Okay, I've been actually working my way through my inbox and I've been seeing that I'm still getting followers and the occasional reviewer on this story. So I'm rewriting it, a little at a time, and hoping to get back in the game. Sorry about my random disappearance off the face of the earth. Just know a lot has gone on, but I hope I'm back!

This chapter has been completely rewritten. Please let me know what you guys think. Unless its some flame about the characters or the scenario. If that's the case, just don't read the damn thing. But if it's constructive critisicm, like pointing out something you think I could have done better, or even a grammatical, spelling or punctuation mistake I overlooked, or just to tell me if you like the rewrite or not, please feel free to review. I won't demand reviews, as I myself lately have become too lazy to do those unless I really really have something to say, but I can say pretty please and pray to Jashin-sama, can't I? Hope to hear from you guys. I'll start rewriting the next one now!

Also, if you want to PM me about what the hell I'm trying to prove or why I changed it so drastically, please do :)

Sidenote: Thanks to purvy sage for pointing a few things out to me. I have revised a couple scenes to make more sense, and I did add one or two things, toward the end. You'll find then in italics. I also may have tweaked a few sentences. Either way, nothing much changed. Much.

"N-no, daddy! P-please s-stop!"

Temari clenched her fist in anger at the memory.

"Daddy, I-I don't… I DON'T LIKE THIS!"

Her lip twitched, an instinctive snarl.

"D-daddy, i-it h-h-hurt-ts. S-stop…"

The rape her father had committed against her, when she was only five. If she remembered right, she had cried during a thunderstorm. Baki-sensei had comforted her, but her father, the Yondaime Kazekage, found out. So he punished her. She was "too old" to cry like a baby, and especially over something as trivial as a thunderstorm.

She was happy when the bastard was found dead in a hole in the middle of the desert. Her only regret was that it had been done at the will of Orochimaru, instead of at her own bare hands.

That wasn't the only time, just the first. He "punished" her several times after that, for complaining about her too early (and too hard, especially for a child her age) shinoubi training; for not being "strong enough", as he said she should be; and for being sympathetic. The last reason plays a large part as to why she was—as many would put it—a cold-hearted bitch. "Being sentimental is not something a shinoubi of my village should fall victim to," as her father had said, a direct quote, word for word exactly. There was more; these were only a handful of examples.

She knew now, thanks to Gaara and his research since becoming Kazekage, that there were reasons – almost logical reasons – behind his thinking. Sunagakure, thanks to the daimyo over the land of wind, was falling drastically into debt and was in danger of becoming extinct. So not only did he perform experiments such as creating a weapon by putting Shukaku into Gaara while he was still in the womb, he also did what he could to ensure that Sunagakure had strong shinoubi to defend the dying village. He did, in his eyes, what was necessary to make her stronger.

Thanks, Dad. Really. Thanks.

She didn't care the reasons behind it. She still wouldn't forgive him. Simple as that.

"Wow, who is that girl? She's hot!"

Temari smiled smugly to herself at the" subtle" praise, but that smile was wiped clean off her face as the newcomer received his answer.

"That's Kaze no Temari. You're right, but don't even try your chances with her. She'll kill you without a second's though. Not only that, but her brother's the village demon. You don't want to take any chance of getting near him, either."

Temari's fist clenched tighter, vaguely aware that her fingernails were digging into her palms. Because her "father" had needed her to be strong for the village, everyone was afraid to even come near her, let alone be friends with her. She had a couple friends at first, but that didn't last long. Soon she was transformed into the hard kunoichi her father wanted, and they were terrified of her too.

She could kill efficiently on the battlefield. Sometimes, though she hated to admit it, she even enjoyed it a little. She wondered if it was something in the blood, and that maybe Shukaku got more blame for Gaara's bloodlust than he was really accountable for.

Or maybe she was just crazy.

She wasn't to be sympathetic, caring. A shinoubi didn't care about the lives he took. A shinoubi was a heartless being, a mindless machine to kill on command.

