CHAPTER 2: Self – Blaming & Grief Causes Mental Problems

The hazy sight of white fog and blurs came to the view of Kakashi Hatake. He had just woken up from a blissful dream, a dream where he was talking and conversing with Sakura again. It was a lovely dream, without any nightmares or guilt washing over.

Just their usual, day-to-day banters. Her scolding, laughter, voice could be heard, her punch too. Fresh and clear. Strong and hard.

Although Kakashi would always dodge away from it, he still remembers their first fight.

Their first official fight, where she showcased her monstrous strength. Since that day, Kakashi's admiration and respect for her grew.

At first, he just saw her as a copy of Rin, since both were fangirls of cold handsome broody teenage boys, but they were also interested in medical skills.

Reminiscing of the past was a sign of missing or regret. Once in a while is okay, too much of it would affect the respective person's health. It was very clear that this single old man missed her dearly. [A/N: (TT^TT) OH YOU POOR SON OF A GUN! IT'S OKAY! I PROMISE IN THIS FANFIC YOU'LL HAVE A WIFE AND A CHILD! PLEASE BEAR WITH ME MY LOVE! KISHIMOTO HOW DARE YOU NOT GIVE HIM A FAMILY!]

Kakashi stood up from his bed and walks into the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of sake and sat at the dining table. He looks in the direction of the stove and continues to stare at it for a couple of minutes, before looking back into his drink.

'Sakura'. He thought. 'That night. I remember inviting you to my place. We spoke, laughed a bit, and you made some eggplant soup at that stove, that night. I slept on the couch, and you slept on my bed. It happened last week, and not too long ago, you and I were just talking, without a care in the world. Why? Why! WHY! JUST WHY?!' he asked himself to the point of crushing the glass of sake in his hands.

Blood dripped from his hands like red syrup. He picked up the small shards of glass from his hands, floors, and put them on the table. He then went to the bathroom to wash of the blood of his own from his very hands.

As he walked, he noticed the blood that leaked from his hands led a trail to him, making it look like a murder scene from some of the crime stories he read when he was younger.

He stared at it and wondered why Sakura was killed instead of him. Why did she have to suffer such pain? Why did he have to live? Why didn't anyone kill him instead?

Was he that difficult to kill? Perhaps.

Then again, he didn't want to die like a sore loser, he should at least die trying, die for something worthy, and not because of suicide. He'd be no different than his father. Although he forgave him, lingering feelings of old hate and despair would resurface once in a while.

That's when it hit him. He knew why she died. He knew it, and the realization wasn't pretty.

'No, I know why. Everything I want will slip away from my hands. It's only natural. I'm a monster that doesn't deserve a happy marriage or the gift of having children. I should have known. I'm sorry Sakura. I killed you.' The guilt that haunted him in the past, has come to bother him again.