InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ For Souls ❯ One ( Chapter 1 )

“To be perfectly honest, I feel really stupid being here. Actually, I do not think stupid is the right word. It is more like…a combination of feeling hopeless, pathetic, pessimistic, and yet desperate because I feel like this is it for me. I really do not think I could go lower than needing to be here.”

With her long, pale index finger she removed her bangs from her eyes. The ragged, broken and scabbed skin around the nail caught her attention, and she had to divert her eyes to avoid the compulsion to bite at the jagged flesh. She took a labored breath and fixated her gaze on the 12-minute-behind clock on the back wall. How long had she been standing up here, in front of the others? Why was she afraid to look them in the eyes? Why did she feel compelled to stand before them and disclose her darkest feelings? All because that one woman had blocked the doorway upon her arrival and stated, “It's your time to share today, during the last hour of our group.”

She sighed once again and focused her eyes on the clock. She continued her verbal upheaval.

“I've heard you all bare your souls, and yet I feel like I don't have the courage to confide in you yet. You are all strangers to me; if I had passed you in the street a month ago I wouldn't have given any of you a second glance. Yet now, thanks to `Tell Time,' week by week you have all shared your stories. No, not stories, horrors; nothing that has happened to any of you is less than traumatic. Nothing has been fair. All your experiences and your pain…you are all so brave.”

She paused for a moment, feeling a change in her heart, a self-deprecating spitefulness that was beginning to rise. She rolled her eyes at herself with a self-defeating snort.

“Me? I am here because of a stupid boy. You, Sango, Shippo, and Nazuna, you are all here because of family. Family. Your own flesh and blood. You must probably hate me, thinking that this weak, stupid girl is at a suicide self-help group because of some jerk.”

She paused, taking another long, strained breath. She could feel the lump working its way into the back of her throat. She felt her eyes begin to sting and she mentally cursed herself for being weak. She had spent the last three hours of the group telling herself she would not cry during her “Tell Time.” Was she really that weak? The others had broken down when they shared during their “Tell Time,” yet their experiences…

Jesus, she thought, no wonder those poor bastards turned to killing themselves…she inwardly berated herself for always thinking that death was the final answer. Instead of letting her self-defeat take more hold on her thoughts, she tried to slow her increasing heartbeat.

“I'm not here because of family, girl. You know that.”

She turned her attention to the brown-haired boy in the wheelchair with the furrowed brow, using his hands to roll himself forward and backward out of restlessness.

She smiled unappreciatively. “Yes, Kouga, I know that. My point in addressing the others is that I do not feel like I belong here. I cannot just open up my soul to you people and unleash my pain.”

She wrinkled her brow and felt her lip begin to tremble, recognizing the dark shadow of depression and self-hate slowly creeping within her.

“My pain is lowly. How can a broken heart from some asshole even compare to having your family murdered, or having to watch a dying sibling. And yes, Kouga, before you say anything further, I do not even feel like I deserve your pity either! You, who lost your legs in your qualifying year for the Olympics.”

The mediator cleared her throat and offered a small smile. “You know, Kikyo, it's not a competition. The extent of your pain shouldn't be justified or even be made to feel inferior based on the experiences of others. Your pain is yours alone to understand and cope with. Remember, this is your hour to use as you will. Yes, it seems to be the trend for everyone to discuss their pasts, their experiences, and their pain, but please don't feel obligated to share before you're ready.”

Kikyo nodded in response. “I understand,” she said.

She sighed again and glanced at the diamond-shaped scar on her left wrist as it glinted under the lights, catching her eye. If only Kaede hadn't found her that second time…she shook her head of the thought.

Where was I? she thought, returning her gaze to the clock at the rear of the room. She inwardly laughed at herself, for finding it more comfortable to bare her soul to the inanimate object rather than the individuals before her. Wasn't that the point of these group sessions? For the shared experiences and developed trust to help each other heal?

“Well,” she continued, “despite Ayame's point that I can talk about whatever I like, I feel like it is only fair I address why I admitted myself into this self-help group.”

With a sigh she took this moment to force her eyes away from the clock, and she did so with her self-deprecating smile. While she looked like she was deep in thought, trying to regain her narrative, she took this moment to survey her audience.

Five faces gazed upwards at her: Sango, Shippo, Nazuna, Kouga, and the mediator, Ayame. Kikyo had first become acquainted with these faces exactly a month ago, when she was referred to this program by the Outpatient Services of her local hospital.

