InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: The Fairy Tale ❯ Just Friends ( Chapter 6 )

~~Chapter Six~~

~Just Friends~

 

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:University of Edinburgh:

:Sunday, August 31, 2059:

 

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Meara leaned back against the closed door and sighed, eyes closed as the smile on her face widened, as she twisted the stem of the single ivory rose he'd given her in her nimble fingertips. She'd never thought that she'd ever experience something as wonderful—as magical—as her time with Morio had been. The sunlight filtering through the window on the far side of the apartment building bathed her eyelids in the softest glow, and despite the weariness in her body, she couldn't help but feel entirely alive, loathe to go to sleep lest she lose the encompassing memory of that one brilliant day—the date.

 

A soft sigh escaped her as she pushed herself away from the door and wandered into the bathroom, dropping her bag of clothes on the floor before stripping off the simple white dress and discarding it, too. Hitting the panel on the wall that controlled the flow of the hydro jets, she glanced at herself in the mirror over the sink only to do a double take. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, a hint of a smile still discernable, she idly lifted her fingertips, fluttering them over her still-swollen lips—lips swollen from the night spent kissing and cuddling with Morio Izayoi under the stars in the stillness of the park . . .

 

`But you told him that you could just be friends,' her youkai's pragmatic voice intervened.

 

Meara grimaced and sighed at the unwelcome reminder. `I know . . .'

 

`It wasn't very fair of you, was it?'

 

Biting her lip as she quickly brushed her teeth, Meara tried to push back the feelings of guilt that assailed her. `It's not like that . . . that's all I can do, isn't it? Morio understands . . .'

 

`Morio shouldn't have to understand, Meara . . . The man was desperate for anything you were willing to give him, or didn't you notice? He would have accepted anything just so he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of his promise . . .'

 

`He . . . he promised he'd always catch me if I fell . . .'

 

`There's that . . . and before that, he promised that if you said `no', that he'd leave you alone, didn't he? What makes you think that he wouldn't agree to anything—anything—just so you'd not leave him flat?'

 

That was the thing, wasn't it? He'd caught her hand and pulled her back when she'd tried to leave. She hated the thought of being without him, and yet . . . and yet she couldn't just cast Aislynn aside, either, could she?

 

That's what it came down to, and Meara knew it. As strongly as her father felt about hanyous, she didn't doubt for a moment that if she told him or even hinted that she had chosen to be with a hanyou, Ian MacDonnough would cut her off completely, no questions asked. She'd always known he was ruthless. She'd always known that there was no emotion called love anywhere in the man she knew as her father, and even if there were, it was something that he didn't fully comprehend.

 

No, he'd disown her; she knew it, and while the idea of being disowned wasn't pleasant, she could deal with that, too, for Morio . . . the trouble wasn't that . . .

 

The trouble was Aislynn.

 

She was too little, too fragile, and Meara . . . she couldn't stand the idea of allowing her infant sister to exist in a life that Meara remembered much too well . . .

 

When she was young, before she started school, she'd spent hours wandering through the seemingly endless gardens of the vast MacDonnough estate known as Nightsboro. Such a lonely place, it had been, and yet so mysterious, too. She'd climbed craggy cliffs, waded in the crystalline streams, ran through the forests and glens, ripping her dressed and getting her hair tangled into snarls so bad that she'd cry when her nanny yanked the comb through her hair later, and yet it had been worth it. Escaping the cold confines of the imposing castle, she had found a sense of voluntary seclusion, telling herself that it was something she wanted.

 

She wandered so far once that she'd found the local village, watching children play on the swings in the tiny little park near the school. Hesitating for a few minutes, she'd steeled her resolve before dashing out of the trees in the hopes of making a friend. Her legs were scratched and scraped from her trek through a briar patch, and her hair ribbons had been lost long ago. Dress smudged with dirt on her little face, she'd walked purposefully up to a little girl who was sitting in the grass with a doll.

 

“Hello,” Meara ventured, unaccountably shy in the face of this strange child. Twisting her hands together in the hem of her skirt, she shuffled her feet in the grass and waited.

 

“I'm Laina,” the girl said as she glanced up at Meara, deep brown eyes curious. “Who are you?” she asked.

