InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Dry The Rain ❯ Pain of being left behind. ( Chapter 2 )

Dry the Rain

Chapter One; which contains just as depressing contents as the previous installment.

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Mijikayo ya

Ware ni wa nagaki

Yume samenu.

--Yayu

(A short night

Wakes me from a dream

That seemed so long)

***

At 1:56:41 p.m. Souta turned 17. His watch beeped happily up at him, alerting all to this fact. He heaved a sigh of the aged and much aggrieved, before thumping his shaggy head against the comforting bark of the giant god tree. He had abandoned two of his friends in the family room, last he had seen; they had been gleefully slaughtering the undead in one of his new video games, courtesy of his mother.

A warm breeze ruffled his dark, already messy hair. He didn't give it to much thought. Idly he patted his shirt pocket, where part of his gift from his grandfather resided. It was a gift certificate from one of the local barber shops; could grandpa be trying to tell him something? Chuckling softly he rose and began making his way towards the house. The wind kicked up once more, pushing long hair into his face, and he stumbled gracefully.

"Ahtq! Damnit!" He cursed.

There was a sudden banging, the all too familiar and sought after sound of the old wooden sliding door bouncing off the building. Even though he knew better, even though his head cursed him sharp and loud, his anxious heart made him turn; and expectant eyes sought the familiar form of the girl that had ceased to return many years ago.

Unwarranted, the curses sounding in his head fought their way free of his tight throat. He viciously kicked an unsuspecting rock that had been lying peaceably at his feet. No need to mention that this very rock had so maliciously tripped him.

His head dropped, unseeing eyes darting over uneven ground. How long would it take? How long should he let his heart expect her? She had always made a point to not be gone longer than a month, a point not to cause them unheeded worry. Was she just unable to return? Or had something more sinister happened? No, no she was alive, and happy. She was living somewhere with Inuyasha, and they would have a half a dozen part demon babies running around. They would have Kagome's eyes, and Inuyasha's ears.

Running a tired hand over his face, he let his knees go weak, and dropped down onto the ground. How long had he been cultivating this image? This desperate dream of his sister and his childhood hero, it had been tenderly feed for years. Why would it still not grow? Deep down, somewhere, he knew. He had reasoned that even if she had lived though the final battle, he would never get to see her again.

When was the last time he had seen her? He hated the fact that it was unclear, hated that that instant was somehow jumbled and mixed in with all the other times she had come back home. It wasn't fair that his mind failed him in this instance, that it denied him the knowledge that, for some reason or another he, he desired among all else. He could call up hundreds of other memories he would sacrifice in the place of this one fleeting golden one. How much money he would pay to call up the image of her the last time she had come through those doors. What had she been wearing? Had she been hurt? Was she smiling? Of course she had been smiling; she always smiled, even if it was only for the benefit of others.

He suddenly jumped to his feet. How could he be denied this? How could the gods keep his sister's fate a mystery? It was unacceptable! With determined steps he made his way to the old well house.

"Souta?!"

He stopped abruptly, desperately trying to chase away the immediate and all encompassing feeling of guilt. He wasn't doing anything wrong…

"Uh, yeah mom?" he turned to the door to see her standing there, dishtowel in her hands. Such busy, compulsive hands. Always doing something. With profound disappointment he turned his feet from his destination and made his way towards her. Eyes so much like his own, cast a frenzied worried gaze over him, before her lips formed a false smile.

"Is everything alright? You've been out here awhile." Her fingers reached up to push some wayward strands out of his eyes.

They stood in silence for a while; his mother could almost hear the frenzied whirl of his mind trying to crank out an explanation. "Yeah, I was just…I was…I don't know what I was doing." He finished lamely.

A gentle understanding smile crept over her face, it was almost as if she was saying `it's alright dear, I've done it too.' She nodded slowly, her eyes only flitted briefly to the decrepit building that was made to serve as the final resting place of her only daughter and first born. "If you don't hurry, I think your friends are going to beat your game."

Souta snorted in blatant dismissal. "I don't think so. I hid the player's guide under the couch, they only way those amateurs could beat it is by cheating."

His mother's serious look bespoke of one who didn't even try to understand the complex world of video gaming. "Well, shouldn't you go in and show them how it's done?" Stepping to the side in silent command to go in the house she smiled again, a real one this time and motioned for her son pass.

He studied her resolutely, before shaking off the bittersweet longing to turn and jump into the well that had time and time again refused him. One curt nod was given before he stepped hurriedly past her and made his way into the living room.

"Oi, guys. Didn't you say something about meeting some guys at that new place down town?" He asked with false bravado.

"Oh yeah!" Squeaked Shinji. "I heard the food is great too!"

"Whoa. Calm down man." Sighed Ryoji. "It's pizza, not ambrosia."

Shinji pinned his friend with a sharp look. "And have you ever tasted ambrosia?"

Ryoji sighed again, this time the deep pulled taffy type sigh of the much bereaved. "No. Can't say that I have."

"Well," huffed Shinji, "how do you know what it doesn't taste like?"

"Umm, doesn't ambrosia taste different to everyone?" Souta asked hesitantly, unsure if he even wanted to get involved in this conversation.

Both boys cocked their heads like confused puppies. "Where did you hear that?" Pondered Ryoji.

"I dunno." Replied Souta with a non-comitial shrug. "Just something that seemed relevant."

Ryoji nodded, satisfied with his friends reasoning. "Food of the gods right? Shouldn't it be always changing? You'd think it would taste like whatever they wanted it to."