Sango was the first face with which Kikyo had become acquainted. The black-brown-haired girl had barely shed any tears in the time Kikyo had known her. Her first impression of Sango had been that she was stoic, brave, and bearing a burden like an iceberg - the heaviest and most painful aspects of it were deep within Sango, unseen to the eye. Sango was friendly enough, somewhat quirky, relatively sarcastic, didn't make much eye contact. Sango was the first person who shared her traumas with the group at the first “Tell Time.” Ayame had told Sango that the last hour of the session was hers to use as she would like, whether it would be to tell the group about herself, talk about the weather, or even if she wanted to unburden her heavy load; the choice was hers. Despite Kikyo's first impressions of Sango, Kikyo was surprised at how willing Sango was to share her family trauma. Kikyo observed a softness about Sango, despite Sango's efforts to appear unyielding. Sango had disclosed her experiences unfeelingly, very matter-of-factly: her brother was dying, life support was the only thing keeping him alive; however, he lived in a vegetative state, a shell of who he once was. “He is, but he isn't, my brother,” Sango had claimed. Sango stated she had no other family left, and that as Power of Attorney for her brother, it was up to Sango to tell the doctors when to pull the plug. In response to her narrative, Ayame had asked Sango how she felt based on what she shared. Sango's response had only been “I don't know; obviously not good.” Immediately afterwards, Sango stepped down from the three-inch riser at the front of the room and took her seat. Kikyo observed how Sango's face seemed to steel herself against the others in the room, with pity in their eyes.

“But Sango, you still have about 18 minutes left in your `Tell Time',” Ayame claimed, staring at her thin, sleek wristwatch. Kikyo suspected the watch had been a gift from a boyfriend, considering the look on Ayame's face anytime she looked at the trinket.

Sango hadn't responded immediately; however, as everyone continued to gaze at her, waiting for a response, Sango's brow furrowed and she shot up in her chair, yelling, “What!? I said I'm done!”

Ayame had then nodded, stood, and walked up to the riser, preparing to wrap up the session about 15 minutes early, encouraging the group members to loiter afterwards by the door for coffee, sweets, and to get to know one another.

“Kikyo? Are you still with us?”

Kikyo shook her head of the memory upon hearing Ayame address her. Kikyo offered a small, embarrassed smile and started picking at the hangnails and scabs on her cuticles.

“Sorry,” she sighed, staring at the scuffs on the toes of her shoes. “Speaking this openly to people I don't really know is hard for me. I mean, we meet, we have a cup of terrible coffee—no offense, Ayame—then we share in some idle small talk, and then suddenly we are upheaving our darkest secrets, the skeletons in our closets, the most horrific aspects of our lives that have made us want to kill ourselves. To strangers! The madness of all of this is that I refused to bare my soul to any of my friends, and even my sister only knew about this because she found me in my room after my second attempt, and then intercepted the third attempt.”

She paused and gave a small hmph with her self-defeated smile. “You know, I do not think I have ever told any of you that in the past month. It was because of the third time that I am here, you know. My younger sister, Kaede, found me when I was re-editing my suicide note.”

Her eyes began to glass over as fresh tears began to form. “I say re-editing because every attempt was just some sad, pathetic revision of the first,” Kikyo paused, trying to catch her breath. When had her heartbeat started to quicken? “Just like how every time we had gotten back together it was always the same things that kept tearing us apart.

God dammit,” she spat, feeling the tears sting her eyes once again.

Kikyo turned her face away from her onlookers, as if trying to embarrassedly hide herself from their voyeuristic eyes, hungry for knowledge about the young woman.

“This is stupid,” she hissed. “All of this is so fucking stupid,” she seethed, feeling the salty pools beginning to merge in the corner of her eyes. She tilted her face up slightly, angling her chin higher than normal, hoping that this movement against gravity would keep the tears at bay.

“The worst thing…” she started again, leaning on her hands against the white board behind her, taking one of the marker in her hands, removing and re-donning the cap with small clicks. “And I mean the really bad, ugly, awful thing, is that I think I still love the bastard.”

She let out a choked laugh as she felt a single tear roll down her right cheek. She did nothing to intercept the traitorous tear. She simply stood there as she internally traced its trail, feeling it tumble down her neck, and fall prey to the collar of her black button-up blouse that devoured it immediately.

“It has been five years since we were last together, yet I am frozen—stuck—I am the one suffering to go on. How is he? I would not know. Is he suffering? Does he feel badly? Does he realize how broken I am? How pathetic and weak he has made me?”

She choked out another laugh as the tears seemed to flow more freely now. Her head felt like it was spinning; she had just opened the dam to her blockaded emotions, and the flood was imminent.

