Gaara could remember vividly as though it were yesterday the first time he had chanced upon his saviour, the only thing that could ever put his mind and body at ease.
He had been sitting in a dark alley in the worst part of town, he was completely, utterly and hopelessly lost. He could practically feel the warm tears even now, years later. Instinctively Gaara raised his hand to his face as though to wipe away those tears. He could swear his cheeks really were damp with tears, though he never knew these days weather he could trust his mind and the illusions it regularly threw at him.
Choosing instead to ignore the moisture on his fingers he continued reminiscing about the past to keep his blurry mind busy. He had been so cold in the desert night air with only his thin daytime Suna attire to shelter him from the harsh elements. He was shivering with cold, hungry and scared. He truly believed no-one would ever think to look around this part of town for him and he would be lost forever… if somebody less welcome didn't find him first.
He gave a particularly violent shiver at the thought and decided to retreat further into the alleyway to keep out of sight and keep safe. Around the corner was a little alcove where a huge communal skip was shoved out of sight in an attempt to make the place seem even a little less imposing. The effort was completely wasted however but Gaara wasn't worried about that right now, instead he squeezed through the small gap between wall and skip to the relative safety in the space behind it. The smell was enough to knock a horse backwards but Gaara just bitterly remembered that in his lifetime he had endured much worse than bad smells. Although he was only six years old, he had already seen death… and caused it. Although he should have been trialled for murder he hadn't been because the villagers of Suna were simply too scared to confront him.
In a weird kind of way this hurt him more than ever inside because to him it was the ultimate proof he had now reached 'monster' status. He strived everyday to be considered normal or even liked, but the civilians never dared to treat him normally, not even to avenge the death of their own.
Gaara muffled the sound of his sobbing by covering his hand over his mouth though every so often small whimpers would escape through his fingers. "Why am I so different?" He thought bitterly as his sobs slowly died to nothing.
A familiar voice sounded in his head like the ringing of metal, and it cut him like steel too. "Because you are different my boy, you will never fit in with these humans. I know ways you can ease your pain and in time I will show you how. For now give me control of your body and I will show you how much I am grateful to you for allowing me to reside within you boy!" This voice had been tormenting him ever since he first tasted blood, the voice of Shukaku the sand spirit. He already knew his demon intimately by now and he knew enough never to trust that voice in his head.
"Why do you torment me so?" The child asked desperately. Pleading for an answer from the tanuki demon.
"You only torment yourself foolish boy! If you would only let me show you how you need never be miserable! Now GIVE ME CONTROL!" The last phrase was shouted with such force that the sound seemed to bounce off Gaara's skull and reverberate around in his head. It was so painful that his hands reached for his head as though he could stop the sound by cushioning his head.
In this one moment of carelessness Gaara forgot to keep control of his Bijou and he paid the consequences immediately. The demon quickly took control of his body and made his hand reach down and under the skip. Gaara felt his tiny hand close around something cold and small and when he pulled it out he realised it was a small discarded (but unused) needle.
Gaara might not have been included in many conversations at school but he knew enough to know what drugs were and what they did to you, so in reaction to seeing the needle in his hand Gaara screamed loudly and his eyes widened. The demon was still controlling his body and no matter how hard he fought against the Bijou's will he was defeated in the end as his own hand forced the needle into his arm.
Immediately Gaara felt his surroundings slip away from him, he was left sitting on nothing. It appeared as though he was simply floating in the middle of endless darkness, unbroken for as far as the eye could see. Suspended in a timeless space where the only feeling everywhere was bliss. Gaara knew that if paradise really existed, this must be it, and he never wanted to leave.
The next morning he awoke with another needle in his arm, except this time it was to save his life. At least people cared enough about their weapon to keep it alive. Obviously someone had brought him into the hospital last night, he wouldn't know who though, he was too high to notice.
The older version of Gaara hissed a little in pain as he withdrew the needle from his arm in a slightly more vigorous fashion than he had intended. The pain only lasted for a moment however as his high from the drugs continued. These were the only times Gaara had ever found happiness, sure in his mind he would always resist the temptation to reach that high but in the end his demon was stronger. Sometimes it was too much to bear knowing the damage he was doing to himself and he would snap, he would go and take another's life, extinguishing their flame in order to strengthen his own. His demon would always urge him on from the recesses of his mind, urge him to maim, slaughter, dance under the rain of blood that spurted from his victims bodies… and he would always obey.
It was an addiction.