Yet again, I start another fic when I should be working on my other ones.

At least this one got done.

So warnings for this are sex, violence, torture (not much), and self mutilation.

I still don't own Naruto.

Now let's start! YASIN!

Such a High

The Blood Drowns it Out…

It won't last long, not much longer than it takes, really. A quick, sharp horizontal movement and everything is gone. At least, for a while.

The blade in my hand glints as I tilt it; this way and that. Watching the light play and bounce, as if this weapon were nothing more than a meadow. Frolic; frolic; dance and move.

How many people have told me it's wrong-this is wrong? More than I can count, I think. Counselors and friends, concerned family members; everyone I've ever ran into.

They act as if I don't know what I'm doing; what this does to me. I know exactly what I'm doing, and I know exactly why I'm doing it.

I know it's wrong, and I know it's hurting me, but when it's happening; when I'm doing it, it feels so good. So wonderful; such a high that I never want to come down.

But I do fall, eventually. I have to sit up from the bloody mess I've carved myself into and reach over to the towels. Shakily clean everything up and make sure that no one can tell.

The bandages on my arms are there for a reason.

Wash everything down the drain, water turning pink with blood. And then I'm back to Mr. Perfect. The prodigy. The favored. The admired and loved.

All of it is fake; as fake as I am. I face that every day, and I've tried so many things to block it out. But this works best.

Slice, slice, slice, and all of the worries fade. All the pain ignored as new pains blossom like sakura blossoms in my wrists and arms.

When red is draining from me, the pain goes with the color. Out, all over, onto the floor, onto me. But not in me anymore.

And that's all that matters. That one little high, as short as it is, is all I need to get through life.

After all, I only have to cling to life. Survive in an unsightly way. I'd say this is pretty unsightly; degrading myself and slicing my flesh open to forget what he did.

But that doesn't matter. Not now, when relief is so close.

I draw a shaky breathe; I don't think I'll ever get used to this. The blade is over my pale skin, angled to make such a pretty pattern with all the other scars that crisscross across my flesh.

My dark eyes close, and the blade falls like a guillotine, parting my skin so easily. Looks like I'll have another scar for the collection.

Blood is dripping down from my wrist now, onto my hand. I sigh and fall to the ground, hunched over and cradling my cut wrist.

It'll only hurt for a little while, so I have to savor these moments.

A lot of pain… there's white blinding my sight. Oh well. This is my own little heaven.

Bliss.

The Rush Destroys my Memories…

You.

You're nameless and faceless; a different person every night.

I don't want a relationship. I don't want to talk or think about what comes next. Nasty ties aren't needed.

You're just for relaxation, something that I really need. I can just show up after a mission and charm you away. You hardly even realize how far we've gotten.

Then our clothes are thrown everywhere, and limbs are mingling and entwining. I don't even care if I hurt you, or if you enjoy yourself, though I do pride myself on leaving my partners satisfied.

But really, this is only sex. Nothing more, nothing less. That's all I want, and that's all I'm willing to take.

Shove more at me and I'll run away even faster.

This is just a way to block out the missions. They say ANBU members go crazy, with their blood-soaked past haunting them everywhere they go. There is no way to run.

But there are ways to hide, and over the years the good, sane assassins find ways to hide so well it doesn't even look like they're doing it.

There's a multitude of things one can do, and there's always an ANBU there to make suggestions when the situation seems hopeless.

But for the most part, it's best to find a single, perfect way that fits just right.

For me, it's the rush of pleasure. The sins of the body.

I can concentrate solely on having fun and forgetting. Frolic in the sheets with a random partner for a night.

And for that night, the faces of those I've killed vanish without a trace. Their cries and the curses they sling at me while in the throes death crumble and fade, leaving only your cries as you cling to my body.

In and out, in and out. Make me forget. Make me feel.

When we're done; when we've rolled away to opposite ends of the bed to curl in upon ourselves to fall asleep, my relationship with you ends.

You're just another nameless face in the crowd again, no better and no more special than anyone else. If I see you in the street, I won't even bat an eye.

And when morning comes, you'll wake up with the sun shining on your face in an empty bed. The warmth of the person who was next to you will have faded, leaving only mussed bed sheets.

I'll never stay for the morning after.

Remember? No ties.

Your Sins for my Sins…

"You've been bad."

The words fall from my mouth, whispering into my captive's ear. She whimpers, I chuckle.

Oh how much fun this will be. To flay the flesh right off those bones and muscles.

What to do to this poor girl first? She probably doesn't even know why she's here. And to speak truthfully, there really isn't much of a reason at all.

But I'm sure she's sinned. Everyone has. This girl was just unlucky. I picked her to punish.

My own sins are far too great and numerous to think about. But when I do, I can't help but feel something. Guilt? Remorse, perhaps? Hard to say.

It is, however, very easy to say that I don't enjoy it one bit.

So I cover it with other, more easily understood emotions. Such as lust. And as always, my insatiable lust is for blood.

I slowly pick up a long, curving blade, grinning at my scarred reflection. Carefully, almost like a caress, I run the blade against the girl's face, watching intently as she shies away from the sharp edge and bites her lip to keep the tears back.

Smirking, I bring the blade down, putting just a bit more weight onto it so it finally begins to cut. She screams.

How sensitive to pain.

But still boring. I pull the blade down, leaving a thin line on her face and travel down her neck and down, down, down.

Her chest and stomach. Perfect places to put art.

And so the carving begins, and I block out her screams by concentrating on my art.

And I block out those strange feelings by concentrating on my art.

It wasn't so bad, was it? Barely skin deep, though those cuts are bleeding rather badly. Chuckling darkly, I step around to her back and start craving there too, stopping only when I've turned the once tanned, perfect flesh into nothing more than mince meat.

Dropping the blade to the ground, I watch the girl. She's shaking, blood dribbling in rivulets down her legs. Sighing, I pick up a cat-of-nine-tails. A bit amateur-ish, but this girl isn't really worth my efforts.

Again and again the whip's barbed ends sink into the muscle and what is left of her flesh, each hit making her cry out. But it hurts even more when I jerk it back, as the heads have a tendency to stick to things.

All the better for ripping.

After a while, I tire again and walk around her, grabbing her chin so her eyes meet mine.

"C-Can I g-g-go?" she pleads, her eyes begging me to let her live.

I just smile and lean in a bit closer. "You're here to pay for your sins. If you leave here, it won't be alive. And more than likely, not even in one piece."

She screams, and I continue again.

If only she knew she was paying for my sins.

Hmmm… I might make some more chapters… Depends on if anyone likes this.

If not, this was enough for me. Scratched my itch and all.

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