Disclaimer: Not mine

If: Woo... good times my friends. Here's a little more Angst for y'all. Yay angst!

Warning: Blood, self-mutilation, violence


YINGYANGBLOSSOMS : Woo! I'm glad you're loving it! I try. :) Good times my friend. Good times. I hope you enjoy this chap!

rawr : He he he... yesh, Fluff! Bwa ha ha ha... fluff.


I suppose fair is fair… I did say I would explain… that doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm sure Naruto told you that my life sucks and that my uncle Yashamaru tried to kill me when I was six. Temari probably added that she and Kankuro hated me from then until some time ago.

So what could you be missing? Well, there are many factors that I'm sure they missed. Yashamaru was the only person that acted as though they cared. They told you that? Huh, I guess I've told Naruto too much about myself… But yes, Yashamaru was the one person I thought cared. For about six years I thought he cared. But reality came crashing down around me at six. At six my father arranged for Yashamaru to kill me. It was a simple request, I was six. How hard could it be to kill a six year old? And Yashamaru agreed to this deal with the devil since he had never cared.

Father took Temari and Kankuro out for the night, they had actually been happy for me even though we barely knew each other. I was ecstatic. I never got much time alone with the one person who actually seemed to like me and was nice to me. It went sour after dinner.

Yashamaru was in the kitchen and I went to get him so that we could play some board games or something. I entered the kitchen and then he spoke. He called me a demon. That was all he said at first. "Demon." I had caught sight of the knife and had started to back away from him. He followed me right into the living room. I had managed to back myself up against a wall. He raised the knife and it was all I could do to push myself out of the way, but it still grazed my arm.

I got up and ran for the door, desperately trying to open it. The knife was buried into my back. The hateful words started as I managed to open the door and start pulling myself out. He was telling me that no one loved me, that I was a demon, that I killed his most precious sister and that I deserved to die. I was crawling to the street, and I got there trailing blood behind me. I remember that Yashamaru followed me and that a car hit him, but after that I have no idea. When I awoke I was in the hospital.

I wanted to die, I honestly did. The only person I had thought loved me, or at least cared about me, had hated me just as much, if not more than my father. It was a devastating revelation, to find out that no one cared about you. To learn that you weren't important, that no one wanted you, and that no one cared… it was devastating. I was in the hospital, where people are supposed to care about others so that they can make them better. A hospital was depressing, but at the same time uplifting. All I saw was death. People were dying there, and so was I.

My physical body was scared and my mind was shattered. I wanted it all to end, all the pain, all the hurt, all the nothingness. It wasn't as if someone would care if I died. And a voice from deep within my mind agreed with me.

A deep voice that I had never knew existed before told me that the world would be better without me. It said that if everyone wanted me dead, why didn't I just die?

So I opened my eyes to the empty hospital room and I sat up. My back was stitched as well as my arm, but the pain was palpable and if I moved too much the stitches would come undone. I didn't care. If the stitches came undone it was less work for me to do. I pulled and chords attached to my body off and tumbled out of the bed. There was a small table next to the bed and I reached for it, pulling myself to my feet. And there it was. It was beautiful; it was the most perfect razor I had ever seen.

My veins were singing, my blood was boiling, and my heart was hurting. It was perfect. I picked the razor up, I climbed into my bed, and I slit my wrists for the very first time.

It was heaven. The feeling of cold metal crossing my fragile flesh. Poetry in motion, that's what it was. Blood bubbling up from the freshly cut wound. It was mesmerizing. I couldn't take my eyes away. I slit them the wrong way that first time, not knowing the proper way to commit suicide. It was an experience that will forever be fresh in my mind.

That voice was telling me that blood was the source of all life. Blood was beautiful, that it was the sweetest ambrosia of the human body. Nothing but the blood mattered. My wrist was brought to my face without my moving it.

Drink, it told me. Blood is life. Suck your own life away.

And I did. I took my wrist to my mouth and drank the blood. But it wasn't enough. I wanted more, and it needed more. I slit my other wrist. It still wasn't enough so I cut up my arm, slicing it width-wise as many times as I could manage, nearly insane with blood lust.

It was then that the nurses and doctors came rushing in. Once I was attended they tied me to the bed. My personality was unstable and it was in that moment that it split. My once whole mind was divided into two separate identities.

My family never came to get me. They never paid my bills. I was in debt and I was only six.

I wandered the streets of the city after my release. I was nearly murdered, raped and run over countless times, but eventually I found the suburbs. It took me three days of wandering to find my house. The only reason I got inside was because the neighbors were watching.

It was back to the same old same old: beatings, cruel words, and general abuse. My father didn't let me recover; he even made a point of targeting the areas that I hurt the most in. The wound on my back, the cuts on my arms… everything was fair game.