Dating? Ha. That was a laugh. There were few she had any interest in. What would she want or even need in a man? Admittedly, she had almost even gone on a few dates in the past, just to kick back, unwind, maybe have some fun. But they were all outsiders to the sand. Every relationship ended before it even got a chance to think about becoming something, and not even to her own fault. They had all gotten word about her from the other shinoubi or villagers. They seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

She could walk around a corner and hear that the new rumor was she had killed another man by taking his head clean off with her fan. To this she would only smile to herself. If they only knew how she really killed, what it was really like to watch her on the battlefield.

She really found she cared no longer about relationships. She never gave any thought into marrying. Still didn't. But to be with someone? To feel loved, like she belonged with him? That was something that hadn't actually crossed her mind, until she met him.

She shook her head. Not him. Not now.

Instead, something else flashed before her eyes.

Cold stucco brick bit into her back as she pressed as hard as she could into the wall. She was backed into a corner, no way out. Sand swirled before her dangerously, inching closer and closer playfully. She thought she was imagining it, but she swore the sand was bloody.

"Noo! Gaara, please! Stop!" the ten-year-old blonde cried as she watched the gold and red granules sweep toward her. He was toying with her. He knew exactly what he was capable of, what he could do to her, and he was toying, just to see what she would do. Just for amusement.

"Gaara! Please don't! I-I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry!" She had no idea what – or if anything – she had done, but apologizing seemed like her only way out, even if she didn't need to.

The eight-year-old redhead didn't even flinch. He let his sand come closer to his older sister, all the while taking in the look on her face, reveling in it. He learned that nothing ever scared his sister. Nothing...except him. He terrified her. And he took pride in this, that pride being the only thing that saved her life. Even when Baki had showed up moments later with their brother, he wouldn't have stopped, not if he truly wanted to kill her.

Gaara. He was great now, had been the past ten years, since his meeting with Naruto. Now he was the Godaime Kazekage, the youngest the village had so far, the youngest kage in shinoubi history.

But before. When she and Kankurou had been united with the "unloved" redhead, informed that he was their brother, raised away from them for reasons unknown, united only to form what was to be – and still was – the the strongest team in Sunagakure's existance.

Back then he made her blood run cold.

She still had nightmares about that night, and others, nightmares that were just about Gaara. Still, even now, those nightmares still plagued her. She couldn't understand why. Gaara wouldn't think about doing anything like that to her now, and she knew that. In fact, he would kill anyone who even thought about harming her, if he only knew about it.

"Damn it you little bitch! What the fuck did I say?"

He slapped her again. She couldn't see who he was for the blindfold that was over her eyes, and she couldn't move to defend herself thanks to the shinoubi wire that bound her wrists together behind her back, but she recognized his voice. She wouldn't be able to forget that voice, not from hearing him whisper with the other shinoubi and villagers when her brother walked past, nor from hearing him leer at the demon child behind his back, and definitely not from the taunts he threw at her and Kankurou for sharing blood with such a monster. She knew exactly who he was, and stored this information away for later. He would regret this. Oh yes, he would regret it.

Despite her physical limitations, she felt everything. He repeatedly abused her, slaps and punches to the face, teeth digging into her breasts hard enough to break flesh and draw blood, the steel of a kunai cutting up her inner thighs, the way he slammed into her repeatedly, much too hard, causing her to bite her tongue back from the screams of pain.

She felt everything.

"I told you to fucking moan for me! You little whore." Slap. "Do as you're told!"

Temari was stubborn. She wouldn't give in, especially to someone like him. She learned quite a bit early on in life. Don't give in. Don't ever give in. Fight back, in whatever way you can. Don't listen to what they tell you, call you. Don't do as you're told. Don't give them the satisfaction of thinking they can control you. Make them think they underestimated you, that you're stronger than they thought you were, and they'll leave you alive. They'll leave you alive…to live with the humiliation.

She was finally forced to cry out in pain when he slammed into her again, harder than he had already, much harder than she could handle. Blood trickled from her abused womanhood, and she felt as if something had torn. The cry of pain turned into a humorless laugh, earning her another smack to the side of her face, but she no longer felt it.

Just so long as you don't give in. Just so long as you don't give them what they want exactly, what they want to hear exactly, you'll be fine. You'll live.

