A little less HURT
Originally titled "Smells Like Teen Spirit"
Named after the song (which I do not own) Smells Like TeenSpirit by Nirvana. It inspired me in this story.
This is a Naruto college/Boarding school fanfic. The three main characters of this fanfic (Naruto, Gaara, and Sasuke) are 17. This fanfic is supposed to be the dramatics of being a bisexual, gothic, drug addict in college. Told from Gaara's point of view. The content in this is pretty strong. I won't go into detail about sex, but a few other things I will. This is not a sexfic it's a drama fic. I do not own Naruto. Before you begin, I will give warnings.
Warnings: Self-inflicted pain, lots of cursing, drugs, morbidity, abusive relationships, suicide, abuse.
Chapter One-With the Lights Out
(Gaara P.O.V)
There's something about this character that reminds me of myself.
"Of my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage and length of years have driven me from the one and enstranged me from the other. Hereditary-"
Something in this passage..
"Ill usage, and lenght of years..."
Makes perfect sense. My own family was like that. My mother passed in child birth, and my father abandoned my siblings and I. We were left with a caretaker, whom I'd rather not remember. Kankuro, my brother, and Temari, my sister, were the only family I've ever really known.
Kankuro was an ass, and Temari was a bitch. I left them three years ago, and haven't seen or talked to them since.
"Fuck!"
I look up to see the intruder of my alone and morbid night; a mass of black hair covering his eyes. It's just my roommate, cutting himself. I wonder if it would be considered rude to ask him to keep it down. But why do I care? I'm a rude person. I kind of want him, his selfish, emo self, to get caught. He is, over all, annoying. A fag. A cutter of all things. A scene boy. I generally dislike that kind of person.
I go back to my reading, ignoring the scene boy, Sasuke I think his name is, doing his work in our dorm's small bathroom.
"Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no common order.."
Even more like me. Even though my father did abandoned me, he left us money for school, and school alone. He must've thought that he didn't want stupid kids, even if he had disowned them.
Every child born into a wealthy family attends this school. And hell, if my family wasn't loaded to the brim. We have a palace sized house back in Suna, the place my father left us to live in. There are a few scholarship students here as well, but it's mostly us rich people that enroll. It takes a lot of money to cover the entrance fee, not to mention classes and dorms, among other things.
I now believe it to be the teacher's objective to assign us short stories with charcters that best relate to the reader. In my opinion, so far, this character can relate to me. I wonder if Mr. Edgar Allen Poe, the author, would understand me. I doubt he would. No one understands me. No one ever does.
'Except maybe the-'
I don't let my stupid conscience finish it's sentence. Not even that could understand me. Especially not addictions, least of all habits. Habits help you deal with your emotions, not understand them.
My insomnia keeps me up all night, but I never finish the story. Even though I think that Edgar Allen Poe a genius. A morbid, poetic,genius. I know I have better things to do.
Which brings me back to my addiction and habit. I still, to this day, blame Kankuro. He's the one that got me started. A long time ago, back when we still lived as a family in Suna, Kankuro had a blunt. He was 16, and I was 14. We both smoked that night. Eventually, I gained a longing for something else. This was after I moved out. I called up Kankuro, and told him my situation. That's when he introduced me to heroine.
By morning, I find my 17-year-old self lying on the couch in a daze. I suppose I would've passed out, but high or not, I'm an insomniac. My alarm clock goes off. I don't keep the clock around to wake me up in the morning, I keep it to give me a time reference. I sit up, and jump off of the couch. I glance over the room, looking for my shirt.
However, I give up before I really start getting knee deep in junk over a T-shirt. I go to my room and glare at the alarm, which is still making that annoying noise. Half out of my mind, I pick it up, unplug it, and throw it across the room. I blink, and walk over to my small closet. I pull out a long-sleeved fishnet shirt, and a Nirvana T. I pull on the fishnet and then the T-shirt.
That's when I look at the clock. I only have 5 minutes to class. I quickly grab my bag, and run out the door. I run down the stairs, out of the dorm house, and across campass to the building. I run inside and take off down the hallway. The teacher is standing outside the doorway when I get there.
"34 seconds, Gaara." he says.
I display no expression, as I slump into the room. The classroom is your average classroom set up. It has a total of twenty-four of those table-chair attached desks, and on giant desk in the front for the teacher. The teacher, Mr. Shay, is about 40, and decorates the room with quotes from old and famous plays.
Et tu, Brute?
I snort. The last words of Julius Caesar are not important to me, only passing this class is. As a matter of fact, I'm doing a terrible job. I pull out my notebook and pen.
You see, when I get out of college, I intend to go into politics. I don't let anyone know about my addiction, and I have all the appropriate credits for it, except for English. If you wish to go into politics in Suna, my home country, you must have a college degree in English.
Class is boring, as always. I swear I've learned all of this before. Regardless, I take notes on the teacher's lecture. The lecture turns into a disscussion, and I still take notes. I'm finishing his last sentence when I hear the room go quiet. I feel pondering eyes burning holes into me. I look up.
"Well, Gaara?" Mr. Shay asks.
I look down at my notebook. Gaara, why don't you tell us how your character relates to you? Shit.
I look back up at the eyes, and at the teacher.
"It's simple." I say. "I also have no relations with my family, and I go to school here."
"Inform us more, Gaara. Give us a quote."
My unemotional gaze turns into a glare.
"Of my country and of my family, I have little to say. Ill usage, and length of years have driven me from one, and enstranged me from the other." I quote.
The teacher seems to shudder. He once told me that my voice is a powerful one. He turns to the lower class, scholarship dunce in the first row.
"Naruto, explain to us how..."
I drone out the rest of the disscussion, and mindlessly take notes. I really can't stand to fail this class, again. I'd look like a giant idiot, and that's really not the best idea for that politics thing I have going for me.
'Neither is the needle.'
Damn my conscience. When I was eight, I was already in the third grade. After I graduated from high school (at age 16, mind you) I blew off a year, and then headed to college here, Leaf Hills, and Ivy League college. I could've been out there by now, had it not been for my screw ups. Last year, I failed one class, a necessity for politic career tracks in Suna: English. Literature. Call it what you will, but it's all the same; a class where I read and write. It's not one of my favorite subjects, it's boring as hell. I'd rather be in a maths class, solving equations, and doing something with meaning. That's the reason I never did my work last year. I don't even know why this class is needed to go into politics.
I grunt, and the bell rings, right on cue. Mr. Shay stands up.
"Alright, class dismissed." he says.
I shove my stuff into my bag, and quickly walk out the door, a glare still in my eyes. The rest of the day is mine to do whatever. I don't intend on getting high, but that doesn't stop the thought from crossing my mind. I head to the park, before I can talk myself into it. Too much of a good thing isn't good.
"With the lights out, it's less dangerous." –Nirvana/ Smells Like Teen Spirit