been about that. It has never been about whether you deserved her or not. It's always been about how you've needed her, because you know you do. It wasn't just because she reminded you of your mother or because she brought out the life in her life. It wasn't just about how you could make her grace that smile on her face for you. It was about how you saved her, and how she saved you. Not as an Uchiha, but as Sasuke. You were always deemed to be a hero. A hero, for her. Nobody could ever take that away.

You had hoped it to be the end, but you know all too well that it won't be.

She doesn't talk to you for months.

You stay in your friction between good and evil, your struggle between humanity and heartlessness. You find it so much harder, though, without her. You just can't seem to find the reason to continue on. Every day is a pitiful excuse to a living, because it's just a repetition. You get up, look at the mirror, become bitter, eat some breakfast, drive your car, go to work, get hammered for being a successful Uchiha, go back home, eat alone and go to sleep wondering why the Hell you did this for another day.

You start to think that she will never talk to you again. She shouldn't.

Nobody seems to notice your descent into a deadly abyss, but of course, who would? You're always meant to be perfect.

On one certain working day, you exit the workplace later than usual. You don't have anything better to do anyway, especially at home. Sure, you could eat some food, but you were never such a person with an appetite. You haven't been feeling like eating at all recently, anyway. You carry your suitcase with you and walk with the tiresome drag that you've had for a while now. The lights are still on in the building and there are only about four remaining people in the large, wide hall outside of your office.

They all wave at you as you exit, except one. You don't even want to talk to anyone, though. You fail to notice the one who didn't wave at you watch your exit, and follow after you. You reach the car park at the Audi that fails to fascinate you anymore. Before you can reach for your keys, though, someone reaches out and grabs your shoulder in a menacing grip that was designed to get you to turn around. You do such, placing a threatening scowl on your expression. You're prepared to go to an all new low with your condescension now, because you just don't want to deal with anything.

All the anger and wariness disperses, however, when you see how it is. The sun-kissed blonde hair is unmistakable.

"Naruto," you mutter, glaring at him. "What do you want?" You say it like he always asks for something, even when he doesn't.

His cerulean eyes mould into the coldness that could compare to yours. "What's happened to you, Sasuke?" he asks, sounding appalled, sounding disappointed. You smirk to yourself, and you can't quite tell if it's horror or disgust flashing through his eyes when the harshness of your expression accelerates.

You chuckle darkly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

You turn back to open the door of your car but Naruto just grabs you again. He looks more angrier than you've ever seen him. "Don't pull that bullshit with me, Sasuke," he growls, shooting daggers at you with his eyes. "You were my best friend. Look at you. You're a fucking mess." How he accentuates the last word abruptly resonates his disappointment towards you, but you are not affected.

When you say nothing in response, he calms down his demeanour, speaking more slowly now. "What did I say about easing it up on the work, Sasuke?" he questions, and you are shot with the memories of him always being the happy-go-lucky best friend, the person you ultimately ended up pushing away because you were too different. Just like Sakura. Naruto lowers his eyes towards the ground in defeat. It looks like the expression you've seen a thousand times now. "You're killing yourself," he says quietly, as if he cared as much as he had before. He probably does, and admittedly, it wrecks your head.

The painful silence envelopes the space between you and Naruto. You don't know what to say, and you're sure that he doesn't know what quite to say either. You assume he's probably formulating ways to try to stop you from the working machine you've become. You've become a mindless robot who's obsessed with success, but not fulfilment. You look at Uzumaki Naruto, your ex-best friend, the person who tried to save you. Amongst all of your nothingness, you start to feel twinges of pain. When you were younger, you accepted Naruto as someone who would walk in when everyone would walk out.

He misses the frown that escapes onto your lips as you open the car door. This time you are able to shuffle inside.

You know he's right, though. You are dying. Even if it wasn't physically, you were surely due for an emotional death. There was nothing left inside of your heart. You were draining away. You had been ever since you woke up that morning and saw the note left from your brother when he ran away. You had been ever since you were clutching onto your mother's hand as she died in the hospital. You had been ever since your father commanded you to do everything, for him, not for you.

They say accepting a problem is one of the hardest things to do. It was. You watch Naruto in your rear mirror as you drive away, and it feels a lot like giving up. He was still looking at the ground, his fists clenched, and his hair no doubt hiding the ruin of his expression. This felt not just like how you walked away from Sakura, but how you have been from everyone. You're not just failing them, because most importantly, you're failing yourself.