“He betrayed me, broke me, fed me false hopes, but somehow he always found a way to reel me back in. And the worst part is that the bastard never really needed to try. God knows if he didn't change his phone number the last time I would probably have called him during this five year dry spell.” She paused. “We have never been apart this long before,” she struggled to whisper out.

Seeing Kikyo leaning against the whiteboard, her hands behind her back, and the tears freefalling down her pale white cheeks, Ayame stood and moved the tissue box from the table in front of the participants to the small podium to Kikyo's right. Kikyo turned her face away from the approaching woman, feeling ashamed that someone could get that close in her current emotional state. Ayame offered Kikyo a small, supportive smile as she released the box, and then resumed her seat.

Kikyo ignored Ayame's gesture, feeling too proud to reach for a tissue, as if the action would admit Kikyo's misery. Instead, she pulled at a large black pill that had developed on her shirt, and dropped it on the floor. She looked up and noticed that everyone in the room was staring at her, almost as if they were hanging onto her every word. Everyone except for one person: Shippo.

She gritted her teeth within her mouth as her eyes scanned the room. I hate their pity. I don't want their sympathy.

On her way back to gazing at the clock at the back of the room, Kikyo's eyes fell upon Shippo. His small freckled face angled down at his hands rather than watching Kikyo's pathetic monologue like the others in the room. Kikyo observed the sadness plastered on his face, the frown lines that have impossibly started to become permanent on his youthful face.

The first time Shippo had addressed Kikyo he seemed friendly enough, a little too perky for being someone at a suicide self-help group, but Kikyo recognized the false and forced happy demeanor - she herself was a seasoned expert at appearing `okay.' Shippo also demonstrated no issues with bearing his soul during the second week of the group session, when he held up a tattered, musty, and rough-handled newspaper clipping and explained the brutal murder of his father, and that Shippo had been helpless to save the man. Shippo also demonstrated no issues in sharing his fascination with fire, stating that his friends have called him a blossoming “pyro-maniac.” Shippo stated it was on the first year anniversary of his father's murder that Shippo intentionally set his apartment on fire before taking half a bottle's worth of sleeping pills, along with old prescription blood thinners he had found. Shippo stated he had woken up four days later in the hospital, told that his neighbor, coming home from work and seeing the smoke from underneath Shippo's front door, knocked the door down and rescued Shippo from the flames. Shippo had raised his one pant leg to show the permanent scarring that Shippo shared would be a permanent reminder of his weaknesses.

“I'm ashamed of myself, you guys,” Shippo had declared over his sobs. “I failed to properly save my father, and I'm so weak I couldn't even get rid of myself to stop the pain.”

Sango had immediately stood and enveloped him in a warm embrace. Ayame told Shippo he had shared enough at that point.

“Kikyo?”

Kikyo once again shook her head of her thoughts and glanced towards the boy she was just lost in thought about; the boy who had just called out her name. Kikyo offered him a very small smile and nodded her “I'm alright” towards him. Shippo nodded in return and leaned back in his chair.

Feeling her emotions settling and her cheeks becoming dry from the trails of tears, Kikyo felt ready to continue speaking. “Ayame,” she called. “How long have I been up here?”

“About 22 minutes,” the woman responded, crossing her legs.

Kikyo only nodded. “I don't feel I have much more to contribute at this point. I suppose I couldn't just resume my seat?”

“That's not fair!” Nazuna shouted. Kikyo's eyes jumped to the girl immediately. “I had to stand up here last week for the full hour in front of you lot, and most of the time I just stood there crying. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was!? Both Sango and Shippo got out of their `Tell Time' early too. How come Kouga and me are the only ones actually being held to the rules, here?”

Kouga nodded his agreement. “I ended up talking to you all about my old training schedule, all the laps I would take around the city, and my two-and-a-half minute miles.” He smiled toothily. “I'm pretty sure I bored you guys to tears.” His face suddenly hardened and he clenched his left fist. “But no, we have to honour the rules here, people! If Ayame says we need to do this for an hour, then suck it up and do it for the hour!”

“That's pretty big talk coming from you, Wolf-boy,” Sango admonished. “Both Shippo and I chose to talk about our personal family histories. Did you see how Shippo reacted to talking about his father? The poor kid could barely keep himself from falling over.”

Shippo didn't say anything, but bounced his eyes between Sango and Kouga.

“Oh, and what about me?” Nazuna cried, sitting forward in her seat. “I talk about how my family was murdered by gang members, and I was…” she trailed off as she stifled a cry. “Even though I'm up there crying and feeling pathetic about myself, you don't see me running from the front and refusing to keep talking.”

