Alright, here we go. Oh yeah, this Chapter is a little different from the rest of the chapters that will follow because it's from an 'I' Point of View.

Summary: Basically, this is an AU highschool fic. Just this first chapter doesn't have anything to do with school. This particular school, Suna High, is modeled off of my own smalltown High School and Temari goes to college over in 'Konoha' which is based on a college in a big town fifty miles away from me that everybody goes to when they want to go anywhere (I've never been in the college!).

A/N: I'm writing this because I have writer's block concerning my other fic, Though The Devil May Take Me, an Gaara x Orochimaru fic that gets lots of 'I've never even thought of this pairing!' 'The best Yaoi I've read in a million zillion years!' and 'How did you make this pairing work!' sort of reviews.

Side note: If you don't like Yaoi, I'd suggest you don't read past Chapter Eight. I plan on putting men in bed, if and or other places, with other men later on in this story. I've only written 1 story that is not Yaoi. The other five or so are all Yaoi. There will always be Yaoi. You can count on it.

Disclaimer: If you think that I own Naruto, you have need of visiting a local and over-rated psychiatrist. I have, however, owned Gaara, Orochimaru, Kimimaru, and Sasuke (along with Itachi and all at the same time!) in my dreams.

And now...


Gaara's POV

The poison creeps in vermillion trails over my outstretched arms. It trickles from wounds I have inflicted upon myself of my own volition. I raise my splayed fingers and watch how they shiver with the weakness of blood loss. Stretched out in front of me, the objects of my only interest, my blood drenched limbs spasm as my thin lips twist into a semblance of a smile. I can feel my eyes stinging. They wish that I would blink, but I only continue to stare and cast my twisted, crazed grin at the poison that is my life-blood. My eyes feel as if they are as cracked as the ground becomes in times of drought. But still I do not quench my bloodshot orbs.

My face is contorted into something more akin to the cracked efface of a rabid beast. But then again, why should it not? My body is sustained by the scarlet glory that is my tainted blood. I carry the demon seed. It is intertwined with my soul and my blood is its life-support. Even if I were able to separate my soul from it, my blood would still be tainted.

Inside my head I hear the demon scream. It knows that if I persist any longer, it's fate will be mine own. The demon's cries escalate, a howling, chittering yelp that reminds me of the cornered barking of a treed raccoon. Many times before have I brought it to this point of desperation. Little does it know that I have not the power to take this torture further. I must make due on my promise. Even if it kills me, I must make due on my promise. I promised Temari and Kankuro that I wouldn't end it. Therefore I won't. But that doesn't mean I can't come close. I like getting close to the edge. It makes things so clear and sharp. And then it begins to dull to a point that will soon reach ecstasy. But alas, it is at this point that I must pull away. The crazed look leaves my face. I can feel it go.

I blink my eyes finally and reach over and down for the rags that I had draped over the edge of the bathtub before my stint and begin to blot at the slowly oozing blood that leaks from the raised tracks across my arms. After this, I wrap my arms tightly with the now stained rags to staunch the flow. After a few moments, when the thick liquid ceases to creep out of my body, I manage to stand. I tremble with the familiar weakness. My legs have the consistency of half-cooked pasta; stiff in the core, yet weak and watery feeling. And yet they are stable enough to hold me upright.

I lean against the wall, my shoulders slumped, my arms raised in an X before me with the free ends of the bloody rags hanging down. I've done this before, too many times to be afraid anymore. I can still count the number on two hands, but I will soon have to begin adding my feet into the equation. I can remember the first time - I will always remember the first time. I had almost gone too far. Back then, I was too afraid to die. There was still meaning left in the world. But now, now there is nothing. Temari and Kankurou, maybe. At least they care a little. But that still doesn't change anything.

I glance over at the clock. It is getting to be later than I would wish it to be so. Standing up straight and walking towards the sink, I grab the last of the rags I haven't used and drop them on the floor. I turn the handle labeled cold and dip my sticky fingers into the stream that pours forth from the faucet. As I begin to wash and treat my wounds, my foot is dragging the rags on the floor through the blood that had dripped there. Mostly, it is just smearing it around, but I intend to go back over it again.

After I have finished bandaging my mutilated limbs, I lean down and carefully pick up the rags. With the utmost care to not moisten my dressings, I rinse them out in the sink and wring them out until they are at a moist-damp state. I drop them back onto the floor and begin to clean away my life's-blood from the porcelain tile.

I rinse and wring the battered rags at least two more times before there is no trace of red-brown upon the polished tile. The rags sail through the air to land without decorum in the trash bin. I finally grab a navy blue hand towel from the cabinet and dry what wetness there is on the floor. It would never do to have someone, probably me, slipping on an untended wet floor. Now that that task is attended to, I remove my clothes and toss them in the hamper, replacing their presence on my body with a pair of hip-hugging pajama pants and an oversized long sleeved shirt.

At last, I am ready to find my way to slumber. I unlock the bathroom door and make my way down to the end of the hall and my bedroom. It is late and dark here in the house of Sabaku. Temari and Kankuro are long since abed and I am the only one wandering this dark hallway. Not that it bothers me much. The darkness is my only friend.

I enter my room with it's black painted walls and shut the door behind me, enveloping the room in total darkness. No matter to me. I make my way to my bed and lay down among the tossed covers. I don't sleep well on most nights, not at all for many. This night is an exception. I am tired and drained enough from the days troubled that I fall into a weary slumber. Maybe things will be better come morning.


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