She smiled at the next memory that flooded her senses. It was in all honesty one of the happiest moments of her life. The moment when she had hunted him down, and killed him slowly. She couldn't contain the satisfaction it made her feel. She heard a harsh laugh escape her lips, a laugh of genuine amusement.

The villagers, the local shinoubi had gone to her when they discovered she was the sister of the local demon. They tried to take their anger and their fears out on her, as they were too afraid to confront Gaara themselves. They would be killed before they even got near him. Naturally, his sister would be a much easier targer. She was weaker, more vulnerable, less dangerous, human.

That wasn't the case for long.

Then of course there was the violence away from Suna. To be honest, she found it less dangerous out there, so long as she was on her brother's good side. Besides, word had gotten around to avoid a certain Kaze no Temari, and she could easily take care of herself when she was out on her own and someone hadn't heeded the advice. And, as always, she was very thankful for the gift of paranoia.

Then there was that one, certain person. The one she trusted. The one she loved. Why the hell did he do it? It was his fault it happened again. His fault. Why did he—

She shook her head. She didn't want to think about him. Especially not now. She vowed to never say his name ever again, let alone think of him.

Temari suddenly trembled, trying to choke back her sob. She had nothing to hide; she was all alone. So why worry about crying?

She choked on another sob, and heard herself suddenly giggle harshly. It surprised her, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She couldn't stop the grin that erupted upon her face, forcing her laughter deeper, harder. She was just to cackling when she had to bend over to catch her breath, tears streaming down her face, but the laughter continued. She gasped out fits of it through slowly burning lungs, but still she couldn't stop it, even as it pained her. As if she had just been told the funniest thing ever, and she just couldn't stop the laughter.

She didn't want to.

She couldn't take it anymore. These were the only memories she couldn't keep from resurfacing. She had managed to ignore everything else, hide behind these thoughts to forget the others, all the other memories of her childhood up to her age and life now, which had made her feel as if all her life's unexpected turns were somehow her fault. As if she had done something horrible in some past life, and she was being punished now for it. And as a child, no less. Every abuse and rape (first, committed by her own father, for god's sake!), the fear of her brother, the responsibility (she didn't even want to think about that one now), the fear she felt everyone had of her, the fear she had toward herself, the disappointment, the failures, the loneliness, the murder and bloodshed (which felt truthfully felt was the least horrible of all), and much, much more than she would even want to think about.

She giggled again. Ironic, how death didn't bother her. She couldn't remember a time when it really had. She supposed watching her brother all that time jaded her somewhat early on. Now the cries on the battlefield, the blood, nothing like that bothered her. Not even anything she witnessed in the Fourth Great Ninja War. Definitely not anything she herself had done then.

Throughout the hour she spent reminiscing, her thoughts kept drifting to a shiny, silver little object strapped to her leg. The one that stayed on her thigh at all times, next to her downsized fan that technique and chakra used to enlarge during battle. Absently, her hand found its way traveling down her leg, moving the skirt of her simple kimono aside. It caressed the steel, kept warm by her body temperature. She ran her fingers up and down the ribbed handle, before they ventured further down and stroked the sharp edge. A hot burst of pain flooded her fingertip's senses, rushing up her arm, but on she went, rubbing the blade of the kunai. She was sure she was shredding her flesh, but didn't care. It seemed so distant. Even the small amount of blood that dripped down her thigh, soaked into her kimono, and dropped onto the floor didn't seem real. She stared at the tiny puddled drops blankly, watching as they soaked the carpet.

It called to her, promising to make things better, to help, to give her thoughts something more peaceful to dwell on. She knew it was stupid. It wouldn't solve her problems. But she found she didn't care. She just didn't care anymore. All that ran through her mind now was the blade. It was better than her own pathetic whimpers and screams.

Sure, she'd thought about it before. Pondered the thought somewhat. But things weren't really that bad, were they? They had never consumed her life like this before. Not this much. She had known to ignore something so stupid. After all, she wasn't a samurai who would commit sepukku over dishonor. She was a kunoichi, a proud and successful one at that. She never backed down, and considered suicide as an easy way out for the weak. And she wasn't weak. Far from it.