Kikyo, continuing to lean against the whiteboard, began picking at her nails again. She took this opportunity to glance back at the clock. The anger building between the participants had taken over her “Tell Time,” and she wasn't complaining. She surveyed the room and felt the tension building. She knew Ayame promised not to interfere, vowing to keep the censorship to a minimum; Ayame wanted this group to feel as organic as possible - within reason. This thought drew Kikyo's mind to the first session she had attended, when Ayame stood behind the podium at the front and welcomed the participants to the group.

“This group is based on Social Learning, Social Comparison, and Helper theories,” Ayame had stated, pointing to the terms written on the board behind her. “We'll go through those terms in a bit more depth later today. You'll notice the binders in front of you with your names on them - consider those your bibles as we make our way through this program together. Each session we'll begin with a group discussion based on that week's topic, some topics will include things like nutrition, healthy coping mechanisms, meditation, and building healthy relationships. You'll notice the journals inside the front sleeve of your binder also with your name on it.” Ayame held up an orange journal with her name scribbled across it in permanent marker. “Journaling is something that may be foreign to you at first, but the entries you will make both here in the group and on your own time will help you on your path to healing.”

Ayame had paused and taken a sip of her bottle of water. “I'm just going to stop there and take a moment now to ask that everyone here shed your doubts, fears, and reservations about attending this session at For Souls. What you have experienced, and what has brought you here, is a topic I don't want us dancing around. You tried to kill yourselves. I want everyone to come to terms with the fact that you are here because, for your personal reasons, you wanted to end your life. I want to make it perfectly clear that the topic of suicide will never be a hush-hush subject here. We have emergency and on-call services available 24/7, so if you ever feel like you need help, or that you are considering suicide once again, please use these tools.”

Ayame had surveyed the group, gauging their reactions to her nonchalant attitude towards suicide disclosure. She asked everyone in the room if they understood and agreed to those terms; everyone, including Kikyo, had nodded.

“Okay, good!” She stated, smiling at them. “Let's get technical now about how the sessions will work. Each weekly session is broken down into four 1-hour segments, beginning with the group discussion. You'll meet our resident psychiatrist, Dr. Myoga, in about an hour or so when he comes in to introduce himself. The second hour of your weekly routine will incorporate a 15-minute one-on-one session with Dr. Myoga. Dr. Myoga has been the resident psychiatrist at For Souls for the last twenty-seven years, and he swears by the fact that commitment to yourself, and to taking this group seriously, will absolutely help you find your way to feeling better. While Dr. Myoga meets with everyone one-on-one, the rest of you will write a journal entry, whether it's a laundry list, grocery list, or a detailed account of your day, the books are yours to document what you choose. Keep in mind, too, that it's not homework,” she said with a smile. “You don't have to hand your journals in, and I assure you both Dr. Myoga and I will never ask to read what you have written, although we may ask you about it. Good? Good.

“The third hour of the group is reserved for creative outlets. For Souls is fortunate enough to have many art supplies, crafts, puzzles, games, and even a few instruments and music books that have been generously donated. We'll get into more detail about that hour a little bit later today.”

Ayame rearranged her papers on the podium, gathered them in both hands, and then tapped them against the wooden stand to get them parallel with one another.

“The last hour of the group is what I call `Tell Time,' where one of you will have the floor to talk about absolutely anything of your choosing. I swear you to all, here and now, that anything goes during that last hour of the session. I don't personally believe in censorship, particularly because grief looks different for all of us, so how is it fair for me to censor what you choose to say, or how you choose to disclose it, if that is how you communicate or process your thoughts? Please rest assured that I want everything during `Tell Time' to be as organic as possible. I will only ever step in when I am concerned about the integrity of the speaker or the group.”

At that time Ayame had paused and initiated an ice-breaker activity to get the participants to introduce themselves and share their favourite food, movie, and colour. Afterwards, they drew straws to determine the order for “Tell Time.” The order had been chosen as: Sango, Shippo, Kouga, Nazuna, and Kikyo. After Ayame wrote the order of the names in her book, she had walked to the podium on the riser at the front and addressed the five participants before her.

“The confidential things we discuss in this room will help you build relationships to help you heal. We are brought together because of grief, whether it's the grief we feel for another or the anger we have directed at ourselves because of our grief. We are all different people; how we deal with our emotions, how we respond to others, and how we understand the world are all very different. So this means that how we process our pasts, and how we come to terms with our pain are going to look very different for each of us in this room. Therefore, I ask that we each take a moment to assess our behaviors and attitudes, we'll be writing them down in our journals during the second hour today.”

