Naruto : Monsters: Chapter 53

Interlude: No matter what

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Does my mommy hate me?

Once, a very long time ago, Naruto asked me that question.

She was clutching a yarn doll in her hands, a raggedy old thing that she had gotten from who knows where. It was her favourite back then, always taking it with her whenever she went to bed, which explained why she had it with her.

She was wearing her pyjamas, a large t-shirt that hung off one shoulder and so long that it almost reached her toes, while her hair was an unbrushed tangled bird's nest of a mess. It wasn't as long then, barely reaching past the tip of her chin.

I could tell she had been crying again.

You wouldn't think it seeing how outgoing she acted, but back then Naruto was a real cry baby. She would cry almost every day. Just cry, cry, cry, a never ending waterworks I tell you. Never when someone is watching though, never then. It was always when she was alone as if she wasn't supposed to let others see her when she cried.

But my eyes could look beyond the walls that hide her, beyond even the long miles that divided us, there was no place she could hide to cry that I could not find. I knew each and every single time she wept and yet, there was nothing I could do. Every time I would enter the room, barging in to see what's wrong, she would immediately cheer up, pasting on a wide beaming smile and pretend nothing had happened. All sunshine and rainbows, as if she hadn't been brawling her out a second earlier.

If I'm only supposed to laugh when I'm happy, then…then…

…Then I'll do nothing but cry all the time.

I asked, back when we first fought at the Academy, I asked her if she would never let other people see her cry then how was she supposed to let them know she was in pain. She told me this.

Because no one will care, there is no one there to even notice.

I hadn't taken it seriously, not really, but maybe I should have.

I really hated seeing her cry, but I hated seeing her pretend she hadn't been crying even more.

Kids aren't supposed to act so grown up. I already told you, didn't I Naruto? Acting so wise and brave, you should leave hard stuff like that to old men like me and just cry to your heart's content. Just cry until someone comes by to wipe away your tears.

She used to have nightmares too. Not a lot, but enough for me to take notice. I still remember the first time I found about them. It was during one of my sleepovers, I had almost fallen asleep in the guest bedroom when a hesitant knock on the door had woken me.

She was standing there, her shivering body halfway into the room while the other half was hidden behind the barely open door. She had stuck her head in but refused to enter, as if it took up all of her courage to get that far and she couldn't bring herself to enter the rest of the way in.

She was peering up at me, in the way only small children could, her soulful blue eyes wide and afraid.

Can I sleep with you tonight?

I just raised my blanket up and patted the spot beside me.

After that night, she never bothered asking anymore, as if she knew she would always be welcome. Sneaking quietly into my room, tip-toeing, careful not to wake me, before silently slipping beneath the blanket and into my bed.

Yet, she would still not touch me. Not then.

Back then our friendship was still new, uncertain and untested. She wasn't sure what she was and wasn't allowed to do, didn't even know if she could hold my hand without asking permission first. It was as if she didn't know the limits and bounds of our relationship, what it really meant for us to be friends.

I remember waking up at times to find her lying down next to me, hand outstretched towards me as if she wanted to shake me awake or to simply just hold me, to feel the warmth and touch of another human being in the night.

But she was always too scared to.

Her hand would hover, just a hairbreadth away out of reach, almost but never actually touching. She would just wait, hand hovering in the air, too scared to get any closer but unwilling to pull back away.

So she just held her hand there, waiting for something to happen, for someone to cover the rest of the distance and reach back to her.

How long has she been waiting like that? Not just with me but with everyone, waiting and hoping that someone will come for her?

I remember how she would cry when I ignored the hand entirely and reached for her instead, pulling her into a hug. How she would sob into my chest, clutching my shirt in her tiny fists, as I held her close and rocked her back to sleep, wishing all the nightmares away as I did so.

That was the only time Naruto allowed me to see her cry.

Are you real?

She would ask me that each and every time, clutching onto me so tightly as if I was all that stopped her from drowning, sobbing into my chest while I continued to rock her to sleep.

Please don't go away.

Stay. Please?

She had saved the village by becoming the container of a Demon, became their hero, and this was her reward. A loneliness so profound that I could not even begin to comprehend. One that all of the money they had given her, all of the praise they heaped upon her shoulders, couldn't ever ease.

Ever since I made sure that Naruto never slept alone. I never wanted her to wake up scared and alone in a dark empty apartment ever again. From then on, whenever I could, I would sleep at her place in her high-class apartment along with her and when I couldn't, when I was needed back at the compound, I would take her along with me. 

So over the years I had gotten used to waking up only to find her sleeping by my side in my bed, first as a place of refuge from the night and the terrors they held, then later on, when her nightmares had diminished in number before disappearing entirely, as a place she found comfort in.

That night was different.

