FicWad

Itachi woke with a start, the events of the hours before his blackout on the leather sofa a painful haze in his head.

Of course, he was not on the couch now. Judging by the coarse fiber rubbing against his ashen cheek, he was face-first in the carpet. Jaded steel flickered to life, staring blankly at the cause of all his agony: a tiny silver box, reflecting the harsh fluorescence of the overhead light, and burning his vision. In the background, music played; he barely recognized his own voice radiating out of the hidden speakers.

"You set the mood, you feed the flame... I walk away 'coz I'm so damn tired of shoulder shrugs, doin' drugs... I walk away 'coz I'm so damn tired. Tired of giving up, tired of giving in, tired of everything around me that I see. I am tired of hearing "No", tired of letting go. Tired of having nothing to let go of...”

Part of him felt sick with the irony of the moment. But the rest of him wanted to get up and break the nine-hundred dollar stereo.

"Yeah, is there any way to make it better? Yeah, you are telling me I bring you down. Yeah, when all is said and done… I just want more…"

"Christ." Itachi spat a few choice curses as he groped for the box in his line of vision, curling his fingers about it a moment before he flung it at the nearest speaker, sinking back down in satisfaction as a spray of sparks sputtered from the torn mesh. It was then he became aware that he was holding something else in his other hand. Momentarily perplexed, he drew himself up, leaning his back against the sofa, and stared at what he held.

Clothing. Diced, bloody clothing. Oh, fuck me. He pressed the heel of his unoccupied hand to his forehead, trying to reason out the events that led up to this.

He vaguely remembered a conflict, and pulling his knife. His knife! Panic struck then--but it never registered in his face or limbs, as he checked his pants coolly.

Shit. Not only did he kill someone--but he left evidence at the scene, too.

"Spec-fucking-tacular." The Uchiha pushed himself onto his feet, and threw down the clothing in disgust, padding towards the bathroom. The bathroom was what had sold this particular apartment to him--it was massive, and done in a classic Roman style. A giant, submerged bath, separate, spacious shower, and a glorious sink and mirror set completed the look.

He peeled himself out of the ruddy silk of his vest, jerking the lace off of his arms so roughly the skin along his muscular forearms reddened, and stepped out of his jeans, kicking the designer denim and imported silk into the corner of the room. Working a hand through sweat-matted hair, he bent to turn on the water.
When the spray was properly scalding, he stepped into the ornate shower, tilting his face back into the relentless heat, never flinching.

Itachi half expected the police to come pounding on his door just as he began to wash his hair, but the fear was unfounded. After lathering his body, and rinsing clean, he exited, twining a towel about his waist.
He needed someone to clean up this mess. Were he home, in LA, it would have been Kisame and the 'Suki gang, but here, in the little hell-hole that was Olympia, Washington… He was fucked, and royally.

Then, his eyes caught a bent piece of paper, just below his mutilated speaker.

Maybe not.

Bending, he snatched up Orochimaru's number, and retrieved his cell phone. He didn't like it... but what choice did he have?

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Short thing to have fun with, oracle shapters are becoming more difficult to write.