Ayame's brown eyes hardened and her smile faded from her face as she leaned on the podium, shifting her weight to the pads of her feet. “I'm not a really serious person; as I'm sure you can see I'm pretty outgoing. There's only one thing I am absolutely serious about, and that I never take lightly, and that is respect. When you come to these sessions, you will leave your judgmental comments, thinking, and accusations in the hallway. Above all else in this group, respect for each other is paramount.”

Kikyo's thoughts returned to the present at seeing Ayame stand and ask to speak to Nazuna in private. The two retreated to the small meeting room to the right of the riser, Nazuna's hands in the back pocket of her jeans, claiming “this is ridiculous” as she walked into the room. Ayame closed the door behind her.

Kikyo turned and saw Sango breathing heavily, her face partially flushed—likely from the shouting. “Stupid girl,” she muttered under her breath.

Kikyo observed that Kouga had stopped moving his wheelchair around and had positioned himself closer to Shippo, asking the young boy how he was doing, and apologizing for the ruckus Kouga had made.

“Oh, why don't you just leave him alone?” Sango called, her arms crossed and staring angrily at Kouga.

“Why don't you get down from your high horse and pull out whatever's up your ass. Jesus, Sango, you're so pissy tonight, what's your deal?”

Sango clenched her fists and turned her face away, “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“It's her brother,” Shippo stated, once again his eyes bouncing between the woman to his right and the former athlete on his left. “Did you go to see him before the session tonight, Sango?”

She nodded her head in response, not making eye contact with anyone. Kikyo watched as Sango picked at her cuticles, and Kikyo inwardly guffawed at how the action seemed to be a common type of body language people displayed when processing feelings of hurt.

“I thought we said last week you weren't going to go anymore right before group,” Kouga stated, his tone softening.

Sango didn't respond. She opened her mouth like she was going to speak; however, the attention in the room turned towards the meeting room at the sound of the door opening. Ayame held the door open for Nazuna, who stepped out with a low head, her light brown bangs hiding her face from the onlookers.

“I'm sorry, Kikyo,” she said in a small voice with a slight bow of her head, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. “Ayame reminded me that we all made a pact to respect each other, and out of anger I disrespected you during your `Tell Time.' I'm sorry.”

Kikyo nodded her head and offered the girl a forced smile. Kikyo could tell from Nazuna's body language and the look on her face that she was still angry at having been called out by Ayame. Nazuna returned to her seat and crossed her legs and her arms; the body language again telling Kikyo that Nazuna was shutting herself off from the others.

“Kikyo,” Ayame called, “Why don't you step down from there; I think the six of us need to have a chat before you all leave today.”

Kikyo nodded and propelled herself up from where she was leaning on the whiteboard. She stepped down from the riser and took her seat between Sango and Nazuna. Kikyo glanced at the binder with her name on it on the desk and suddenly felt how school-like and childish this whole session seemed.

Ayame's wedged-heels made hard clunks along the riser as she approached the podium. As always, before speaking, she ruffled, sorted, and tapped the papers into alignment, and then offered a small smile to the five below.

“So you have all had a chance to experience what it's like to have your very own `Tell Time.' What do you think of it so far?”

There were shrugs, muffled comments, and so-so hand gestures.

“I see,” Ayame commented, leaning on her forearms against the podium. “You know, this is the…ninth…no, tenth, sorry, session I have done, and it always strikes me as interesting how everyone feels obligated to spill their very soul the second they step up on this platform. Sango, if you don't mind my picking on you for a moment, why did you feel the urge to tell us about your brother?”

Sango shrugged before stating, “I'm not really sure. In our one-on-one, Dr. Myoga explained to me that I need to let others in about Kohaku. I tend to keep to myself mostly.” She leaned forward in her seat and clasped her hands together. “We're in this together, aren't we? For the next seven months? Dr. Myoga spoke wonders about this group, saying he has seen many positive changes in his clients who took the group seriously and kept good attendance. I…” She paused, looking down at the pooling blood along the cuticle of her ring finger, and then putting it up to her mouth to suck the blood away to prevent it from getting on her clothes. “I don't want to be like this anymore. I don't want to hurt like this anymore.”

Shippo put his hand on top of Sango's noticing the sadness on her face.

“I shared because for me to be able to take this place seriously—to take myself seriously—you all need to know about Kohaku.”

Nazuna cleared her throat and the other participants glanced towards her. “It's the same thing for me,” she stated. “I told you guys about my family, and what happened to me, because I can't sleep without my pills, and I feel sick in the bottom of my stomach every time I leave my house. Do you know this group is the first time I have left my apartment in almost six weeks?” Tears started forming in her eyes. “I just want to sleep without the nightmares.”

