Her body cried out at the sudden change as she stepped through the swiveling office doors of the conditioned hospital and onto humid Main Street. The woman stepped aside to let those behind her pass. Standing beside the tall, stinking campus ashtray, she peered around the corner to the cafe next door. In tune with her eyes, her stomach grumbled. The woman's shift had ended twenty minutes ago, and the cafeteria had closed just as she had rushed by. She had thirty yen in her pocket burning a hole, and even though her rent was due in less than two weeks, before her next pay check, she moved past the ashtray and toward the flashing neon sign that read fresh now to the buzzing beat of her temples. Even though she lived less than four blocks away. Even though dinner was probably waiting. She entered the ice-cold cafe and took her seat at the counter. Ordered a blackened beef sandwich. Behind the counter, the waitress eyed this young woman in white and blue with a cocked uni-brow and hairy upper lip. This woman came in at least three times a week, usually around this hour. She was usually better kept. Usually in higher spirits.
"Where's your dinner friend?" the goat of a broad asked, voice deep and guttural.
The customer looked up from her half-eaten sandwich, glass of water to her lips. She pulled the drink away. It clattered on the brown marble. Her nose wrinkled as she made eye contact with the waitress. The waitress wreaked of tobacco more and more each day the young woman came here.
"He won't be joining me," she said, short.
The waitress grunted. She looked over the other woman's clothing. The young woman's white dress was wrinkled and stained. The top buttons were torn off, and the tiny hat she usually wore atop her platinum hair was lopsided. Her hair was tousled. "Rough day," the waitress blurted. Then seemed to chastise herself.
Face falling, the young woman rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the glass of water. She sloshed the liquid around before sighing and pushing both items away. Rummaging through her breast pocket, she pulled out two wrinkled dollar bills and placed them beside of the plate. She turned in the bar stool and did not look back to the waitress as she trudged through the heavy door. The open sign swished as the door slammed shut, and fell to the linoleum just as the waitress cleared the counter. As the young woman walked away, a mother and her children passed going into the cafe. The young woman frowned and turned slightly to gaze at the boy. His laughter faded as the group walked through the door and over to the counter. Where the waitress quickly stuffed a piece of the previous customer's blackened beef into her wrinkled mouth and licked her fingers clean.
When she found herself back to her doorstep, the nurse sighed heavily, staring at her welcome-mat. Her hand rested on the key she had inserted in the lock. She turned her look to the item in hand, as if willing it to unlock of its own accord. Relenting, she twisted her keys. They jangled as the thump of her lock releasing roused the footsteps inside. She flung the door open and stepped in, only to be grabbed by the elbow. The dark hand that grasped her loosened immediately, as the woman turned, startled. The last ray of sun shied away as the door closed, glinting off of the golden ring on the man's finger.
"Sakura called," the man yawned. "What happened at the hospital?" He stepped out of the shadow, where the remains of a recliner and a bag of cheese puffs lay hidden amongst a blanket.
"A boy," she replied, removing her hat and unbuttoning her dress. She continued unbuttoning as she walked past the man and toward the hallway.
"Geeze," the man groaned, annoyance thick in his horse tone. "Care to elaborate some, Ino? Sakura said it was bad. Said the kid—"
"I don't want to talk about it!" she snapped, slamming a door. Her voice became muffled.
"What? I can't hear you," he huffed and flipped on the hallway light as he slid down the wall beside of the bathroom door. He sat for nearly fifteen minutes. When the shower cut off, he shoved to his feet and leaned on the paneling.
Ino cracked open the door. Steam wafted out. The man scowled and waved away the steam from his face. Her arm extended out, holding her crumpled dress and undergarments. "Will you please put these in the laundry?"
He grabbed the clothes, and caught the door just as she started to close it. Staring at one another through the crack, the young couple seemed torn between hate and concern.
"If you tell me what the hell happened," he quipped.
"Why do you want to know so bad, Shikamaru?"
"Because Sakura said it was very violent. That you were shaken when you left."