The moonlight of the night sky watches above you as you drive into the city lights. It's not even a few minutes until you're gripping onto the driving wheel and grimacing, trying to stop the tears. But once you stop at a red traffic light, the tears undeniably topple over. You brush them away angrily, disappointed at yourself for showing emotion, however most of all scared of what you're feeling.

You are a broken man. Look at yourself. Your eyes no longer shine of the strength they used to, instead they have blue circles that scar the skin underneath them. Your hair is rustled all over the place, as if you got up every morning and appeared straight at work. Your stance is hunched over and you walk with fragility; no confidence. You don't have anymore success because you're working yourself to death. You're no longer wealthy because you don't feel rich. Nobody respects you anymore, because guess what, you're an Uchiha, and nobody gives a fucking damn.

You're just a clan. A name. A label. Might as well be a number.

Tonight, you don't go home. You don't check your email again and again to see if Sakura had finally decided to contact you again. You don't have a two-hour shower, most of which isn't spent actually washing yourself, but just standing there in the water. You don't lie in bed thinking of every little thing that you shouldn't have said, all the little things that you did wrong. Most of all, you don't pretend that everything's okay... that you have to do this.

You park your car illegally in the middle of a busy bridge, and even worse, there's traffic, but right now you really just don't give a damn. You can hear the beeping of cars and yelling of ignorant people, however soon enough they are tuned out. You walk out of the car, slamming the door roughly and you dredge towards the side of the bridge. The rain had emerged like any cliché movie, and the sick warmth of the water thrashes down onto you like hot acid. You stare out into the open waters that now seem like the Bermuda triangle amongst the storm. Though the waters are vicious, they are inviting. You pause for a moment, because you can't believe that it's come to this.

You had noticed that now some people began to come out of their cars, the decent people actually asking what was wrong. You were very recognisable, so they even called your name, but it was Mr. Uchiha. It was never Sasuke. Never fucking damn Sasuke. You just wished that one person would call out your actual name, just anything to stop you. You needed a reason to not jump off this fucking bridge right now. You're sick of everything. Sick of being obligated. Sick of listening to order after order. Sick of wishing you had ran away. Sick of blaming yourself for your mother's death.

But... you don't have a reason. You don't have a reason, Sasuke. You just aren't good enough.

You take two more steps, and before you know it, you can feel the rush of vertigo surge towards you. You're now at the edge of the bridge, and people are starting to scream. Some are saying that an ambulance or police should be called. You almost laugh. What can save you now, if Naruto and Sakura couldn't? You count down from ten. People always say that when you face death, you can see your life flash before your eyes. You saw nothing. You saw black, an oblivion stretching in front of you. You saw a sky with no stars of reason and not even a moon for insurance.

It undeniably reaches zero, and you throw yourself over. You turn to have one look at the bridge, and people are gaping with horrified expressions. Some have hands on their lips, and others are attempting to reach forward. But the one thing that stands out that makes you wish you hadn't jumped was the blinding pink amongst all of the black, amongst all of the delirium, the emptiness, the disease.

"Sasuke!" She screams, her anguish penetrating through the air. She sounds petrified. You couldn't protect her.

You collapse into the water, feeling the cold crush into your veins and dismantle your strength. At that moment, you let everything go. You let go of reputation, success, wealth, the clan name, your father, everything. You let go of everything but yourself. You realise as the numbing waters wrap their arms of death around you that you should've done this years ago. You should have chosen yourself, Sasuke.

As your consciousness fades away, the last thing you can hear is her angel's voice amongst all of the Hell.

You aren't just an Uchiha.

So don't die as one.

Well...

This has got to be one of the most depressing stories I've ever written, if not the most depressing. I've got to admit, I cried while writing this one. I've always wanted to make a story on how Sasuke's just about as human as all of us because he's always seen as heartless, a demon, evil and all that jazz. But I've always known that he's not, so that's why I wrote this. I got a lot of the ideas from Wall Street with Gordon Gekko and I think that Sasuke's a lot like him, you know, the whole anti-hero deal and always conflicting between the hero and the villain.

Yes, I will continue this story with a second chapter. It was deemed to be a one-shot, but since I'm already at the five thousand word mark I had to take a break. I've pretty much got the ending in mind.