“You didn't tell us you had nightmares, Nazuna,” Shippo commented, leaning on the table to look around Sango and Kikyo at Nazuna, who sat on Kikyo's right. She merely nodded at the comment and sat back in her seat, staring down at her hands as she pulled and picked at the hem of her light green t-shirt.

Ayame sighed softly at the front of the room. “In the first four weeks, the goal is to have you all start coming to terms with your grief. It's not easy, and it's not going to be easy. Last week we discussed the Five Stages of Grief: denial/isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Who remembers what stage is called `emotional limbo?'”

“Depression,” Kouga called out.

“Exactly, yes. Denial and isolation occur immediately following the `stimulus' or `event.' If you're interested, you can flip to page 33 in your binders. That's the handout we went through last week. For some of us, denial and isolation looks like removing ourselves from the company of others, denying or putting off blame, or even allocating blame incorrectly. As we begin to process the event, feelings of anger develop; for some of us this anger turns into violence, maybe self-mutilation or hurting the ones we love. Bargaining, if you recall, is the stage of negotiation. This stage is usually identified by comments like, `I can't go on like this.' Sometimes this stage brings about large changes in our behavioural and emotional state. For some of us, this change looks like physically moving away or possibly trying to shut off our emotions.”

Ayame paused to survey the group participants. She mentally noted how invested in the topic Shippo and Sango appeared. Nazuna had flipped to the page in her binder reviewing the stages being discussed. Kouga merely rested his face in his right hand and gazed about the room. Ayame glanced at Kikyo last and noticed that the young woman sat with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes not leaving the table in front of her. Of all the participants, Ayame found Kikyo the most difficult to interpret. Ayame made a mental reminder for her to track down Dr. Myoga the next morning to discuss his one-on-one with Kikyo during the second hour of the group that day. Had he had any success breaking through her barrier?

“Depression,” Ayame continued, “is what brings us together in this group. I had mentioned to you all that depression looks different for everyone; yet, for all of you here, depression led you down the same path, and that path convinced you that death—taking your own life—would bring you peace. Call it divine intervention, family intervention, the return of rational thought, or one last act of hope, all of you are here for a reason, and that reason is to heal.

“You all know I don't like to stand on a soapbox and preach to you all, so please don't take this last conversation of the day as such,” Ayame smiled and tightened her ponytail, tucking loose brown strands behind her ears. “We made a pact, the six of us, that we will respect one another, listen to one another, and protect each other. You have been through enough,” Ayame stated, moving to the left of the podium, leaning on it with her right arm, and crossing her legs at the ankles. “Your reactions and behaviours during Kikyo's `Tell Time' made me realize that the last four weeks have not been easy on you all. Healing, and learning to accept your pain, takes time. I want you all to promise me that an argument like that will not happen again.”

Everyone nodded their heads.

“Good,” Ayame happily chirped with a clap of her hands. “So, next week, please remember that Dr. Myoga has to leave earlier than usual, so the first hour of group will be your one-on-ones and journaling. That will be followed by our discussion, and then creative time. `Tell Time,' as usual, will take up our last hour. Sango, you are continuing our pattern and will be up for your second time next week, okay?”

Sango nodded, and turned with softened eyes toward Nazuna. “I'll do what I can to commit to the full hour.”

Nazuna offered Sango a small smile of appreciation. Shippo let out a tiny cheer of support at the statement of peace between the two females.

“Okay,” Ayame called, stepping down from the riser and approaching her seat, closing the large blue binder, and gathering up the loose papers her notes were on. “That's it for today then. I want to thank everyone again, and especially you, Kikyo, for your trust in us.” Ayame stopped and turned her body to face Kikyo directly. “Every week we get to know each other a little better, and it means a lot to me, and to the others, that you chose to confide in us. I hope as the weeks go on you will realize that we are here to help you come to terms with your grief, and that you can confide in us again.”

Ayame kept her eyes on the young woman, expecting Kikyo to make eye contact and respond to Ayame's comments, but she continued to sit there—impeccable posture, brown-eyes focused, hands clasped together—and her gaze locked on the table in front of her. Ayame took no mind of Kikyo's lack of reaction, and turned her attention back to gathering her things.

Sango took Kikyo's, Kouga's, and Shippo's binders and put them back on the shelf by the door in the back-left corner of the room. Nazuna walked over with Sango and they spoke of their routes home and potential plans of getting together on the weekend to watch a movie. Shippo and Kouga approached Ayame, Kouga apologizing for his behaviours during the group and thanking Ayame for her patience with him. Shippo bade a happy goodbye to Ayame and Kouga and briskly walked towards Sango and Nazuna, where he asked Nazuna if she was planning to take public transportation home; it seemed the two of them took the same route.

