-: B l o s s o m i n g A d d i c t i o n :-
By: Tsuki-chan
D i s c l a i m e r : I obviously don't own Naruto.
W a r n i n g : Mental issues, cutting, rape, blood, gore, cursing, drug addictions, eating disorders, ADD personalities, severe descriptions, FemNaruxSasu.
-: D o n ' t - r e a d - i f - o f f e n d e d - b y - s t o r i e s - c o n t e n t s :-
Himeko Uzumaki sighed irritably, as she sat down in the very back of the Library, thoroughly annoyed by her 3 and a half hour long one-on-one therapy session. She irritabley contemplated the slaughter of whoever it was who invented therapy—better yet, the therapists.
And on top of the almost four hour session, she had been informed that she was getting a roommate—just when she thought she and Kyuu-chan, her pet fox, got the room all to themselves. Overall, today was not Himeko's day, from the long therapy session, to the loss of her art therapy assignment.
And to top it off, she couldn't find Gaara anywhere! She had checked the basement, where he was usually doing something illegal, in the hidden wine seller, and even the sewers. But he was in none of the normal places. It was absolutely nerve wracking—she hated not being able to find him. It was a constant reminder that he could've gotten kicked out again for another three weeks.
"Something wrong, Uzumaki?" A deep voice asked. Himeko slightly jumped… he always showed up at the most random times, huh? She pondered, not needing to turn to recognize the voice.
"Hey Gaara-chan," She greeted dully, giving him a half-hearted smile as the redhead took a seat beside her. Carefully taking in the blonde's expression, clenched fists, and tense posture, Gaara smirked.
"Who do I need to kill?"
Himeko didn't dare answer, knowing that it was no joke—she chuckled anyway, though it was in a more eerie crackle of lost hope. "No one, Gaara-chan. Just blowing time, thinking about stuff."
The redheaded male raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but shrugged anyway. "Whatever. You know where I am if you need some help in the torture department." He had seen through the lie easily, but didn't feel like bothering to argue. "Oh, and don't call me Gaara-chan… it's creepy."
Creepy? He was one to talk about creepiness. Himeko sighed anyway, though, and rolled her eyes. "Hai, Hai."
Gaara no Sabuku and Himeko Uzumaki had been best friends for a year and a half, ever since Gaara had been put in the institution—which, according to Himeko, is just another term for 'loony bin'—for repetitive homicide. They had him in jail for one night, and then decided they couldn't handle him there—he scared some (all) of the officers. So they moved him to the loony facility, aka "St. Julie Kae's Mental Health Institution for the Young and Troubled".
"Neh, Gaara-chan?" Himeko said, after a brief silence. He grunted in response, so she continued, taking it as a sign of his attention. "Why are they putting the new patient in my room? I mean, I heard it was a guy… so, why would they put us in the same room? I though mixed-gender roommates were against the oh so important 'guidelines'."
Gaara shrugged boredly. "They ran out of free rooms. All they guys, cept me, got a roommate."
"Oh… so that's why—hold on, what happened to that Lee guy that was rooming with you?" Himeko eyed the redhead with suspicion. He smirked and let out a spine chilling chuckle.
"Don't go to the attic anytime soon," He warned, "And if you smell something off in the halls, don't worry… the stench will be gone in the next two days…"
Himeko shook her head and sighed. "Just don't eat the poor kid, kay? He'll give you some kind of a "youthful" illness."
Gaara chuckled lowly… "Too late,"
Himeko didn't laugh. It was nearly impossible to tell when the sadist was joking, but the mere thought of her best friend eating off the bones of even a psychopath like Lee was beyond disturbing.
--
Uchiha Sasuke moaned in irritation as he looked at the lack of color. Everything was a bright white, as it was in a hospital. White tiles. White walls. White Frames where white awkward award sheets sat with large white plaques under them, stating the year earned. Silence echoed throughout the building as if it was a roaring lion. Though this place was supposed to be filled with mental cases, it was as if no one living sole had ever entered it.
