This is a new version of my old, almost abandoned, story 'Monsters within'. Time passed so quickly and it seemed like forever since I've first written the first chapter. When I decided to reread it, I was left speechless and disgusted. The next chapters followed and slowly I noticed how my writing has improved since the first 3 or 4 chapters. The problem was with the story and also with the characters of course. While Reika (my own character) was exactly how I imagined her to be, Gaara was a lot out of character. Everything seemed to develop too fast, and there were many things that made no sense at all. I could have re-edit all the chapters and leave the story how it was, but my first readers would have been almost obliged to reread the story and understand all the changes I've made - it seems wrong, if you ask me. So I decided to rewrite everything , now that I have free time. And hopefully, everything will turn out better than before.

This story is faithful to the canon - only a few things are a bit different, but not too much. Reika is my own character and she is not a mary-sue ! I'm trying to give her flaws and traits as well, and I created her according to what I think Gaara would need .

One thing you should keep in my mind while reading this story : I changed their ages. While in Naruto they were 12-13, and then grew to 15-16, I decided to add a plus of 3 years to that. So, according to mathematics, that will bring us to the ages of 15-16 in Naruto and later on to 18-19. Hopefully you will not mind the changes.

Enjoy and feel free to review, criticize or close the tab if there's anything bothering you . I apologize in advance for any grammar errors you may encounter and for bad use of English.

This story will be eventually rated M for : non-consensual adult themes, language, gore, graphics and consensual adult themes ; the chapters will be marked with a warning.

Listen to : Aurora - Runaway.

Kind regards,

Sesamisen.

I obviously do not own NARUTO. If I did, Gaara would be the main character.


CHAPTER 1

BOUND

How can the Sun love the Moon so much, that he dies everyday just to let her shine in the dark night? It's hard to understand the unselfish desire to break your own self, to bury yourself in the dusty ground, only so the one you love can raise and shine more beautifully than he ever could have. Better said, it's impossible.

I often ask myself : how do I know it is love that makes you sacrifice for your other half, searching for his or her happiness? Love is a common word. Everyone speaks it, everyone does it.. but do they really know what it is ?

How bad do you have to hurt yourself in order to not care anymore about the uncontrollably pain inside your chest and care instead about everything you have to give, and who you'd like to receive it?

People are selfish, people are only for themselves. But how can one person be stronger than many ? Loneliness it's not the perfect technique to win a war, but fighting is.

Loses, death, pain.. I chose to fight them all.

And as the rain passed, I let the beautiful rainbow guide me to a whole new world, and I threw myself ahead, without wondering, into the arms of the one thing I had always believed in : hope. And as I danced with the devil, trying to deceive him from my intentions, I found my way back home, and there I found the one thing I've missed all along : someone to fight for. But firstly…


My parents chose to call me Reika which stands for lovely petal , very appropriate from my father's point of view, for he had always considered my mother and I the two flowers he would never pick up from the dusty ground, considering them forbidden. He said that he would rather watch and help them grow more beautiful with each year that passes by instead of just admiring them in a jar for a few days.

His name was Masato Daisuke and my mother's name was Keiko. Imagine a shoulder length hair, red by color , accentuating the perfect pale skin compared to the normal tan skin belonging to most of Suna's villagers; Sun never seemed to be attracted to our features. Tho' I completely inherited my mother's looks, one thing that differed between the two of us was the color of our eyes. You'd think that once I took after my mom, my eyes would also be hers to begin with. But I have to disagree. Compared to all our relatives, from what my mother had told me, strangely, only my eyes were green, when theirs were all red. But why, or how, I didn't know, and my mother never had bothered to explain me, even though I knew she had an answer. Truth be told, for my childish way of thinking, my green eyes were a mystery, something I could not comprehend and something that I desired to change.

I loved my parents how much a child can ever love. I slightly remember their traits, voices, and sometimes I think that most of my memoirs come from the imagination of a delusional child, rather than an accurate recollection. But one of the few memories I'm certain about is how I used to wait days in a row for their return from missions assigned by the Lord Kazekage, the most respected man in Sunagakure. They were frequently gone from home, and I would often find myself waiting for them by the window, ready to catch any glimpse of their arrival. My grandmother took care of me those times, and I can still remember her getting angry at me for staying up late. In my first years of life, all this became a routine, till a terrifying event broke the chain and it became little pieces on the ground, infinite pieces by number, impossible for me to pick up and bind again.

