InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Double Vision ❯ Chapter 33 ( Chapter 32 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Miroku touched his fingers to his lips. Her lips had felt so cold. He was very worried about Sango. She was the toughest human he knew, but it just seemed wrong that she was on a mission so soon after giving birth. She should be home, sitting by the hearth, nursing their new baby. He knew it was his fault. For years he had asked every woman he met if they would bear his children. He had obsessed over Naraku and the cursed void, sure that it would expand and pull him in, ending his miserable life before he had a chance to have a family of his own. Then, when Naraku was finally defeated, everything he had wanted had fallen into the palm of his hand like a sweet, ripe plum. He had his own comfortable home, a strong, beautiful wife, and the children he had thought he would never live to see. Only to have it all fall apart.

Amaya had given him the chance to take the easy way out, absolving himself of all blame. There were two curses on his family, the one placed by Naraku, and the one Amaya had placed on his seven-times great grandfather. His lechery was not his responsibility, after all. In his professional capacity, as a monk, he would tell another man in his situation to go, and sin no more. Heck, he’d even give the guy a sly wink and add, “at least don’t get caught”. Therein lay the crux of the problem. As Amaya had said, he enjoyed his curse way too much. And Miroku knew that that was his fault, and his alone.

He traveled through the night, anxious to get home and start doing right by his family, as Sango had commanded. As he walked, he obsessed over Sango. He truly did love her. It felt like a stab to the heart for him to contemplate the idea that she might not come home. Oh, he had known that she could fall in battle, he had accepted that a long time ago. That would be very bad. But to think that she wouldn’t come back because of his own behavior was infinitely worse.

The long night ended, and the sun rose coldly over the countryside. He had emerged from the big deep forest and was now crossing a region of meadows and cultivated farmland. Cresting the top of a hill, he looked down into a little valley town, swathed in a haze of frosty mist that was rosy with the early dawn sunlight. He strode past the first enclosed pastures, where horses and cattle grazed, their warm breath visible in the cold air. A little bridge arched over a rushing stream, and here the frost had settled hard on the shrubs and the overhanging branches of a weeping willow. The icy crystals shone like the faceted diamonds of Inuyasha’s “adamant barrage”. The beauty brought a tear to his eye. Holy Buddha, he must be tired. He rubbed his eyes vigorously with the back of his sleeve, took a deep breath, and stepped over the bridge.

He raised his hand in benediction as he passed a family in a farm wagon. A sturdy farmer led the broken down nag, while his fat wife rode in style with young twin sons and a nubile, wholesomely pretty daughter. Miroku told himself not to even look. And it turned out to be easier than he thought. He waved as the family called out cheerfully to him, and he called back a cheerful “good morning”. He entered the area of commerce, and came upon a tavern, serving breakfast. He went inside, and a buxom maid brought him a steaming bowl of miso soup. Her breasts were bound tightly, but not with the intention of subduing them. Rather the upper portion had been left to burst forth abundantly, generously left visible for the appreciation of any who cared to partake in the view. Normally, Miroku would have been all over her. He gulped, thanked her sincerely for the meal, and bowed his head in a brief prayer. The soup was excellent. Thick and hot and slightly spicy. He couldn’t think of the last time anything had tasted quite this good. As he was leaving the tavern, he blessed the establishment and pasted up an ofuda, without even speaking to the owner or asking for payment.

Miroku felt much stronger as he left the town. The soup warmed his belly and fueled his moral resolve to be a better man. The day grew slightly warmer. Though he was very tired, he began to enjoy his walk. It had been a while since he had journeyed alone.

Since Inuyasha’s estrangement from Kagome, he and the half-breed had been practically inseparable. Sango spitefully called Inuyasha his “butt buddy”, but it was nothing like that. He uncomfortably decided that he and Inuyasha were not good for each other, each using the other’s bad behavior as a cover for their own. As long as they were together, he could tell himself that he was not so bad. After all, Inuyasha’s forsaking Kagome for Rin was downright cruel. When he stood beside Inuyasha, it was Inuyasha the people of the village skewered with evil glances. Miroku knew what they said of his friend. Though they enjoyed his protection and feared his power, they called him “wicked dog”, “cradle robber”, and “abuser of priestesses”. And those were the nice things they said about him. Miroku’s transgressions were more pedestrian, and the villagers found them easier to forgive. Every village had a Miroku, though Edo could pride itself that their lecher was exceptionally handsome and successful in his endeavors. Where the villagers cursed Inuyasha, they laughed fondly at Miroku. But was he truly any better than his friend?

Walking alone down the road, which had long since reverted to a mere rutted cart-path, Miroku felt just a fragment more clean inside. If he was striding along beside Inuyasha, they would probably be making bets about what kind of success he would have with the ladies of the next village, or joking about the ones in the town they had just left. If Rin were along, he would have to watch them flirting, Rin grabbing Inuyasha’s forearm, Inuyahsa caressing her butt, or worst of all, Rin would be riding piggy-back the way Kagome used to. Miroku hated that. He really, really hated that. There were times he wanted to beat them both with his shakujo until they were bloody and bruised.

For the first time ever, Miroku wondered how Sango felt about the compassion and love directed toward the little priestess because of Inuyasha’s betrayal, while the female warrior received very little sympathy, though everyone knew of his infidelities. He bet it hurt her a great deal, though Sango would never admit it. He vowed that he would never give her reason to doubt him again, and prayed he would be given another chance, as Amaya had implied.