Hey there, world! It's me again! I got my internet privelages back, so I can finally get back into the swing of writing this beastie. I may need to go back over and revamp the story, so if anyone has suggestions, feel free to send me a PM or a review and I'll give it consideration. Now, I do not own anyone in this story except for Lotus, Enma, Jigoku, and Izanami. Everyone else belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.
Chapter 9: Vanishing
Empty. The cabinet was empty. Flourescent orange bottles littered the ground at Gaara's feet as he stared numbly into the empty cabinet. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening.
His medicine was gone. Gone. Vanished. For possibly the ninth day in a row. He kept hoping it would turn up but... Shaking, he dropped to his knees and began to organize the bottles at his feet, setting each one back where he'd found it, dimly aware of the growing chorus blossoming at the base of his skull.
"Hey, Gaara!" He jumped, several bottles rattling to the floor as his hands jerked. He peered over his shoulder and saw Naruto, his crooked smile lighting up his face as he stood casually in the doorway. "You've been in here longer than usual."
Go ahead and tell the little fool. What can he do?
Gaara felt sick. They were just as potent as before. He felt his heart hammering against his ribcage. It felt like it was going to mash itself into a bloody pulp, ooze out of the calcium enforced cage and pour from his mouth. Everything was spinning out of control. Oh, God, why, why, why, why, why, why Wh-
"Gaara!" His head snapped up. Naruto's eyes were dark with concern. "What is it?" He swallowed, replacing a few more bottles before standing up and gently closing the off white door. It swished shut with a muffled Thnk. He stared dully at his feet for a moment before he opened his mouth.
"I think... my meds are..." the words caught in his mouth. What could Naruto do? Magically find them?
"Yes?" Naruto's face had grown uncharacteristically grave. Gaara shut his mouth with a snap. His eyes flicked towards the door, just behind his friend.
"I gotta go." he darted past him and into the now crowded hallway. Lunch was over, and although he hadn't heard the bell the first time, it rang in his head for the rest of the day.
He sat silently in his kitchen after school. He would be alone for a few hours before Temari and Kankuro returned from work. Of course, he wasn't really alone.
His fingers twitched nervously against his face. Each hissed syllable from the space between his auditory nerves was driving him closer to skewering his ears with a butcher knife. He had out his notebook, his dictionary, his colorful pens, the razor...
What are you going to do? Scribble a few words? We have all the words you'll ever need...
Gaara's eyes slid down conspicuously and he slowly picked up the red pen. He began to write the words his mind spat:
Cadaver- A dead body, especially of a person. A corpse as for dissection
Sanguine- A fluid, often pertaining to blood.
Icker- An acrid or watery discharge from a wound
Necrosis- A killing, to make dead or mortify
Antipsychotics- A medication used to treat the symptoms of psychosis ie. schizophrenia, Bipolar disorder etc. etc.
Psychosis- A severe cognitive disorder in which a person's personality is scrambled, causing any and all contact with reality and its inhabitants to be strained and impaired.
He picked up the notebook and hurled it at the wall, a feral snarl ripping its way up his throat. He had never been abrasive to the voices before but dammit he had been so close. So close to being normal, to not hurting to not...
"Stop mocking me!" His voice cracked, and he slammed his fists into the table. He felt the bruise beginning to settle in his pale flesh, he felt his hand reaching for the razor before he could stop himself.
Go ahead. Blood, give us blood...
Gaara raked the razor down the top of his arm. The wet, warm sensation startled him, and the burning ache seemed to run its way up his arm and into his rattle synapses where the voices fell silent in an eery and collective sigh. The syntax of his disease... The razor dropped back to the table with a metallic clatter, small streams of blood settling with it onto the milky white counter. Plip, plip, plip,
Silently, in a stupor he strode to his room, changing into a shirt with longer sleeves. Couldn't have his siblings seeing that. He sat silently in his room for a moment, his eyes listlessly closing as he heard the door creak open.
He idly ran one hand through the blood pooling up under his shirt. The taste was the same. Bitter and iron. Almost as bitter as the gasp that came from the kitchen. He'd forgotten to clean up after himself.
The lurch in his chest was lethargic, it stabbed him with guilt and apprehension, but only for a second before Shukaku picked up his conscience and swiftly stitched it's trembling lips shut, and setting it down again. It scuttle across his floor like a cockroach.