To this day, I remember that evening so well as if it happened yesterday, and my heart keeps sinking everytime I choose to recall it, be it only for telling someone or an usual nightmare.

I remember it being around twilight, and as I sat by the sill, I watched the sky burn in purplish tones, as the final rays of sun touched the roofs and burned the sand. It's going to be a real storm soon, mom, dad, so hurry up home. I thought. Usually, there were a lot of sandstorms in Sunagakure, and every shinobi was prepared to encounter one, but fear always stroke me when I knew my parents away . I should have trusted their skills more at the time, and often I reproach myself for not thinking higher of them, especially my dad. I loved my mother much more than I loved my father, and I think it showed somehow, because he was always more distant, not only regarding me, but also the rest of the family. He would rarely talk to my grandmother, and when he did, he was extremely formal and careful not to be too disrespectful. And as a child, I grew closer to the people that showed me love and were open to me. So every time I looked out the window, I always tried to spot the well-known red tint of hair covered by a hood, even in the sandstorms. I knew that no matter what, my father would follow.

That evening the storm was too powerful and I couldn't even see the alley outside. All I could see was sand, hitting the window, covering the ground, and the wind blowing forcefully, ripping everything in its path.

"Reika, please do me a favor and go to your bed. Your parent are most likely not to return today. And if they do, they will definitely be very upset to see you awake at this time", I heard my grandma's voice from behind me. She was tired, maybe looking for some sleep, but couldn't as long as I wasn't in my bed. "Don't upset me , Reika. I will tell your parents."

I sighed. "Fine, grams. I will, I will. But can I please wait for a few more minutes? I'm sure they are meant to return today." She shook her head, but let me be. I smiled at her . "Thank you, grandma!". But even those minutes passed and they were not back. I nervously exhaled counting the steps to my room as grandma followed me from behind, wanting to make sure I undeniably threw myself under the covers and left this place for a dream one. And I did.

When the lights turned off, I closed my eyes and found myself fall into a deep sleep.

I opened my eyes to a dark place, without being able to see anything. My back hurt from the rough wooden floor and coldness surrounded me. I was no longer in my comfortable bed. My first instinct was to panic, and breathing, I found the air humid, smelling like earth, and I hurt my knees in a failed attempt to raise myself. I was blocked in a coffin, or that's how it felt like. I was underground and could not leave the place by any means. Fear hit me like a wave, and breathing became hard, as I lived a panic attack. My heart was rapidly beating, as if it tried to break free from my chest, and I screamed from the bottom of my lungs; I screamed for my life. But my voice could not be heard and my throat ached, as if it had been burned. I was left speechless , deep into the cold ground to die. And realization hit me the moment I woke up in my bed. It was not my nightmare, but my mother's.

I sat up in my bed, my clothes and hair soaked in sweat and my breathing heavy. It took me a few seconds to run along the hall, down the stairs, and right into the living where I found my father standing on his feet in front of the sofa, his head bowed, eyes closed, and my grandmother was on the couch, head in her hands, whole body trembling, obviously crying. And I knew. As I sat in the doorway, watching her head shake and body tremble, I knew she was gone. My feet ran on its own to my father, and my right hand took his sleeve, pulling him down. I remember not being able to see clearly because of the tears that rolled down my cheeks, but for a moment he seemed calm, before falling to his knees on the hard floor and hugging me tight. I punched his shoulders, and I kept on saying "It's true.". He comforted me, slowly patting my tiny back, and keeping me close to him.

Then, I heard him whisper "It's ok.".


Days passed slowly.. painfully. I didn't care anymore. I found myself wandering the streets in the evenings, without even having asked for permission from my grandmother, not that I think she would have cared. After hearing about mother's death, she closed all doors to her heart, and let no one in. She was always in her room, mostly crying, swearing, damning, asking questions no one could answer her : "Where is she now?" , "Why is she dead?", "Was it meaningless?" etc. But Gods didn't listen, they didn't care, she thought. Her life seemed over once her child was gone.