 

“Meara,” she answered, dropping to her haunches as she slowly reached out to finger a glossy curl on the doll's head. “She's pretty,” she added, smiling uncertainly as the girl continued to stare.

 

“I got her for my birthday,” Laina replied. “You want to see her?”

 

Meara nodded, extending her chubby little arms to take the baby. The girl straightened the doll's skirts and handed her over. “You got a doll for your birthday?” Meara asked with a shake of her head.

 

“Aye . . . Mum gets me one every year . . .” Laina frowned. “You act like you ain't seen a doll before.”

 

Meara felt her cheeks heat up, and she shrugged her little shoulders. Truthfully, she couldn't recall leaving Nightsboro, even for a trip to the store. The servants kept in Ian's employ took care of everything, didn't they? She'd never . . . She made a face, unwilling to let Laina see that she really hadn't seen a real doll before. “Of course I've seen them before!” she lied. “Who hasn't seen a doll before?”

 

“Meara.”

 

Meara's back stiffened at the sound of that voice. Not cold, exactly, but not warm, either, she knew the voice well enough.

 

Ian MacDonnough strode over, sparing a moment to eye Laina as though she were no more than a scuff on his shoe before pulling Meara roughly to her feet and ripping the doll out of her arms. He tossed it down on the ground as he hurried her to the waiting car, and he hadn't spoken to her until they were driving through Nightsboro's gates once more. He was furious—even at the age of five, Meara could tell that she'd somehow done something that her father had found unacceptable. When the car stopped before the mansion, she'd meekly climbed out, shuffling her tones in the dirt as the driver pulled away, leaving Meara alone with Ian.

 

“You will not belittle yourself by associating with those people,” Ian stated flatly, no discernible emotion in his tone.

 

“Yes, Father,” Meara mumbled, eyes hot, grainy.

 

“You are the daughter of the tai-youkai, and you shall not do anything to embarrass me.”

 

“Yes, Father,” she repeated.

 

Ian nodded curtly and turned on his heel. “Your nanny was looking for you,” he said. “Come inside.”

 

Meara frowned as images of the plastic doll with the glass eyes and the fake hair flitted through her head, gathering the remnants of her tattered pride as she grabbed her father's hand and tugged. “Father, if you please! I should . . . I should like a doll . . .”

 

“A doll?” he repeated with a scowl. “Don't be silly, Meara. Dolls are for children. Now go see that you're cleaned up. You look like a common urchin.”

 

He walked away from her then, leaving Meara on the steps of the MacDonnough mansion. She'd never tried to make friends with the village children again though she often went to the edge of the forest to watch them play. She never saw Laina again, either . . .

 

It was that sort of memory that Meara was struggling to keep Aislynn from ever having—that sort of loneliness and the confusion that came with it . . . the feeling that she just wasn't good enough . . .

 

And Morio . . . even if he didn't really understand, he tried, and that was something, wasn't it?

 

Stripping off and casting aside her panties before stepping under the warmed flow of water, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back as the current soothed her.

 

The look in his eyes when she'd told him that they could be friends—there was nothing wrong with having friends, right? She grimaced. The disappointment in his gaze was masked quickly enough, but still she'd seen it, and though he said he understood, she had to wonder how he could when she didn't really understand, herself.

 

“I can have friends . . . that'd be okay, wouldn't it? I mean, everyone has friends, right? And friends . . . well . . . friends do things together, don't they? They go places . . . they do things . . . such as going to dinner or studying together . . .”

 

Morio offered her a half-hearted smile. “Of course they do,” he allowed.

 

Meara nodded, licking her lips and clearing her throat as she dared a glance at him. Staring up at the sky overhead, he was scowling just a little, his eyes bright despite the darkness of the night. The expression faded only to be replaced by a sad little grin when he intercepted her perusal. “Would you . . .? Could you . . .? We could . . . we could have dinner? As friends? Tomorrow night . . . if you're not busy, that is . . .”

 

His gaze didn't falter as he slowly sat up, as he shook his head ever-so-slightly.