"Gaara?" came the strained voice of Temari, he heard Kankuro's footsteps coming up to his room. Before he ever made it, Gaara stood up, unsteadily, he made his way down the hall to meet his brother.
"We, uh." his brother didn't look at him. "There's blood on the counter. Are you okay?" Gaara said nothing, but he noted the way his left hand was curled slightly. As if he were very gingerly holding something... He held his injured arm close to his side, feeling the fabric matting itself to his abused arm.
"Gaara." Kankuro's voice was a bit desperate. "Please, are you okay?" He set one hand on Gaara's shoulder, wincing when Gaara's eyes widened and he shivered slightly. He began to count breaths, needing something to keep him from noticing his brother's worried expression.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, eight, eight, nine, nine, nine, nine...
Does he really care? It's cruel, this charade of love. Alone. Alone. AlOnE forever. Forevermore. Quoth the voices, nevermore.
He couldn't even tell if they were his thoughts or not.
"Answer me, please!" Kankuro's hand slid down Gaara's arm, hitting the cut. Gaara gasped slightly in pain, maybe a bit in relief as the voices once more fell away at the burning sensation. Kankuro's eyes widened as he pulled his hand away, seeing the light dusting of blood on his fingertips. The blood that the black sleeve had hidden.
"The razor..." said Gaara softly. "Give it back, please." Kankuro shook his head, almost imperceptibally sliding his hand into his pocket to hide Gaara's new medicine.
"No, I don't have it, and even if I did-"
"Yes you do." There was a coldness in his voice that startled the room into silence.
"Listen to your big brother. You need-"
"Don't. Tell. Me. What. To. Do." Gaara's teeth had clenched and more venom was sloshing vilely in his mind. He hated them, hated them, hated them for lying to him, for existing, for loving him...
Unlovable. You realize that don't you? You burden them with your existence."
Gaara shook the hand from his shoulder and started towards the door. Temari stepped resolutely into his way, one pretty hand poised on the doorknob, the other holding his battered notebook. Funny, there was red on it. Had he bled on that too?
"Gaara, stop." Gaara stopped just as he reached her. He needed out, the walls were closing in on him. He could feel them. The voices were watching. He could hear them watching and see them listening...
"I'm going for a walk, nee-chan." he said, softly. His hands were shaking, he could feel the blood dripping down his hand now. Temari's eyes were suspiciously luminous. They looked wet.
"What did you do?" Gaara watched a silvery tear slide down her cheek. He bit his lip, feeling words from his conscience bashing against the stitches... the cockroach voice that slithered around his feet. Unable to speak.
He whimpered, and the whimper turned into a giggle, and the giggle turned into a sob, and before he knew it he was wrapped in an embrace from his sister, feeling her shaking with him. They cried in unison, Gaara's voice babbling apolgies that he didn't even know if he meant...
"Did you take your medicine?" His lips stitched shut again.
Later that night, after the chaos had subsided, Temari and Kankuro were asleep. He was sure that Kankuro was sitting out on the couch. He had heard his faint breaths, and the few murmured curses as he tried to plot out to himself what the next action should be.
Gaara sat silently, poised to prowl from his room. He listened and began to creep across the scuffed floor, maneuvering skillfully around the boxes. He paused right at the lip of the living room. Kankuro was there, but he was somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Gaara wasn't sure if it was safe to walk past. The door was just beside him...
He began to slowly creep across the living room, holding his breath and waiting for his brother to stand up and stop him. However, he didn't. He must have been lost in thought. Gaara sprinted the rest of the way behind the couch. He crept into the kitchen, pausing only long enough to slip a pearing knife into his pocket and a note onto the counter.
Silvery moonlight, as silver as the knife, guided him to the door, and he knew as the lock clicked and the door opened to the cool night air, that Kankuro had heard him. However, his brother remained blissfully silent. Gaara walked cautiously over to the couch and realized that his brother had been asleep the whole time. There was an urge to unravel. Fall apart. Tell him what had prompted the relapse, but for every desire there was a voice. Including the silenced cockroach conscince that had rested its grotesque hands on Kankuro's slowly rising and falling chest.
You've done enough...
"I'm sorry..." and he vanished.
That's that. More to the story soon, I hope. Please review!