As for my father, I rarely got the glimpse of him. He still left on missions even though I begged him not to. How could he leave his daughter alone in such a situation after all ? I didn't know. But I judged his actions, and I swore never to forgive him for his choices.

And so, I was left by myself, all day, doing nothing. Children my age started training so they could follow their parent's paths, and I often watched them in groups exercising, playing together, learning about each other, while I was all by myself, running away from an absent father and a broken grandmother. I had no friends, and seeing those kids having fun, envy took roots inside my heart, making me cry at night, wish for things I did nothing to achieve, prayed for a better life, asking back for my mother, when I knew very well that she was never coming back.

I occupied my time by swinging in the park, as my gaze fell on a small group of kids playing with a red small ball. But it was not their first time, I'd noticed them gathering up and enjoying themselves every day, as their laughter filled up the air. I wanted to join and greet them, but my shyness forbid me to, so I kept on swinging by my own, when suddenly I heard footsteps and the other swing moving.

I turned my head to the left and smiled in surprise at the sight of another 5 years old next to me. He had red spiky hair, just like mine, and his eyes watched the ground as his swing moved a little, his arms holding tight an old , cheap teddy bear. I was startled at how sad he seemed, his gaze lost in space, without even acknowledging me. From time to time, he sighed, closing his eyes and holding the bear even more tightly.

I remember so well the moment I decided to step into his life, the moment I chose to change mine and hold my hand out to him. I was shy, I was nervous, but excited. And as I prepared myself to greet him, anxiety stroke me powerfully and painfully. Was he eager to meet someone as well ? Was he excited to have friends? Was he also alone?

And as my hand moved forward to his side, I wondered Does he also… need someone?

"Hi." I began, and at the sound of my voice, the chains, the swing, time, everything stopped. His face turned to me, his eyes on my hand. He seemed surprise. I continued "My name is Reika! What's yours?" He looked up and his eyes widened in surprise. I could clearly see how puffy and red they were from all the recent crying, and it broke me a little bit, realizing how I was not the only one sad. He didn't answer me, he didn't hold my hand, even though I kept mine in front of him. "At least you could nod, not just stare!" I bluntly murmured, shaking my head, before letting my hand fall.

I was taken by surprise when his hand suddenly took mine, his tight grip hurting my palm. "I…I am Gaara." He whispered without looking at me. And I was relieved that he wanted, just like me, to meet someone.

I giggled before making my first observation . "I like your hair." He looked up, his green eyes piercing through mine, then shifting to my own red hair. "We look so much alike."

"Why are you talking to me?" his voice was sharp, but I could sense the fear hidden behind the coldness. "Don't you know who I am?"

"Are you someone important? " He shook his head, strings of hair gently caressing his pale cheeks as he started swinging again.

"People are scared of me." I jumped from my place and moved in front of him, and if he hadn't stopped that moment, I would have gotten hit by the wooden sit. "What are you doing?"

"Why would I be scared? You didn't hurt me, did you?"

I heard him whisper "I think I will."

"Do you want to?" His face moved to the side, as a little tint of pink painted his cheeks. I watched his mouth open several times, in an attempt to speak, but immediately shut it . He was obviously contradicting himself unaware of what was best to say or do. But I wanted to assure him I was not scared of him so he would feel comfortable enough around me to be honest . I gently patted his shoulder, and at my touch he moved to the side, afraid. A few more moments, and he answered me.

"Sometimes."


It is true what people say about time : it flies quicker when you are enjoying it, rather than when you are constantly waiting for it to pass. I learned that as I developed a friendship with this kid, Gaara. The first day we met ended faster than I would have imagined. I was startled by all the answers he gave me : the reasons why he was upset, how he had no friends, how people were scared of him, I felt like he was someone that needed help more than anyone.

What touched me the most about his story was that his mother was also dead, buried somewhere under the hot sand, deep into the ground. She is also cold, trying to breath, hitting the hard wood in a failing attempt to break free from a coffin she doesn't want to be in. That's what I thought at the time. I couldn't stop imagining his mother in the same place as mine, cold, hurt, hopeless. All I based my thoughts on was the nightmare I had the day I found out about my mother. For I was only a child, a 5 years old, and I couldn't understand death . What does it mean? Where did they go ? For me, it was torture, and I was scared of it. Gaara was also terrified of death and pain in usual, and seeing him suffer like that, made me extremely maternal of him. I tried encouraging him to fight pain and find something worth living for : which in my opinion was finding our trapped mothers and give them back their lives.