Kikyo lifted her gaze from the table in front of her and surveyed the room, seeing the affiliations that had begun to develop in the group—for all the members except for her. Kikyo stood, adjusted her blouse and then tossed her long black over her shoulder as she made her way towards the door. She stopped at the table with the refreshments and poured herself a cup of tea—which was likely lukewarm by now—for the walk home. She estimated, with the rain outside, it would take her roughly thirty-five to forty minutes to arrive at her destination. She figured public transportation could be an option to save time, but Kikyo did not want to run the risk of seeing him. Kikyo dropped a lemon wedge into her Dixie cup and began stirring when she saw movement on her right. She looked up and saw Sango standing there, her eyes locked on Kikyo's.

“How are you?” Sango asked.

Kikyo didn't respond, but turned her eyes away and focused on the swirling contents in her cup.

“I know it's hard,” Sango began again, moving closer to Kikyo, and putting her hands behind her back as she spoke. “I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious for it to be my turn again next week.”

Kikyo's silence continued.

“I know you're a fairly quiet person, but I want you to know that if you ever need to talk, you know, outside of this group, I'd be happy to meet you for a tea or coffee sometime. I only work part time, and when I'm not working I'm usually at the hospital with my brother.”

It wasn't in Kikyo's nature to be rude, so she turned her attention towards Sango to let her know she was listening. Kikyo clutched at the cup in her hand, feeling the slight bit of warmth beginning to expand in the cup and transfer into her palm. She knew the heat would not last very long.

“Thank you, Sango,” Kikyo stated, offering her a forced smile. “Maybe someday I would like that.”

Sango nodded and offered Kikyo a smile. To show her support, Sango placed a hand on Kikyo's, and Kikyo froze. This was the first physical contact she had had with another person in quite some time. Sango's hand felt warm, almost as warm as the tea cup in Kikyo's left hand. Kikyo observed how Sango's purple nail polish was chipping away on her nails, and that the nail lengths were uneven. Kikyo also took note in how scabbed Sango's cuticles were, just like Kikyo's. Kikyo smiled to herself once again, realizing that both females sought refuge from their thoughts through that small act of self-mutilation.

Sango wished Kikyo a goodnight and left the room, stating she had a bus to catch.

Kikyo watched as the others took their leaves, each of them either bidding Kikyo a good night or offering her a smile. Kikyo felt a warmth develop in her stomach, realizing that everyone made an effort to acknowledge her on their way out. Shippo held the door open for Kouga as he wheeled himself out, turning to Kikyo and offering her a cocky smile.

“I won't be so nice as to help cop you out of your next `Tell Time,' you know.”

Kikyo snorted in response, “I would not expect you to.”

Kouga's smirk turned into a toothy grin and he wished her a good evening, taking off, rather quickly, down the hallway. Kikyo heard a skid and Nazuna shouting at Kouga to slow down before he ran someone down.

Eventually, the only two left were Kikyo and Ayame. Ayame approached the refreshment table and began cleaning up. Without word, Kikyo put her cup back on the table and began helping Ayame. She gathered the sugar packets and stir sticks and put them into the cupboard beside the table, where Kikyo saw Ayame take them from at the beginning of the group.

“How are you feeling, Kikyo?” Ayame asked. “I know the first `Tell Time' is the most uncomfortable. But I truly do appreciate how much courage you showed in disclosing to us.”

Kikyo nodded. “It is hard...being the only one with my problem,” she heard herself saying.

“How do you mean?” Ayame questioned, gathering the miniature milks and creams together.

“I am the only one here because of an intimate relationship. Sango, Shippo, and Nazuna are all able to help each other better because they share some aspect of their grief - they are here because of family. I feel so…alone.”

“Well, how do you think Kouga feels?” Ayame probed, lifting the thermos of coffee and heading towards the door. Kikyo held the door open for her and followed her down the hall towards the kitchenette.

“What about him?”

“He is here for something absolutely different than you all; his grief has nothing to do with relationships, but solely to do with himself, and the loss of his legs. Can you relate to that? Do you think any of the others can relate to that?”

Kikyo stopped, watching Ayame disappear into the kitchenette. She was alone in the hall, and at 10:11pm on a Thursday, the only sounds were the soft muffles of Ayame cleaning in the kitchenette.

