I'mmmm baaaaaaaaaaaaccccckkk! It's been years (literally) since I've been here but I'm back. So here we are... Yep. ...

Alright, get readin'.

Chapter 1.

You know that feeling of claustrophobia you get when even your skin becomes a layer too many? When the heat is smearing its fat ass across your entire chest and making it that much harder to step forward or breathe in? Well, that's nothing compared to the sickening heat wave that was baking New York like a pan of greasy casserole that seals itself off and suffocates everything mushed inside until it melts.

So fucking hot. Hot as balls. Hot as Hell. 'Hot as summer gets,' she hoped, pushing herself down the sweaty hole of a stairwell.

When she reached the street, her hand immediately flung up to shade her eyes as her other made haste to dig out her sunglasses. Shorts and sweat stains in every color passed her by on the street, no one daring to stop or they might just not start up again.

Almost three short blocks away was the local farmer's market and they were scheduled to wrap up in the next hour or so. If she was going to grab that last basket of marked down produce, she had to get going now.

Her pocket squeezed the neatly folded bills she saved for this week's grocery trip. It was noticably less than her usual budget, but not because she was low of cash. Anything but, really.

"Hey," She greeted with a flimsy exhale. Scanning the baskets in front of her, she gently pulled out a chubby head of lettuce from one vender she had grown to know over the past year or so.

"Little hot out today, don't you think?" The man teased as he took the money handed to him.

"Just a little," She smiled and felt a drop of sweat run down the side of her flushed cheek. "I gotta get going before I pass out. See you next week!" 'Though I'll be out of here by then,'

"Sakura," She turned back to the vendor at the sound of her name, "take this."

He handed her a water bottle coated in its own sweat, obviously fresh from a cooler. "Oh god, thanks, Chouji. See you," She immediately drained half the bottle on her way to the next stall.

Little by little she filled her backpack with small cartons of produce, trying to keep the small talk to a minimum along the way.

"Not bad, I'll call them up so we can register."

She stopped right where she was and couldn't look away.

He stood there with some other guy and looked around sparingly at the stalls set up. "I guess." His eyes finally reached her, but as quickly as they did, they left and she felt her toes crunch up in her sandals to hold her sanity in somehow.

And then they walked away.

And she stayed.

Eventually she snapped back and got her head half clear of the tall pilar of man meat and tried focusing on tomatoes. Just tomatoes.

The pale strands of pink kept sticking to her cheeks and neck as she chopped the lettuce and barely missed her thumb. The fan died out about ten minutes ago, though it probably was due to die months ago. "God damn it," she muttered, swiping her moist brow with her forearm. Soon, she had to remind herself. Soon.

The sound of the rhythmic thud of the knife calmed her.

For that moment.

"What's for dinner?"

"Chicken caesar salad," she answered as smoothly as she could. She had gotten back over an hour ago and he hadn't spoken one word to her until his fucking stomach growled. Of course. Of fucking course.

It was always like this, though. He'd speak to her when he was hungry, or when he wanted to fuck. But more recently he'd only call to her for food. She had her suspicions the girl three doors down was to thank for that.

She squated down in front of the fridge and basked in the glory of the cold chill that instantly graced her skin. "Kiba,"

"What?" He didn't even look away from the tv.

"Where's the whipped cream can? I was going to make a small fruit salad for dessert."

When he didn't immediately answer, she looked over to him and saw him staring impossibly hard at the tv with his face soaked to the skull with red. Her lips instantly pressed themselves between her teeth as she repressed a shudder. Guess he already had his dessert while she was out getting groceries. 'No surprise there,' she shrugged to herself.

But it still hurt.

'It'll hurt more to stay any longer than I have to,' she reminded herself.

For the longest time she had been running from job to job, saving up to get herself the hell out of there, away from her sleazy boyfriend and chained down life. Just one more paycheck to collect and she'd be off to go back to school.