 

“Ah . . . oh . . . I'm sorry . . . You probably have plans, don't you? That's all right. It was a rather stupid thought . . . I just . . . Well, it doesn't matter, does it? I—”

 

“Meara.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

He reached out, took her hand, pulled her closer as he tilted her chin, his lips hovering over hers, his breath condensing on her lips as a shiver ran down her spine. “Tomorrow night's too far away . . . how about tonight?”

 

It took a few minutes for her muddled mind to grasp the meaning of his words. It was after midnight, wasn't it? That's what he was trying to tell her . . .

 

They'd stayed there, lying on the blanket watching the stars as he'd covered every inch of her face with the gentlest kisses, holding her so close that the chill in the night air didn't touch her, sharing the sweetest kiss as the sun rose over the tree tops, and sometime during the night, she'd realized . . .

 

`Meara?'

 

`Yes?' she replied as she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. It was one of the ones she'd used to dry the rain off Morio, and it still carried his lingering scent. She smiled, holding the towel to her nose and closing her eyes as she breathed in his scent.

 

`Maybe . . .'

 

`Maybe what?'

 

Her youkai sighed. `Maybe . . . maybe we can do this.'

 

Pausing as she squeezed the excess water out of her hair, Meara frowned. `Do what?'

 

`You know . . . take care of Aislynn and be with Morio, too. I mean, think about it. Your father never comes here to check up on you, and Paul . . . well, he's not around enough to know a thing, either . . . Aislynn won't be a baby forever, and when she's grown, wouldn't it be nice to have a steady home for her to visit? A real home filled with love and laughter and all those things you didn't have . . .?'

 

Meara bit her lip and absently pulled her bathrobe over her shoulders. `You mean, just not tell them? Father or Paul . . .?'

 

`Just for a little while, until Aislynn is old enough to understand . . . you could tell her then how to contact you . . . you can make her understand that she's always welcome with you.'

 

She shook her head, plopping down on the closed toilet, feet askew, shoulders slumped. `But that would be lying . . .'

 

`Lying? Perhaps . . . I rather prefer withholding the truth. Isn't that what your father's done to you all these years?'

 

`That doesn't make it right . . .'

 

`You still don't understand, do you, Meara? You still don't quite grasp the meaning behind it all.'

 

`The meaning . . .?'

 

`Go see Morio, and you'll understand. Just go see him now . . . follow your heart for once. We don't want to be alone anymore . . .'

 

Meara sighed and carefully dried her hair, pondering the cryptic words of her youkai voice. She wasn't supposed to see him until he came by to pick her up for dinner. Still, she couldn't deny that she desperately wanted to see him now; right now.

 

Shaking her head, she stepped out of the bathroom and crossed the hall to Iona's room. Her friend was lying on her bed still fully clothed with her cell phone clutched to her chest. “Iona . . .” she said softly, loathe to wake her but needing to talk to someone about everything. “Iona . . .”

 

Iona groaned and sat up, eyes flashing open as she stared at Meara. “Where the bloody hell have you been?” she demanded without preamble, grabbing Meara's hand and pulling her down to sit beside her. “I was worried sick! Why didn't you answer your cell phone?” Iona narrowed her gaze and sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. “And why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?”

 

“It was the best date,” Meara said as her smile widened even more. “The perfect date . . .”

 

Iona almost smiled though she seemed to be convinced that she wanted to remain a little miffed for the worry she'd suffered. “Perfect? Really?'

 

Meara nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. “But I have a problem.”

 

“A problem? You've just been on the best date ever, and you have a problem?”

 

Meara's smile died, and she heaved a sigh. “We've decided to be friends,” she explained.

 

Iona rolled her eyes. “Oh, you've got to be kidding! You pulled the `just friends' thing on him? Poor sot . . .”

 

“It's the best I can do,” Meara whispered, unable to meet her friend's gaze.

 

Iona sighed. “All right, so he chose friends over nothing, and you come out of it smelling like a rose . . . what's the problem?”

 

Meara wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It's not a problem, really . . . more of a . . . matter of perception.”

 

Iona's eyebrows disappeared under her thick fringe of bangs. “Oh? Do tell.”

 

Unable to stave back the blush that rose to stain her cheeks, Meara shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. “Well, we've agreed to have dinner, but the thing is, historically speaking, dinner has always been used in reference to the largest meal of the day. You follow?”