Ino whined and opened the door. Standing in her robe, she crossed her arms, refusing to meet this brown eyes that appeared filled with worry.
"Ino," he said softly, draping the clothing over his shoulder and reaching out to stroke her wet hair. "What are we doing?"
She jerked away from him. He followed as she power walked across the hall and into the bedroom. And stood watching as she dressed and crawled into the bed. The alarm clock on the nightstand flashed six o'clock in big red letters. It was too early for bed, he said. Fuck off, she told him and crawled beneath the blankets. She covered up her head and relaxed her tensed muscles. At the edge of the bed, Shikamaru wrinkled up his face. Untying his hair, he stood for a moment overlooking the lump to the far right of the mattress and sloppy sheets. His face softened only a little as he seemed to declare his inward decision and plop down gently beside of the lump. Dark hands touched the pink and green stripped comforter and were shaken in an attempt to brush them away. Beneath the blankets, Ino grumbled.
"What's wrong?" he snapped. "Why do you have to act like this?"
"I don't have to do anything. I'm just tired. Please leave me alone."
The conversation continued this negative pattern of whys and pleas only met with a stone wall, before finally Shikamaru gave up. The man stood and left the room, slamming the door behind him. And Ino stirred. She peeked her head out of the blankets. Waiting a few moments, she looked around her barren room. The couple had moved into the small apartment a little less than a year ago, and Ino had still not decorated, save for her old blanket and abstract art piece. All the money she made working at the hospital barely paid the sinking hole of debt from her father's funeral, and Shikamaru only made a teacher's salary; which in these days did not amount to much. She often openly hated her boring room. Her whole boring apartment. And she longed intimately with those outside of it to be free. More, more, more. Ino always wanted more. More than her white walls and ceilings. More than her oak chest that stood alone beside of a bed that didn't even have a headboard. More than what was outside of her current room. The old, ratted dinette set. The dust-mite ridden sofa with a red slipcover that didn't even fit. The lone picture that mounted offset the middle of the wall between her living area and dining room. Seven-hundred and fifty-six square feet of white.
Exhaling in frustration, Ino curled into a ball and tears inched down her flushed cheeks. Her throat ached from the ball slowly building. And as she rolled from the bed to lock the door, even as she went to the sole phone by her bed which rested sideways on the carpet, the man outside the room sat on the sofa, staring over his shoulder at the bedroom door. He was no fool. The whisper he caught wind of now and again affirmed his lingering suspicion. No. . . It was awful. . . Need to feel. . .I can't stand. . .Tonight. . .You again?
Having eaten dinner alone again (a sandwich had sufficed), Shikamaru dressed and left his home to prowl dusk. Past the numerous other apartments, across the cement, dragging through town not minding his way, and across the river by way of the red bridge that creaked with every step. By the time he had reached the destination he had subconsciously decided on, the weather had drastically changed. Thunder rumbled from above, even though the sky was still mostly dark but clear. Wind began to pick the leaves up from around his feet. Milk chocolate eyes traced the windows of the building across the yard. Now why had he come to the good doctor's house, all alone on this hillside? Some would say it was out of anger, but for Shikamaru Nara, who crossed his arms around his hips and leaned on the mailbox, it was to see his wife standing silhouetted against the balcony window, drawing the shades. Almost ironically, he chuckled and put his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. One white sleeve, which had been bunched up to match the other around his elbow, slid to his wrist. His hair, still loose from the tie he had thrown at Ino, waved around his neck. He smacked it away and then scratched. Turning away, Shikamaru looked up at the black clouds quickly making their way above him. The thunder crashed once more and a drop of rain splashed against his forehead. It trickled down his nose and met with another stream. Creamy teeth suckled his bottom lips, anxiously tearing away chapped skin. The man shook his head and walked back home.
When Ino returned home, soaking wet from the storm, she found her seven-hundred fifty-six square feet apartment even more empty than before.
And the rain continued to wash over the streets of Konoha as she coughed into her fist.