A/N : A short update dedicate dto a reader who left a wonderful review and has an absolutely adorable nickname. You'll know who you are ;)
Everyday life of a sadistic homicidal child
It all started with Miss Martin.
He didn't like her. Just like he didn't like the children so he had decided that he should ignore her.
After all his mother had been cursing the woman since the firs night and would often go on at great length of Miss Martin's evil ways. How she was separating them, taking Gaara away from her.
She said he should hate her. Shouldn't listen to her.
It had been one of the first and only times in his life when his mother had seemed at least a little genuinely pleased with him when he'd told her he hated everyone in his class as well as Miss Martin.
So he ignored her despite her continuing efforts to include him.
She would tell him bad things. How he should be happy, have fun, how she was concerned for him. Mean and hurtful lies to his ears when he knew he was the worst kind of bad.
But she persisted and one day he told her that he was vary, very bad and also that he hated her – that he hated everyone.
He thought that should make her leave him alone – knowing the truth about him.
Instead she called his home. And as chance would have it for once his father was at home to pick up.
She had asked to meet Gaara's parents concerning his behavior.
His mother refused and Gaara had to hide a limp for most of a week and it took even longer than that for the blue-black patches to disappear from his body.
After the meeting had come another come of those strange occurrences with his father.
He's been sat in the kitchen, given a glass of a treat his mother had only given him twice in his life– chocolate milk – like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Gaara had been so immersed in the tall glass full of sweetness he knew he didn't deserve that he'd missed quite a bit of what his father had been saying. But Gaara was despite everything an extremely smart child and he'd quickly caught up and understood that he shouldn't have told Miss Martin the truth because he had scared her and she had talked to his father about something called 'therapy'.
His father had asked him what was wrong – Gaara had been confused by the question. He'd thought it was obvious that he had been bad once again, so he'd apologized for that thinking that even if he was never there his father must be aware of that truth.
Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say as he'd been shocked when his father had hugged him, hugged him! He had told him he was very good boy and that he shouldn't say things like that.
It was then that Gaara realized that his world had gotten even smaller. There were only two people in it after this – him and his mother.
The next month was filled with a strange woman with strange glasses asking him how he felt and what did he see in the picture and so many things he didn't want to talk about. Mostly this was because he didn't know what felling was , what should it be? What could be considered appropriate? So he hadn't answered in fear of repeating his mistake and at the end of the month his father had to meet Miss Martin again.
There had been a glass of chocolate milk again. Then the woman with the strange glasses became a short man with no glasses who smiled entirely too much.
As it seemed his previous strategy had been wrong he had tried talking some but it didn't help either until he thought to start turning things around.
He would answer the question in his mind then tell the man the exact opposite answer. That seemed to make the man very happy. Gaara didn't like him.
Then he gave him some strange test with a lot of pictures and some math's problems and a week later he was moved to different class with some of the bigger kids.
His mother was furious. Gaara learned to write with his left hand and the cast came off in less than a month. He said he fell down the stairs.
He hated the new class even more than the last. He hated Miss Newton even more. Sometimes he would wish she was bad enough so he could do like his mother did.
After a month his new classmates hated him back and because they were older and bigger than the small weird redhead he became a target for the class bullies. After they got over the fear of his unblinking hateful stare.
They started small with a shove here and there, stealing his pen because he never used the colorful pencils.
It escalated without Gaara retaliating until one day when his chauffeur was late they gathered the bluster to actually hit him.
It was nothing for him physically but in his mind the only one who could do that to him was his mother. No one else. Because he was her demon.
He was too small and frail to be able to fight back so he took it wordlessly without crying out. The bruises didn't even show under the ones already on him. No one else knew.
It took him a week to find a way to get back at them. He had to break a house rule and enter his father's library but he decided he was bad already and he hated those bullies so much! No one had the right to hurt him but his mother!
So he took a couple of small bottles that had once held some kind of pills and filled them half-way up with water then took a packet of the stuff they used to unclog pipes and hid it in his pack.
Patiently he waited for the best time, he told the driver they would have an arts project last period so he should come a little late. He already knew those boys used that excuse to have their parents pick them up later.
All day he simply looked at them , not reacting to anything they did.
Then the time came and most kinds were picked promptly by parents or chauffeurs and soon it was him and the boys. They came towards him and he ran , knowing they would follow to the side of the school. He was fast and had time to open the bottles and pour some of the blue granules inside making the concoction hiss.
When they came on him he took out the makeshift bat –a piece of pipe he almost didn't have enough strength to swing. But swing it he did and a strange , sharp and pleasurable feeling of satisfaction filled him when it connected with them, making them cry out .
Afraid the noise would draw attention he hurried and quickly poured the concoction in their mouth.
The cries stopped. There was some strange gurgling and they trashed and he felt that feeling again. He didn't know what to do about it so he took the pipe and hit them again. And again. And again. Until he was panting and they were bloodied and they only twitched from time to time.
He panted, unused to feeling so much and so much exertion but put the pipe away, the bottles and thought about what he'd read. There shouldn't be anything left to identify him as the attacker.
He made sure his clothes were ok and ran trough the back entrance then exited the front where his chauffeur was already waiting.
That strange feeling stayed with him, duller and distant but it spiked when he thought of it. He saw the chauffeur shoot him a bemused look and he wondered why so he looked in the window. He had to raise a hand and touch his face to believe he was seeing himself in it. He was smiling. He didn't think he'd ever smiled before.
Eleven years later ….
Gaara walked looked trough the unbreakable glass window of the door before it opened.
The view was the same as it had been for the last nine years of his life – same drab gray walls, clone-like personnel who to him had no faces, the same. Everything was the same.
The one thing different was the fact that the door opened.
He was led to the hall beyond and quickly shuffled to the entrance where his future keeper was waiting.
He'd met him a few times before. He didn't have any particular opinion of him.
The man turned to him with a small smile on his scarred face.
Gaara nodded, answering to the new name he had been given.
Due to the enormous publicity of his crimes he was given a new identity in order for him to able to live a relatively normal life.
Gaara didn't often wonder of what they meant by 'normal life'.
At least the name was somewhat fitting – the quiet one.
Though his psychiatrist had decided that his continued quiet and reserved nature were no longer due to a psychosis where they covered a need for violence and endless hate for humankind, Gaara only though of his attitude as one of avoidance.
Nine years in the Institute had served two put in stone one of the rules of his early life: the less you said at all the less you can say wrong.
The other thing that he had learned was that absence of feeling was a good thing - it help you lie convincingly enough, as proven by the fact that he was standing on the other side of the door.
His new guardian finished signing the papers and said his farewells, beckoning Gaara to follow him.
He did without looking back.
Gaara didn't think Mr. Umino saw the flash look of pure loathing he allowed himself to shoot the Institute as it disappeared trough the back windshield of the car.