I had not thought about that, Kikyo thought to herself. That boy, who his fans nicknamed `The Wolf' because of his speed before the accident…She felt pity and shame rise up in her throat along with the familiar lump. I had not before realized that he is like me; the others cannot share his pain.

She looked down at her legs, at her folded pant hem and the scuffed loafers. What would it be like to suddenly not be able to walk?

She shook her head of the thought and realized that now wasn't the time to suddenly pity him. She realized that she didn't want the others to offer her their compassion and pity—all because she felt pathetic for being driven to end her life because of her broken heart. She refused to offer the same pity that she detested.

“Kikyo? Why are you still here? I thought you left.” Kikyo looked up as Ayame left the kitchenette. “I still have some cleaning up to do, it's late. If you need to talk, why don't we arrange a meeting tomorrow?”

Kikyo shook her head, “No, thank you, that will not be necessary.”

Ayame smiled, recognizing the proud tone in Kikyo's voice. “Of course,” she said. “I will see you next week then.”

“Good night,” Kikyo said, turning around and heading back into the room to grab her cup of tea from the table.

With a blank mind Kikyo stepped into the cool night. The doors closed with a heavy slam behind her and she was faced with the dampness of the evening, illuminated by the lampposts fencing in the pathway of For Souls, the social service agency she had been in for the last four hours. Kikyo took a deep breath of the open air, suddenly feeling small in comparison to the expanse of night. She had the sudden realization that the world was so large in comparison to her problems; her pain, her longing for peace suddenly seemed so unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Kikyo felt her stomach tighten and she realized how pathetic she felt for allowing her relationship dilemmas and heartache to seem so vast and all-consuming.

Why…she asked internally, looking up at the sky as if the gods, spirits, and other ethereal beings were at the mercy of her words. Why must it be like this? Why is it so hard for me to let go? Why can't I let go?

She set off for home, realizing that her tea cup had lost all warmth in her hands, mirroring the coldness she felt within. Standing at the gates, with For Souls behind her and society beckoning her outwards into the `real world'—not the world of social services, support, and grievance counselling—she headed for home. At the sign of the first public garbage can, Kikyo got rid of the full tea cup. It tumbled into the bin, and Kikyo felt herself grimace, waiting expectantly for the cup to heavily land, having not taken a sip of the beverage. She felt badly for whoever would be responsible for emptying out the contents of the can, but then diverted back to her thoughts and continued walking.

She wasn't one to feel pity or empathy for others, especially given she hadn't received any, nor did she want any. Where were her supports when her relationship had failed the first time, and he was driven into the bed of another woman? Where were her supports when she cut her wrists with the arrow that won her the championship in school? Where was he when Kikyo decided she couldn't live with the thought of him with another woman?

Kikyo felt tears brim her eyes. She felt less ashamed to cry in the open, dark air. There were very few people around at this time of night, and only the occasional car or bus drove by.

“Big sister,” she heard Kaede's voice in her head. “Big sister, you can't keep doing this to yourself. Please.”

Kikyo's mind turned back to her conversation with Kaede two months ago.

“That's another note, isn't it? Dammit, Kikyo! Why now? Why again?”

“This does not concern you, Kaede,” Kikyo had admonished, turning her teary eyes towards the handwritten note in front of her, the red ink domineeringly adjusting the words she had written so many years ago.

“As your only family in the city, Kikyo, it does too concern me!” Kaede had begun to cry. “What now, Kikyo? Why are you doing this again? What has he done?”

Kikyo had let out a sob in response to her sister's questions. She dropped her pen and covered her mouth, opening it behind her clammy palms to let out a cry, but no sound erupted. She felt her body quake with the pain of having to go through this a third time.

This will be the last time, she thought. I can't live like this.

I can't live this like…

Suddenly, Kikyo's mind was back in the present, one memory teasing and dancing with another. That had been what he said to her, when he approached her and told her that he was done with their relationship for good.

“Kikyo, I can't live like this anymore. It's fair to say you don't trust me, but you steal my phone and go through my messages when I leave the room; you won't let me go out with my friends without checking in with you regularly, and when I don't respond you turn into a psychotic bitch leaving voicemails and accusing me of `running to my whore.' I - I can't do it anymore. I'm done, Kikyo. This time, I mean it.”

Kikyo's tears exploded at the memory and she stopped walking, clutching a hand to her heart and using the lamppost nearby to rest her other hand upon, supporting her heavy body - her burdened heart.

“Why,” she cried out between her sobs, angrily turning her gaze to the cloudy darkness above her, clenching at her blouse-covered heart, blaming the ethereal spirits who denounced her previous questions.

“Why did I have to remember this?”