 

Iona nodded.

 

“Good, good . . . and also historically speaking, the biggest meal of the day has always been the afternoon meal; am I right?”

 

“I suppose . . .”

 

Meara nodded quickly. “Well, then it would stand to reason, wouldn't it, that instead of agreeing to meet him tonight, I should, in fact, meet him sooner since `dinner' and all it entails should occur in natural order during the early afternoon hours.”

 

Iona laughed. “You don't have to convince me, Meara . . . Just friends, aye?”

 

Meara nodded slowly. “Just friends,” she echoed.

 

Iona digested that, wrapping her arms around her ankles as she rested her cheek on her knees and carefully regarded Meara. “You know something . . .?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I'd consider Will to be my friend.”

 

“Will?”

 

Iona nodded.

 

“But he's your boyfriend . . .”

 

“Which doesn't mean he's not a friend, too.”

 

“Oh . . . really . . .?”

 

“Uh-huh . . . You like him, don't you? Morio, I mean . . . It's written all over your face. That's not a bad thing.”

 

“Isn't it?”

 

Iona shook her head, reaching over to pull Meara against her shoulder. Meara leaned her forehead against Iona's cheek and sighed. “Absolutely not. You've spent your life making sure that every other person is taken care of; making sure that your father is pleased, and that your mother need not ever worry—not that he is or that she ever would be . . . Meara . . . do something for yourself, just this once. You owe it to yourself, don't you? And maybe . . . maybe you owe it to Morio, too.”

 

“He . . . he makes me laugh,” she admitted quietly. “He makes me feel things . . . frightening things . . . wonderful things . . .”

 

“You can't be with Paul, and you know it. He doesn't make you happy, and if you were with him . . . you'd end up no better off than your mother . . .”

 

Meara swallowed hard and nodded, sitting up as she quickly wiped away a solitary tear that streaked down her cheek. “She's dying, you know?” Meara said in a whisper. “I can feel it every time I go there . . . She's given up. She wakes up in the morning and looks out the window, and . . . and I wonder just what she sees . . .”

 

Iona didn't answer, pulling Meara's hair over her shoulder and kissing her temple. “That's what I mean. Your mum . . . she's never been quite right, has she? If you accept Paul as your mate . . . You'll never love him, you ken? You'll end up like your mum: dying a little every day.” Heaving a sigh, Iona scooted off the bed. “I'm going to make some coffee. Just think about it?”

 

Meara nodded, propping her elbow on the window over the bed as she stared outside without really seeing anything at all.

 

What Iona said made sense, didn't it? Was that the real reason her mother had always been so distant; so unapproachable? To live a lifetime without the comfort of being loved and loving in return . . . Meara shook her head. `I . . . I couldn't do that . . .'

 

Pushing herself off the bed, Meara slipped out of Iona's room. Her cell phone was in her purse, and she frowned at it for a long moment before she padded into her bedroom and over to her desk, rummaging through the top drawer for her address book. `How telling is it,' she wondered with a wince, `that I don't have Mother's number programmed into my phone . . .?'

 

It didn't take her long to find it. It wasn't the number for a cell phone but was her mother's private number—the phone in her suite of rooms. As far as Meara knew, Alesia didn't ever leave those rooms, and she certainly never left the castle. She'd given birth to Aislynn in those rooms, and for all Meara knew, she'd been born there, too.

 

Heaving a sigh as she swallowed hard, she forced her cold, numb fingers to dial the number before slowly lifting the receiver to her ear.

 

“Hello?”

 

Grimacing at the thin, reedy voice of Alesia Bellerophon MacDonnough, Meara had to clear her throat before she spoke. “Hello? M-M-Mother?”

 

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as though Alesia were trying to figure out just who would be calling her `Mother'. “Meara . . .?”

 

“Y-yes . . .” She tightened her grip on the phone, licking her parched lips as she drew a deep breath and tried to figure out just what, exactly, she wanted to say.

 

“I hear that London is beautiful this time of year,” Alesia went on in a distracted sort of tone. “You should go for a walk through Hyde Park . . .”

 

“I . . . I'm not in London, Mother . . . I'm in Edinburgh.”