I continued to cut my wrists, taking a masochistic pleasure in the pain that it created. The voice in my head started calling it "art." In the beginning I agreed with it. Designs were drawn into flesh, and every time I went to cut it would start to take over, cutting not only my wrists but anywhere else it felt like cutting.

School started, and it took me a total of three days before I was pulled out for beating up some kid. The first time it was just a simple suspension. I was told I wouldn't be allowed back for a few months, in which I was supposed to "think about what I had done" or some other babble. I came back and did it again, sending the next kid to the hospital. I was sent to juvie, and told to see a psychiatrist.

I almost feel sorry for the guy, now that I think back on it. He was just trying to do his job, and I messed with his mind. I told him things and he would think that he was getting progress. I told him that my home life was wonderful, that I was the happiest kid I knew. When asked why I sent the other child to the hospital I simply replied "Why not?"

Two years later I was back in the public school system. Three days later I was back in juvie. I got the same psychiatrist when I got there. Unfortunately for him, that voice in the back of my head had developed into its own personality, branding himself "Shukaku." Shukaku had taken it upon himself to take over every time I was sent to the psychiatrist. He would talk about the thrill of the kill, the temptation of blood, the art of the kill. It was no surprise that they put me on medication.

Juvie was… hell. Crap food, bad company, and plenty of violent teens to keep not only me, but Shukaku entertained. That's the reason I was in there for so long. I just kept beating up the kids in there. I wasn't let out until you were gone.

I don't think that they ever figured out that Shukaku was a split personality. It would explain why I've never gotten medication, or seen a different psychologist (I've since heard that the one I had in juvie is seeing a specialist himself).

It was then that I met Naruto… sort of. It was my second day back in the public system; I was having a bad day. My father had kept me up half the night beating on me and re-opening the wounds decorating my wrists. I was in no mood to deal with people, especially happy people that can't mind their own business. So fate decided to play a practical joke on me, and shoved Naruto in my face.

First period: no problem. Second period: just fine. Third period: boring as hell. Fourth period: nothing. Lunch: one annoying blonde that won't leave me alone.

You've got to understand, I was as far from stable as a person could be. I had a split personality that could take over at any point, I had a short fuse, and I had spent way too much time with those delinquents in juvie. So when a blonde attached himself to my arm and started interrogating me, I just couldn't take it.

I threw the first punch, knocking him to the ground with enough force that any normal person wouldn't be able to get up for a while. He shook his head and stood up. My mouth hung open for a moment and I started to feel the familiar bloodlust rise.

"The fuck was that for?" Naruto shouted at me.

"That was for fucking annoying me!" I shouted back. Naruto's hands balled into fists.

"Well sorry for trying to be friendly!" he yelled.

"You god damn better be you fucker!" I screamed. Naruto twitched.

"Fuck you!"

"I'd rather not you pussy!"

And he threw a punch. Landed square on my jaw, knocked me to the ground. I stood up, wiping the blood from my chin and reveling in the pain. A sadistic smile crawled on my face and I started to laugh hysterically. Everyone was staring at me, wondering if I had lost a screw or three. I stopped as suddenly as I started and rushed at the annoying blonde. Punches, kicks… I tore at his hair, I ripped his clothes, and he returned the favor in full.

It was ten minutes into the fight that my somewhat control over Shukaku snapped. He took over and as soon as he did blood splashed before my eyes. He had grabbed a pencil from somewhere and had buried it in Naruto's left shoulder. It had been a while since last we had seen blood that wasn't ours. Shukaku started to cackle and tried to force more of the blonde's blood out of his veins. It seemed that Naruto also snapped shortly after, and in a drastic change he had pinned us to the ground. Before either knew what was going on he had head butted us. Us turned into I as Shukaku's personality was knocked out.

Bucking out from underneath Naruto, I rolled away and managed to get onto my feet. He looked horrible, and I knew that I looked about the same. The pencil was still sticking out of his now useless left arm; blood covered his face and shirt. He looked like he wasn't going to be standing for much longer. At the same instant we ran forward and punched. He knocked me out.

Strangely enough, it was that horrific fight, and the impending community service time, that made us friends. We realized how similar we were. We knew each other's pain.

Over the three years that I've been friends with him I've been able to become human, and I can now suppress Shukaku. Its freed my mind, and I know that I'm better because of it.


Sasuke blinked tiredly at Gaara after he finished his narration.

"Seems as if we've both had a hard time in life," he said quietly.

"Yeah…" Gaara murmured his voice hoarse and sore after that long narration.

"Sleep?" Sasuke asked. Gaara nodded.

"'s prolly a good idea considering we have school tomorrow…" he muttered in return, but Sasuke had already fallen asleep, Gaara following soon after.

Neither boy noticed the hateful eyes glaring at them from Gaara's now open doorway.