Chapter ten: The get away.

Room service came at seven thirty and dark came at nine. Matsuri wasn't particularly happy about that, but then, Gaara wasn't particularly fond of the time either. There was still the debate on who got the bed, but that also wasn't a proper debate. She was the Mark and he was the lowly bodyguard. Marks always win out.

A shame, really. This would have been the perfect week to avoid all this bloodthirsty drama that his Mark called her life. But no; Little-Miss-I-Can-Do-Everything-Myself-I-Don't-Need-Your-Help just had to peeve off the wrong guy this time.

He sighed, running his fingers through the mass he calls hair. "I'm taking a shower," he told her, "Unless, of course, you can't defend yourself for fifteen minutes or a teary confession about how much you'll miss me ensues."

Matsuri rolled her eyes. "Take your shower. I'll be perfectly fine without you, believe me."

He smirked. "Unlikely."

She took off one of her shoes and threw it at him. He easily dodged it. He disappeared into the bathroom as she took off her her other shoe. But the door was already shut and the sound echoed off in a strange emptiness.

Great, now's my chance, Matsuri realized suddenly.

No better time would there be, that much she could already tell.

Gaara go out of the shower a few minutes later, wearing a pair of dark faded jeans and a blood-red hoodie.

He stepped out of the bathroom, fully expecting the girl to be whining over something that he'd have little or no interest in. But he was in for a bigger surprise.

She wasn't there at all.

A what's worse.

Red stained the ground everywhere.

Gaara didn't panic. There could be a many of great explanations for this. She could have cut herself doing something stupid, she could have been on her menopause (that one made Gaara paues to cringe in disgust), or, if he was lucky, she could have been brutally kidnapped then murdered.

He sighed, shaking his head, deciding that maybe the last one wasn't so great. If she died, he wouldn't get paid.

He gritted his teeth, suddenly quite sure where she was. And why she'd left, in the first place.

It wasn't that much of a riddle and the answer was in the rhyme itself.

Him.

He personally promised that he'd wring her neck when he got his hands on her.

But that could wait until he found her. After all, finding her would be the only way to wring her neck.

And it would be personal.

Gaara knew where Matsuri was gonna be. The girl was logical, too logical for her own good. Therefore, it was only safe to bet that she'd be running to the farthest hotel in this city, try to take a bus to a city near Suna, and hike back to her house- or the ashes- anyway.

But that also means that she'd have to spend the night somewhere, so he checked out the farthest hotel in the city- a little place called the "Black rose". She'd also want a fast way to get there- no doubt she knew that he would would be tracking her as soon as he caught onto the scent.

So, he found the closet bus-stop, then realized that that's exactly what she'd want him to think. No. She walked. He was sure of it.

It was now all a matter of what route she took.

Matsuri walked along an old abandoned road. It was dark, but she was alone. Finally. Harsh rain pounded down on her, drenching her to the bone.

Gaara most likely wouldn't even try to find her- either from annoyance, ignorance, or his obvious lack of caring for her and her self-care.

But, on the other hand, she missed the company- even if the company in question liked setting her house on fire, dragging her millions of miles away from home, and making her life a living Heck. But hey; company's company.

"I wish I didn't feel so lonely, even if that brathole was a bit rude."

"Hm. Rude? I'll keep that in mind when we continue travelling."

Matsuri gasped, whipping around fast. There, standing against a tree, snarky smirk and all, was Gaara.

She tried to run. She really did. But Gaara wouldn't have that.

He simply rolled his eyes, pulled a shuriken from his pocket, and threw it at her. It clipped her foot, tripping her, rendering her unconscious as she hit the ground with a hard "THUMP!"

Gaara ran over, and picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder.

Troublesome, he thought to himself.

And, for the first and notibly, not the last, understood exactly how Shikamaru felt about everything. What a drag, indeed.