 

“. . . Edinburgh . . .?”

 

“Yes . . . Mother . . .”

 

“`Beware the Ides of March . . .'”

 

Meara frowned at her mother's absurd babbling. “I wondered if I could ask . . .?”

 

“Ask . . .? Certainly . . .”

 

She sighed. “I met this man, you ken? He's wonderful, and I . . . Father . . . wouldn't like him.”

 

“Your father's word is law . . . He breeds unhappiness and resentment . . .”

 

“What . . . should I do . . .?” she whispered, knowing in her heart that her mother wasn't going to be able to help her and yet wishing all the same that the woman who had been such a stranger to her could manage to offer some modicum of motherly advice, just once . . .

 

“I loved one once . . . I thought . . . He did not return my love . . . I mated your father because it didn't matter . . . I didn't want it to matter.”

 

“Mother?”

 

Alesia sighed. Meara could hear the scrape of a window being opened. “Regrets, Meara . . . a lifetime of regrets . . . that's what you'll have, and your father will win after all.”

 

“I understand,” Meara whispered, blinking quickly to disburse the moisture that gathered in her eyes. “Thank you.”

 

“Winter comes early this year,” Alesia murmured. “Do not be caught out in the cold.”

 

She almost smiled before her face crumbled, but she managed to choke back the sob that swelled in her throat. “Yes, Mother.”

 

“I must go . . . it's time for tea.”

 

“Yes, Mother. Goodbye.”

 

Clicking the phone off, Meara wiped her eyes and sniffled. Something about the idle chatter of the woman who was her mother hurt more than she wanted to credit. As though the centuries of existing without really living was enough to rob her of the very will to survive . . . Meara understood, didn't she? What her mother had been trying to say . . . if she didn't fight for this . . . she'd end up just like Alesia, wouldn't she . . .?

 

“There you are,” Iona said, poking her head into the room before slipping inside, holding out a steaming mug of coffee to her.

 

“Thank you,” Meara said, managing a weak, watery smile.

 

“Oh, you look serious,” Iona remarked.

 

“I'm going to do it. I don't know how, but . . . I . . . well, Morio . . .”

 

Iona smiled over her cup of coffee. “If you're going to go to an early dinner, then I might suggest you get dressed?”

 

Meara blinked and glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten in the morning, and she smiled. “What should I wear? I mean . . . it is just a friendly dinner . . . between close . . . friends . . .”

 

Iona nodded slowly, her gaze shifting to the open closet as she pondered Meara's wardrobe. “The yellow dress,” she stated. “Sexy but cute . . . soft and feminine but mature. Yes, I think that'll do.”

 

Meara blushed at Iona's description of the dress in question but she pulled it out of her closet anyway, holding it up in front of her chest as she turned to assess her reflection in the full length mirror hung on the wall. “Tell me, Iona . . .” she began, unable to staunch the flow of blood that stained her cheeks a darker hue. “Does a friendly dinner constitute wearing matching knickers?”

 

Iona giggled. “Of course it does,” she agreed. “You should use your yellow bag . . . I borrowed it. Let me fetch it for you.”

 

Meara nodded, dropping the dress onto the bed before rummaging through her panty drawer for the pair of yellow silk and lace knickers that best matched the dress.

 

A stuttering warmth crept up her spine, and she couldn't help the flutter of anticipation that churned in her belly. The very idea of seeing Morio again . . .

 

She swallowed hard as she dropped the bathrobe and started to dress.

 

She belonged with him, didn't she?

 

He . . . he'd been right all along . . .

 

 

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A/N:

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Reviewers

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MMorg

madosie ------ NyteAngelOfDarkness7 (She's the daughter of the tai-youkai … she's dog-youkai … Morio's slate blue and Meara is dusty rose.) ------ OROsan0677 ------ inuluver313 ------ Kyasumi ------ artemiswaterdragon

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Forum Reviews

OROsan0677 ------ angelfire777 ------ cutechick18 ------ My Own Self ------ stefikittie ------ FriskyPixie777 ------ EphermeralAries8 ------ Heoeca ------ Deceptress

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Final Thought fromMeara:

… I can … do this …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Fairy Tale): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~