Shinji grinned, "Yeah, so who said that the gods don't want a nice slice every so often?"

Ryoji and Souta shook their heads, almost in denial of the much sought after point. Souta jerked his head toward the door, in silent but firm command that they leave. Once again he would try, to be normal, to forget; if even just for a little while.

***

She watched her son leave. If she had to, if it was necessary, she could imagine how hard Kagome's absence was on him. They had been close, and he had worked so hard to become closer in the last dozen times she had emerged from the past. He would bandage her hurts, and talk to her about nothing. And she, she would stand in the door, feeling a slightly bitter jealousy; without her knowing, her son had gently squeezed her out of her position. With a shake of her head she walked slowly towards the kitchen, her thoughts on the cake she planned to make for Souta. As difficult as the initial thought, the brief painful image of her daughter, it ran fleetingly from her mind. In the very back of her soul, something screamed. It yelled that letting go this soon was cold, uncaring. It thrashed and dug its nails into tender flesh, making her wince and pause. It berated her, it called her a bad mother, and it labeled her as a coward; that repression, and denial was the easy way out.

Feeling the well of tears, and the panic building in her chest, she hurried to her bedroom. Closing the door quickly, she leaned against it; as if the motion could stave off everything. It didn't. Rustling through her underwear drawer, somewhere she knew her father and son would never dare go, she pulled out an amber prescription bottle. Biting her lip, she shook out one, and pausing for a moment, then another pink and tan pill. Placing them on her tongue she swallowed them dry. Easing down to sit on the floor and leaning against her footboard, she listened as the little voice continued to scream at her, railing and hissing its displeasure. Letting her eyes slide shut she willed the medicine to work quickly, for the 100 mg of chemical happiness to chase away the screaming in her ears.

The voice didn't just disappear, it quieted, and its taunts grew less cutting. Strange, she thought, she had never noticed before, but it sounded a lot like Kagome.

***

It was late. But even in the dark, even at this hour, he could make out the faint line of demarcation. The area where the spackle didn't quite match up to the rest of the ceiling. And if he thought about it really hard, he could remember the absolute dread he had felt when that baseball that he had bee lobbing above his head crashed through the plaster and drywall. The feeling had been so acute, so heart stopping that he had no memory of the ball coming back down to connect with his head. But it had happened; he still had the scar to prove it.

He did remember Kagome's worried shout, how she came rushing in without knocking. He remembered how she had brushed him off and made sure the blood dripping down his face wasn't fatal, before giggling at his plaster-dust bedecked form. It had taken hours for the two of them to patch him up and clean up the mess he had made. Kagome had even dumped the small pieces of drywall into their nearest neighbor's trash, and covered the hole with masking tape, which he had carefully painted as to not be so obvious.

A carefully thought out fall down the steps had explained the gash on his head, and an spill involving his favorite soda had taken care of why the bedspread was in the wash. He could still see the way his mother had shaken her head at his `clumsiness' and the feeling of Kagome's hand sliding through his hair, and the conspiratorial wink she had given him before she had dashed off to rejoin her friends in the past.

It had worked too. Well, until the next thunderstorm. Then had been rudely awakened by the slowly dripping leek, and turned on the light to find a particularly nasty shade of brown quickly spreading across his ceiling.

Considering the damage done, his mother hadn't been overly angry. He recalled her calmly explaining to him how much easier it would have been to patch the one small hole rather than the huge waterlogged area that resulted. Evidently she had reasoned that making him work to pay for it and losing his room for a few days had been more than enough to convey her message.

He swiped a rough hand over his face, four years was a long time. How could she not leave them some kind of message? How could there not be anything? It wasn't possible, Kagome wouldn't put them though this. The harsh acidic pinch echoed though his sinuses. Again he passed a hand over his face. He had sworn he wouldn't cry until he knew, not one tear unless he was sure.

Swinging his legs to the side he sat up quickly. A mark, something, a message. Kagome would leave them something. He hastily pulled on a pair of pajama pants and slippers. Treading quickly but quietly thought the house he made his way outside.

Hurrying though the front door he rushed into the center of the courtyard and stopped. Cold, confused, and desperate he spun a quick circle, aching eyes landing on everything and nothing all at once. Where? Where?

Slowly he eased his body to the cold stone, and crossed his legs. He shut his eyes, and then he did something he hadn't done for a long time, he prayed.

And there he sat, becoming more frustrated and desperate, but more so, even more cold. A voice in his mind wailed, it lamented the fact that his sister had sucked up any and all of the spiritual powers in the family. How could it be fair? The little voice demanded to know, how cruel it was to leave him empty and wanting.

And then, a sudden gust of wind kicked, raising goose bumps on his flesh, and sending a thrill up his spine. His body strangely humming, he sat up straighter, and the little voice demanded to know. The violent thawping of the well house door came as his resounding answer. The low resounding sound of wood bouncing off wood called to him. It was deep and hollow with age, and seemed to mock him.

"Here! Here silly boy! Who are you praying too? I'm right here!"

And so, hoping for it more than anything, he made his way quietly and carefully into the old building, he went to go find his proof hidden amongst the dry old boards at the bottom of the well.

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Hi! Has any one been waiting for this? Have you given up hope yet? Yes? Alright then. This is not how I intended for this to end, but what the hell. I'm honestly not sure where this is going anymore, I'm going to have to go back and check my notes… If anyone reads this…gimme some back of the feed. Or feedback…that would be nice too.