Sakura was no idiot, by far. Smart girl, just always running into setbacks. In high school she graduated in the top five percent of her class and never received anything below an eighty during her first year of college. But that was when she was caught with the wrong person at the wrong time and was suspended for a year.

To make matters worse, she was stripped of her scholarship, making it impossible to return without taking on a debt worth more than the heart beating inside her chest. So she pushed on, accepting her fate. Dry cleaning gig three days a week, dish washing two nights a week, waitressing two days and three nights a week. But it would be worth it soon. It had to be.

It just had to be.

Because tonight was the night.

No more schmoozing off of that damned horn dog of a boyfriend who in reality, only offered for her to live with him because he was too lazy to cook and wanted a definite opportunity to get laid any day. She scratched a tear away from her eye and slammed her fork a little too hard back in her plate.

"Sorry," she mumbled, getting up to go wash her dish and all the crap Kiba let accumulate in the sink during the day. "I'm gonna get going after I shower."

The stocky lump on the couch looked at the clock and then at her with some confusion. "You never leave before six." He stated.

"One of the girls has to leave early today so I offered to pick up the end of her shift." The back of her neck warmed up but she knew he wasn't observant enough to notice the color.

"You're too nice to people."

"I know."

She held a careful expression, suddenly very aware of all the nerves in her nose, eyes, lips. She was so close to getting out and never coming back.

But she wasn't free yet.

Her cheek was suddenly pressed against the peeling paint of the bathroom door as a firm weight was suddenly against her. "You mad with me, baby?" She halted a breath she needed to take; his breath was far from pleasant.

"No," she muttered to the door.

"Yes you are. Let me fix that, yeah?" He roughly unbuttoned her shorts and forced them to her ankles. His hands groped her waist and hips while his lips and tongue wasted no time in soaking her neck with hot spit and testosterone.

"Kiba, I need to-"

"Shut it, I know." He forced her shoulder back and turned her to face him. She liked it rough, he insisted... Because he liked it rough. Too rough.

Her mind instantly locked itself up and she turned her body on auto-pilot. It was the last time, she thought, so no point in putting up a fight. His hands would never mark her body again, he'd never leave her on the carpet with a mess coating her and shaming her in the mirror.

She was reeled back to reality when a sharp pain shot up between her legs. "Moan for me."

When the door closed behind her, she felt her heart break free of all the doubt and stress constricting around it. She didn't mind the mild heat matting down her hair or the steam layering on her damp skin. The subway ride wasn't as cramped as usual and she barely noticed the stench of summer sweat and piss.

Her backpack was heavier than usual, the last of her belongings were crammed in tight and she shifted the weight on her shoulder. For over a week she had been folding up and packing her clothes and her most important belongings in her bag and taking them with her when she'd work at the bar downtown. She agreed to work an extra hour or so a few nights in exchange for space in the back room and the safe for her saved up cash.

She didn't actually have a shift tonight, but she did have her suitcases to pick up. The owner gave a nod from the front and she smiled lightly, battling the butterflies as she shuffled to the back.

Her hand tightened on the thick stack of folded bills. It was enough to support herself in a cozy one-bedroom in Brooklyn for a few months. The landlord was expecting her within the hour, so she didn't have time to drool over her savings.

"Good luck, Sakura!" Asuma called to her before she shoved the door open and went down into the subway to emerge into a borough, new bed, new job, new routine, a new life…

"EVERYONE PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND YOUR SHIT ON THE GROUND!"

...Just not the start she thought she'd have.

So there's the opening! SHABANG. Next chapter will be coming to you soooooonn.. BUT! I'm going to be annoying like the good old days, but not just for my ego. As an ode to all you old fans out there, I want to give you guys some say in this story to make it one you really want to read.

So what kind of edge will this story take? Should I throw in a vampiric heart throb? A criminal dreamboat? Foreign love machine? Maybe something else you've been waiting for on FF or something you've seen only once in a story long ago? AN ALIEN? Try me.

The first idea to get 5 votes will start me off and get that next chapter on the way!

Let's make this story a good one!

Happy unbirthday,

Frumpyrox