But now? She didn't care about anything now. And after what he pulled? What he had done, had caused? She couldn't think of any reasons good enough to go on. She knew she was probably just heartbroken over a stupid crush. But she really had cared for him. She'd like to think she really loved him. Almost a full month, a little over three weeks ago, and she still wasn't over it. She wasn't the first person in this situation. She knew that. It didn't make her feel any better.

Because of him these stupid thoughts were back in her head, because of him it happened again, and she couldn't forgive him for that. She couldn't. Because of that, because of him, she couldn't find a reason to keep living. All because of him.

She knew it was stupid to blame him, that everything wasn't his fault, not even what happened afterward; he was just the thick icing on the pretty little layered cake, but her mind told her otherwise. She felt that he was the reason behind her reminiscing, why all the things that she had blocked out out were coming back to her. She knew she couldn't blame him, but she felt a little better in doing so. Not much, just a little. Her mind kept lying to her, and she knew it. She knew it wasn't his fault. She knew nothing that she did to herself would make it better. She knew nothing would just "make it all go away". Still, she accepted it. She needed something, someone to blame after all. She believed her mind, the little lies it kept telling her. She knew they were lies and she welcomed them anyway. She felt like it was finally time to do something. If she ended things now, they would be over.

Over was a pretty permanent thing.

Suddenly she stood and ran to the bathroom, stumbling over her own two feet, tripping over the door frame. She had barely made it to the toilet when she collapsed on the floor, throwing the lid up just in time for the contents of her stomach – what little there was – rose to spill into the water. She knelt there for what felt like forever, retching even after all her body had to give was stomach acid. She realized she was crying again, but all she could do was choke around the dry heaves. Tears streamed down her face, though she made no move to wipe them. Still she heaved.

Finally her body seemed to calm down, her stomach and throat spasms slowing, eventually drawing to a close. She was laying on her side, staring at the floor. The shapes on the tile swam in her vision, and her mouth was dry, though as she coughed suddenly she realized a stream of saliva had run from her mouth, trailing onto the floor, wetting the skin of her cheek. She didn't care. She coughed again, painfully.

She started to snicker again. Quietly this time, not quite the maniacal cackling she'd given in to earlier, but close enough. It felt like broken glass inside her throat, but she giggled anyway, till it gave into another wave of coughing. She choked on the floor for minutes, willing her lungs to stop.

Eventually she found herself laying still on the floor, her only movements heavy breathing. Her body still wracked with pain, and her stomach clenched on her, causing her to bring her knees to her chest to ease the cramp. She hadn't eaten for awhile. Maybe a couple days. She didn't really know. She didn't care. She knew she was malnourished, possibly close to emaciation, but again, she didn't care.

Everything was hazy. She couldn't really tell what was going on. She had gone out after he left to drink him away. Her senses were numbed. She must have had too much. Must have. But she hadn't drank that much... Had she?

Someone talking to her, shaking her. She stumbled at the contact, almost fell. They caught her, dragged her to her feet again. Where did she live, they wanted to know. She mumbled something in response. She couldn't see his face. Too blurry.

Darkness. There was pain, pain everywhere, but it was so distant. She didn't care, she just wanted to sleep more. Please just let her sleep... She didn't know what was happening. It was all so damn hazy. So damn...

She shook her head free and forced herself to sit up. She fished around on the counter before pulling a wash cloth off, then proceeded to wipe her mouth and cheek as she leaned over and flushed the toilet, dropping the lid down, before clutching the rag in her hand as she used the counter and the toilet to pull herself off the floor. When up, she turned the water on cold, dampening the cloth. She turned the water off and began to wipe her face down with the wet cotton, wiping away the dried tears and sweat. As she brought it down her neck she stared at herself in the mirror.

She hardly recognized herself. Where was that strong kunoichi that everyone hated and feared so much? Where was any of that angry and set determination that always flared through her dark teal eyes? Those eyes were now dark gray, set in a more narrow and pale face than her usual strong and tan round one. Her hair hung limp, not as full or wild as usual. She hadn't brushed it in days. It needed to be brushed, and washed well, she could feel it. Her features were drawn and ashen, her skin pale. She looked sickly.

