Hello lovely readers~
The summary is the lyrics to Hollywood Undead's song Bullet, as is the title. So a reminder that I own nothing but the actual stories itself.
With that said I'd just like to say that this story is AU and a dark one and contains thoughts of suicide and self harm. If any of that bothers you please feel free to click the back button.
Gaara sat on the edge of the building, his legs hanging over swinging idly. Silently, he watched the city beneath him; its symphony of different sounds bombarding his ears. In the distance he could hear the faint whine of sirens. He briefly wondered if they were coming for him. No. Why would they? He was just another teenager just like any other. No. That was a lie. Teenagers didn't wish for death; didn't mutilate their bodies. They didn't hate their families; they loved them. How could he though? He killed his mother, his father had tried to kill him, and his brother and sister never cared to begin with. People were the same way. They used each other. Whether it was for money, drugs, sex, or power, it didn't matter. But why? Why were they like that?
His dark lined eyes drooped as the handful of pills he took earlier began to take effect. It was now or never. He reached over to his bag and pulled out a small case filled with razor blades. He had to do this; finish the job. He pulled up the sleeves of his black shirt and pressed the sharpened edge to his skin. The metal was cold and sent a chill throughout his body. Applying pressure he felt the familiar sting of pain as it broke the skin. A little deeper, a little harder. He pulled, dragging the blade across his arm; cutting through scars, some old, some new. They healed every time. Why? It was bound to happen again. Why try to fix what was already broken? It would never be the same. Once fucked up, always fucked up. Moving his hand he crissed and crossed; crimson lines crying shouts of death. His vision was blurring. Was it the pills or lack of blood? Did it matter? No. He leaned back, falling onto the paved roof with a thud. He lay there watching the soft glow of the moon in a sea of twinkling stars. What a life this turned out to be.
Whoever said death was welcoming was a liar. He had welcomed it with open arms only to be rejected. He sat in a hospital bed, his stomach sore and his arm tender and bandaged. Not even death would accept him now. What was left?
"Gaara?" he didn't bother to look over. He knew it was Kankuro. The tall brunet wore a look of pity on his face. He knew what he thought of him. He was pathetic. He was ashamed to have him as a younger brother. So why was he here? Had he come to torture him further?
"Hey, Gaara. How're you feeling?"
"Look," he sighed, "I'm not really sure what to say. I mean you're my little brother, I love you and-"
"I'm not a-"
"Liar." The man sighed.
"No Gaara, you're wrong. Temari and I both love you. You're our little brother...and...and that's why we're going to what we think is right." This caught the red head's attention as he finally looked over. Kankuro's face was serious and his eyes sorrowful. The purple makeup lining his face creased where his brow furrowed.
"Temari and I have decided to hand you over to the authorities."
"What?" his eyes widened with shock; suddenly he was all too aware of the organ beating in his chest.
"They're going to take care of you."
Gaara's body shook with foreign emotions. It was as if he was hit with tsunami after tsunami. How? How could they do that to him? Why? What would happen to him now?
"They'll be keeping you at St Luke's Behavioral Center. I promise Temari and I will visit you when we have the chance. I'm sorry."
He wasn't sorry. No one was ever really sorry. What did that even mean anyway? How was he supposed to take that?
Sorry that your parents hate you.
Sorry that your father tried to kill you.
Sorry that your siblings despise you.
Sorry you hate your life.
Sorry you tried to kill yourself.
That infernal word, it didn't fix anything. No matter how sorry you were, it would never cure the world of pain.
He watched as Kankuro left the room. Now what? Was he supposed to just sit here and wait for them to come in just so they could take him to a psych ward and tell him he was crazy?
But you are.
Crazy, sick, unwanted, and unloved, those were the words he used to describe himself. Gaara Sabaku: self loathing, suicidal teenager. Why him? What was it about him that made God want to press that "Fuck you" button?
He lay back into the uncomfortable piece of garbage they called a bed and tried to relax. His stomach was threatening to rip him apart if he didn't calm down. He wished he was back at home. Alone in his room with his blades and fake sense of peace. His sanctuary where he didn't have to worry about anything. Suddenly it seemed like his life had gone to Hell and back. He wanted so badly for things to just stop. This pain, this hurt, this world full of hate. At the same time though he desperately wanted to believe that things would get better; that perhaps his going there will stop the madness.
Yes, the madness. It was dark and dangerous. A deep parallel to this world. Could they fix it? Was it even possible anymore?
Gaara sighed and closed his dark rimmed eyes. His existence was pointless. He only brought pain and suffering. Things here would be no better. He would stay for as long as he had too, then, when his time was up, he would leave and finish the job he started. He would dance for them and they would applaud and send him to his doom. It was just a matter of time.
So how was it? Was it bad? I've never done a GaaraXNaruto story before, so I hope this works out.
Please review and let me know what you think.~