She hadn't tried to sneak into my room, though I figured she might. She had been acting off all day, more quiet and subdued, it was subtle so the others hadn't noticed but I did. So that night I had made sure not to fall asleep and stayed up listening, waiting for her arrival. After an hour, when I heard her door creak open and the sound of tiny footstep on the hallway floor, I thought for sure she would come.

She didn't.

This time, no matter how long I waited for her to arrive, she wouldn't come to my room. So instead, I forced myself to go to her. Slipping out from the warm covers, the wooden floor cold beneath my bare feet, I snuck out of my room and headed towards the living room.

She had been waiting for me as if she knew I would come.

That night, she told me a secret.

She was sitting on the windowsill, the one in the living room, looking almost ephemeral as she was bathed in the moonlight, knees folded up to her chest. She refused to look up to me, instead, her bloodshot eyes were riveted on the raggedy little yarn doll she held. One that had a head full of crimson coloured hair.

I killed my mommy.

That was the first time Naruto ever mentioned her mother to me.

I had completely forgotten about Uzumaki Kushina, and what it meant for Naruto to know her mother's name. It would be her birthday tomorrow and, like every year, she wanted to go see her. To visit and say hello, to finally meet her.

But she was too scared to.

I think she hates me.

She had overheard the adults talk about that day, about the time the Kyuubi attacked. They didn't know she was there of course, Naruto had always been good at hiding, even all the way back then, so they conversed freely, never once suspecting that tiny little ears were listening.

She stayed silent and listened as they talked about the incident, about the reason why the Kyuubi broke free from its prison, about how the seal that held it at bay had already been weakened due to the previous host's pregnancy, had weakened even further when she went into labour.

That was how Naruto had learned that her mother had died giving birth to her.

She could not understand everything, not entirely, not as young as she had been. But she had understood enough.

Uzumaki Kushina died because she chose to have her.

Because Uzumaki Naruto had been born, Uzumaki Kushina had died.

So without looking at me, without looking at anything but the doll she clutched in her tiny little hands, she asked me, with a voice so low that I had to strain to hear it even in the silence of the room if I thought her mother hated her.

'Never', I answered, and I knew it was the truth.

She looked at me then, her eyes free from tears, having already long dried out. She asked me in a voice raw from crying, how I was so sure.

I told her that it was only natural for a parent to love their children.

'No matter what?' She asked.

'No matter what,' I confirmed, nodding.

'Even if they are the reason why they died?' she asked, desperate for an answer. 'Even if their children were the ones who killed them?'

It was funny that, out of all people, it had been me she had asked, perhaps the one person in the world that can truthfully answer that question.

I tried hard not to think about that night, pretended it never happened. I did not want to think about it, to dwell on those events. But for her, if it was for her sake, for her happiness, I would do it.

I thought back to my own two kids, my twin boys. I thought of that night they had come to kill me, though only one had succeeded in the end.

I still remembered it so vividly. The pain, the regret and, most of all, the overwhelming feeling of confusion. I remember thinking it was odd, feeling so cold and hot at the same time. Of how my body felt like it was turning to ice as I laid there on the cold floor in a pool of my own blood, and yet how my chest felt so very hot, the wound I bled from searing like a branding iron.

And most of all, I remember being consumed by a single soul-searing question.

Why?

That single word was what filled my final thoughts as I died.

I tried speaking, tried asking as I laid there bleeding on the ground. Through all the pain, through the whistling wheezing that followed every exhale, I tried forcing my mouth to move and ask the question; why? But all that spilt past my lips was blood, not words.

I still tried, even as blood soaked my chin and chest, as the world dimmed about me, I kept asking.

Why? Why? Why?

And somehow, I think he heard me.

He had been standing over me as I died, watching me. I tried to see his face but couldn't make it out. It was too dark, or maybe it was just my vision that was dimming. I couldn't tell what he was feeling, his expression hidden in the shadows.

Was he angry, was he smiling, sneering, laughing, crying? I did not know.

In the end, I never did get to hear his answer.

Maybe he had given me one, but if so then I was already dead when it happened.

Still, if you asked me, after all that, after all the pain and betrayal, did I still love my children? Then I could only give you one answer.

I looked back at the girl, at Naruto, as she watched me so earnestly, waiting for my reply.

I did not understand why she thought I would know, why she believed I could answer that question. I did not even understand why she believed I would tell her the truth, instead of just empty platitudes. But for some reason, Naruto had always believed in me, trusted me with every drop of her being, even when it came to things I should have no right knowing.

So when she asked me if a parent would still love their children even if they ended up killing them, she trusted that whatever answer I would give her, it would not be a lie.

And she had been right – I told her the truth.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in my voice, no uncertainty anywhere to be found. "Even if they ended up killed by them, a parent, a mother, a father, would always love their children," I told her with an honest smile. "No matter what."

It was only natural for a parent to love their child after all.

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