What was it like to feel so alone, with all that pent up anger, that anxiety that kept you from doing so much? It's those questions that angered me most of all, that allowed me to hate those asking it. How could they possibly understand all I've went through? Ever since my abandonment they tried their hardest to pry into my very thoughts, the same mind that made me who I was. An untrustworthy, manipulative fucked up piece of garbage that nobody wanted to claim as they're own. The only thing I was known for was all that had gone wrong, the same life that drove me to this fucked up twisted insanity. After deeming me unworthy of society they locked me in here, labeling me psychotic, shielding me from the world. But what they refused to believe was the fact that it was too late to save me, I had already had enough experience of this so called life. What could they protective me from now? Many argue that my insanity drove me to kill a man, that I was so deranged I no longer seemed capable of being human, living amongst their man made rules. But what they refuse to understand was my capability to live passed the barricades of this so called civilization that I as a man have made it to the point few have yet to live. In my 'deranged' state I solemnly believe that I am God and this is the life I have the power of controlling. The life I have made into my very own hell.

He sat against the wall, his back pressing into the sleek interior as his legs sprawled out to the side of him. On the other side of the room sat his bed, made with white linen sheets, its gray blankets tossed in a corner. At first when he had arrived the room seemed so perfect and he assumed it to be decorated by a professional with OCD. A complex he could never quite understand. His doctor's would describe his messy habits as an expression of his inner self, but it wasn't quite that. He just hated the thought of everything being so perfect, so clean.

He ran his fingers through the strands of his black messy hair and then pushed his shades farther up the bridge of his nose. It was the only thing he could claim as his, since they had stripped him of all his other belongings. They had even taken his white trench coat that reached passed his legs; the very one he had loved, because it had to many pockets. Too many places to hide a variety of potential deadly objects. His clothing had been replaced with a plain white Tee, his loose fitting pants the same color.

A knock sounded on the door, as if he had a choice whether to allow them access or not, and then a womanly figure appeared in the entry way. She was a young blonde, who appeared to be the same age as he. Her soft blue eyes landing against his as she hesitantly made her way into the room, unsure of what to do. Her footsteps were quiet, quick, but with each step she seemed most graceful, elegant, almost like an angel. It awed him to some extent but then he remembered just why he was here, and his amusement soon turned to that of annoyance.

The young blonde sat on his bed opposite of him and crossed her legs, a clipboard placed at her knee. She wore a white lab coat with the name Ino Yamanaka sown into the right breast pocket.

"Aburame, Shino. That is you correct?" He peered up at her through his shades, nodding simply as she then continued on, examining the charts and information that sat on the clipboard, "I'll be working with you as of now. And I've read your paper; you're quite the writer aren't you?"

He pondered this thought and soon found himself laughing, a hollow sound that bounced from the walls. He thought to himself, "How would you feel if you were to be locked in an instruction for the rest of your natural born life?" But then thought better of it, and continued to stare.

"You understand why you're here don't you?" She asked as he rolled his head to the side, "I've examined the report and the pictures along with it, what would anger you so to commit such a felony?"

There was a silence as she awaited his answer. A question that he had been asked many times before, by the police after he admitted to his crimes and by his multiple doctors who never seemed pleased with his answers.

"What time does my meal come?" He asked, again adjusting his spectacles.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really." He answered with an irritable sigh, "Just a feeble attempt to shut you up."

She anxiously shifted about, an action with pleased him greatly. She wouldn't last long with him, and soon she would ask for a transfer and he would be stuck with another doctor, presumably until no one had the patience to deal with such a man, or until they shipped him to another facility where the process would repeat itself time and time again.

"…Inuzuka, Kiba."

His head snapped back, hitting the wall behind him as he focused solely on her. What had she just said?

"The victim's name." She explained as if reading his mind, "That was his name wasn't it?"

"Shut up." There was a silence that followed, along with the shuffling of papers. He thought back to the tall brunette, the thoughts of his clouding his mind. His temple pulsed against the side of his forehead, his eye twitched at the memories. "Stop acting like you know everything when a few minutes ago you didn't even know my name. All you do for a living is sit there and read things off of a piece of paper, what kind of job is that? Am I supposed to believe you're my friend? That after I tell you all there is to know you won't go running to the cops about all I've confessed? Patient confidentially is a joke when you're locked up in an absurd place like this. If you speak your mind it makes you sick, and if you speak the truth it makes you some sort of criminal doesn't it? So why pretend to know me when I know nothing about you."

He broke their gaze and focused on the wall as she began to gather her things. Her movements were quick, hurried as she made her way across the room and to the door, knocking once before slipping passed the guard who held it open for her, slamming it shut behind them.

Shino chuckled to himself, thinking of all that was said. She didn't matter to him, nothing mattered anymore. They all wanted to act like they had something against him when they knew nothing at all. Out of annoyance he slammed the back of his head against the wall, once and then twice, salty tears rolling down his cheeks as he thought back to all that was done. All he couldn't fix.