He had been two 4 other mental houses and this was the only one so… so hospital-y. At least the other ones had the decency to pretend that they were just an average facility for a few 'troubled kids' instead of going for the whole white mental ward theme. Well, at least this place was honest. Or as honest as a place with manipulating old therapists could be.
And worse was yet to come—the entire place even had the stench of a hospital, from the smell of antibiotics, to floor cleaner and latex gloves. Sasuke shivered—the same aromas which he despised above all others, mixed together.
The young Uchiha stared at nothing in particular as he awaiting his first therapy appointment. Just gazing thoughtlessly at the white chairs lined across the wall on the other side of the room. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Either one of the patients had color-phobia, or he had just walked into a black and white horror film. Personally, he thought the latter was plenty believable. Either way, it was annoying to think about, so his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
He knew he was being emitted into this loony-bin, like all the others. His brother Itachi had gone on a business trip while Sasuke was dying from a self-inflicted injury in the hospital— and if that didn't just scream "loving brother", Sasuke didn't know what did.
But, no, after returning from the hospital after three and a half weeks of white torture to an empty house and a small note that said "Out of town. Appointment with a therapist tomorrow at 12:00pm. Don't be late." Sasuke felt like trashing the entire contents of his brothers perfectly organized room. That bastard, expecting him to come just because he was told… which he did, for he had nowhere else to go—Itachi would doubtlessly kick him out of the house if he didn't go to the therapy he'd taken time out of his 'busy' schedule to make.
And so here Sasuke was, waiting to be told that he was going to be the newest loony in some mental ward, with a creepy two hundred year old receptionist practically undressing him with her eyes. Paranoid? Maybe. Thinking of his future? Undoubtedly.
"Sasuke Uchiha?" The receptionist finally asked… asked? Who the hell did the dinosaur think she had been staring at for the past thirty-five minutes? …Or was it just some kind of conspiracy to stare at all the suicidal new guys to make sure that they didn't off themselves with the blunt white legs of the chairs, or the dangerous edge of the rounded coffee table holding magazines.
"Hn," He grunted dully, standing.
"Dr. Hatake will see you now." She said, and winked at him from her post…very professional, He mused… and very creepy.
Sasuke had to walk down a plain hallway, through a pair of doors, which two employees were practically guarding, and into the last door on the left.
"Hello," Dr. Hatake greeted, upon the Uchiha's knock-less entrance. He had a bored tone and a masked face, hiding any and all emotions. Sasuke groaned in annoyance—if the therapists looked this weird, how much of a pain in the ass would the patients be?
He sat in the cushion-less chair, as Kakashi Hatake examined him with his single exposed eye. Great. He was already being psychoanalyzed, and he'd just arrived.
"Look," Sasuke said, his voice hoarse from the lack of socializing for the last two weeks. "I don't care about this crap-whole institution, because I'm only going to be here until my brother decides you aren't good at your job, and moves me to another loony-bin. Got that? So in the mean time, don't expect my corporation, because as I told everyone else, as soon as I get the chance again, I'm dead."
Kakashi just stared at him, as if bored by the little speech. "So, with that being said, nice to meet you, dick-wad."
Kakashi's mask seemed to turn upwards. "Good that you understand what's going to happen here—we're gonna try and force you to talk about your problems, and your gonna do it. Thanks for shortening the introduction, kid. Now get the hell out of my office, and let one of the nurses escort you to your room. Your bags have already been delivered and thoroughly examined for knives or razors."
The man pulled out a zip lock baggy full of razors. "We'll just keep these here until you've been picked up by your brother, then."
Sasuke growled, obviously unimpressed by the obvious lack of privacy. "Teme," He murmured, standing angrily and storming from the room.
Kakashi smirked—this one would be hard to crack. And with Ibiki's help, he was sure to get through to him at some point.