She looked down at her finger for the first time since she cut it. It seemed to have lessened its bleeding. She brought it to her mouth, licking off the dried blood. As always, it was strong, metallic. She slipped the tip into her mouth, prodding at the wound with her teeth and tongue. Blood slid over her lips, a pathetic watery drop dripping just below her lip. She gave the wound one last hard suck before she grinned and pulled it out, running it over the drop, then running it back to her lips and rubbing the crimson over them. She giggled once, her eyes wide. Her reflection unnerved her.

She turned and closed the door behind her, locking it. She wasn't expecting anyone. Kankurou was out of the village on the mission, and Gaara was busy, probably with paperwork or something of the like in his kazekage office. She just wanted privacy, the intimacy of the closed off room.

Staring blindly into the mirror, she unwrapped the sash of her kimono, dropping it to the floor behind her as it fell open, revealing her thin body. Despite the lack of care she had been giving it the last few weeks, and the little she had been eating, she wasn't as thin as she thought she logically thought she should be. Her ribs were barely starting to show through her skin, and her breasts had surprisingly retained their size, if not were actually a little larger. Her stomach was barely any smaller than it had been a month ago when she'd still been a strong, healthy woman.

She shrugged out of the kimono, letting it slide to the floor and pool around her ankles. She took a long look at her body, trailing the palms of her hands and her fingertips over the skin, starting at the smooth skin on the sides of her breasts by her underarms, down to her hips, barely noticing the tiny faded trail of blood her right finger left on the skin it grazed.

She supposed she had a good body. She felt sexy when she saw herself nude, the scars on her breasts from earlier on having faded quite a bit. She was proud of herself for being in shape, and was happy to have curves in all the right places, but she hardly ever thought anything of it. She terrified anyone that might have ever interested her. Even he had been wary of her, having gone so far as to say her craziness reminded him of his mother. Then those times... They always commented on her looks, though she told herself not to listen. So she tried not to think very much about her body. Of course, when she was happy, confident in herself, that never stopped her from flaunting what she had. She knew she looked good, and felt good about it.

She forced herself to look further down, at her inner thighs. She blankly took in the scarring that riddled the tender flesh. They were all old wounds, though they'd never healed over. She sometimes wondered if a medical nin might have been able to do something about them, but she didn't want anyone to know. It was personal, her secret. She hadn't even told him what they were. Besides, now it was probably too late. Many were faded now anyway.

Momentarily, she wondered who might miss her. She supposed her brothers would, but that was everyone she could think of. A brunette with his hair up in a spiked ponytail appeared before her eyes, adorned in Konoha Jounin attire, laying back in the grass staring up at the clouds as he listened to his best friend chomp down the last of his chips. She shook her head angrily before he disappeared. Then the image of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man with thick prominent whiskers popped into her head to replace him, his eyes flashing from aqua to crimson and back, but then he was gone, too. If only, she thought. It should have been bitter, she knew the thought should have burned her head and make her throat close up and ache again, but now she just felt empty.

She had to do this right. Dry, and the blood would clot quickly. Too quickly for it to do any good. She giggled again at how casual she was thinking about this, but made herself stop before the fits of hysteria took her again.

She shook her head to uselessly clear her mind and turned to the bathtub, turning the knob to cold. She knew that the cold water would make her blood pressure rise, most likely resulting in the blood pumping faster and draining quicker. Again, a smile.

She reached down to the strap at her thigh and removed it, letting it fall to the floor. She smoothly opened her small fan and stared at it for a few minutes, running her fingers along the blade. Her finger had stopped bleeding by now, and left no trace behind on her prized weapon. Anyone else would have been cut up just like any blade by caressing her fan as such, but she knew the weapon inside out. It didn't harm her. Her fans never retaliated against her.

After gazing at it for a few minutes, she smiled and kissed the middle of it before folding it up again and setting it on the counter carefully. She then turned her attention to the kunai she carried along with it. She stared at this item as well for a lengthy amount of time. She found herself staring through it rather than at it. It still had blood on the blade from moments earlier. She ignored it and set it on the edge of the bathtub.

She set the plug and got in.