Gaara only laughed at my statements, but didn't try to discourage me, which I was grateful for.

We would often spend our time running around the village and then let ourselves fall on the hot sand, and at night watch the sky, counting the stars, asking ourselves questions about them, wondering if our mothers could also see them. It was the only friendship I needed. His smile, his laugh, his everything, made me truly care for him, as much as a child can. While my house was a place I'd begun to hate, being next to him was a new home I was discovering day by day. Someone to understand you, someone to care and make you laugh, can there be another person anyone would rather choose than that ?

My grandmother started recovering, she was making cookies again and from time to time I'd be able to catch a twitch of her lips, forming into a shy smile. But I knew deep down she was still broken, and she couldn't, just couldn't, look at me. My face resembled my mother's too much, I guess. I was haunting the house, making her suffer just at the sight of me, making me want to hide away, or leave.

My father , as usual, was gone on missions. And no matter how much he tried to assure me that it was his duty to the Kazekage, I couldn't bring myself to believe him.

I always felt as if I didn't belong home, but nothing could possibly change that. Or so I thought. And that's how months went by. Getting more and more distant from home, and closer to a certain someone.

Everything started breaking the moment everyone, like literally everyone, in the village went crazy. I was by the swings waiting for Gaara as I did every single day for months. The silent night ended when a child's scream was heard from what seemed somewhere up, echoing between the tall sand walls, giving me shivers all the way down my spine. Then everything went out of control. Shinobi were everywhere, people were told to get back inside and I was confused. Even though parents were coming for their children, I just kept on waiting, because I knew no one would be coming for me, except for Gaara. No matter how much I tried to see through the crowds, he wasn't anywhere to be seen, and all the noise was astonishingly frightening. There must be something to be scared of, right?

Right when I prepared myself to get going, I saw two shinobi, a few feet away talking to each other, panic noticeable in their voices .

The taller one said "Is he again?" The other one nodded, looking to his sides, prepared at any moment to defend himself, fear written all over his features. "What are the Kazekage's orders? Are we supposed to find him? " Who is… he?

"No, he knows that is a suicidal mission." The first one to talk let a sigh of relief escape his lips as his body relaxed. Looking around, he noticed me.

"You!" I was startled at the shout and before I could even breath, I was being questioned and dragged away from the open space.

"Wait - " I began, struggling to free myself from his tight grip of my wrist. "There is someone I need to find –"

"It's pointless to try and find someone in this scrimmage, child. Show us the way to your home." He paused waiting.

"It is not ! He will be there !" I was pushing his hand away from mine as I backed away from him. "I can't let him down."

"Who is this kid ? Yuka, you should wait for the other one , he might be in danger once he gets here." The other man nodded rapidly and left, most likely heading off towards the playground where they found me to begin with.

"Gaara could be in danger?" I frankly questioned the man in front of me. His head turned in a second to face me, his eyes wide open as shock painted his features. He kneeled in front of me, his hands gripping my shoulders and shaking me painfully. I was trying to free my body from his rough hands, but with no luck.

"Is that child the one you were supposed to meet ? Is he going to head this way? " It took me a moment to realize how frightened this man was at the mere mention of Gaara's name. Remembering my friend's words, I soon found myself wondering if they were scared of him, if that kid's scream had anything to do with Gaara and if he really was in danger. I rapidly shook my head, lowering my gaze in an attempt to hide the truth from the horrified shinobi in front of me. "He is, isn't he ? " I kept shaking my head, as tears formed at the corners of my eyes. "Oh, Kami." He stood up, wandering the surroundings with his gaze, before taking my hand again, more brutally than the former time.

Before I could try and stop him, another scream made itself heard and broke through the noisy crowds around us, silencing them all. The man's grip tightened around my wrist. I didn't know what to think, what to do or how to do anything. I was a child and all I felt like doing was find my best friend and go play with him. I didn't care who screamed, I didn't care who scared everyone else. I was not scared by it. Little did I know at the time that the moment I bit the strong hand that hold me, I let go of a defender and ran towards a murderer.