InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Fragments ❯ This Twist of Fate ( Chapter 8 )

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

Title: This Twist of Fate
Author: LuxKen27
Universe: Alternate
Genre: Angst
Rating: T
Word Length: 1950
Summary: “I do not want to foresee the future; I am concerned with taking care of the present. God has given me no control over the moment following.” – Ghandi

Disclaimer: The Inuyasha concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media.

Miroku dreamt of lace and silk.

Specifically, his dreams were filled with black French-cut lace silk panties, and the perfect way they curved around the most beautiful part of a woman’s body, so alluring and inviting and tempting, as if begging for his touch. Lace, because it was so dainty, spread across the skin as if to protect it and enhance it at the same time, was perfect in combination with silk, so decadent by its very nature. He loved the way it felt, the differences in texture against his fingers and then his palm, teasing him of the prize that awaited within…

Damn if the Europeans didn’t know their underwear.

He shifted slightly in his sleep, one hand stealing down the warm body curled around him until it found that very prize. He sighed deep with pleasure as his hand cupped her bottom, enjoying to the very core of his being the thrill that accompanied each and every stroke. Eventually, the light caress was enough to make her stir beside him, and the rest of his body roused to life with anticipation.

The images in his head shifted abruptly when he felt her slick warmth brush against his thigh, sensations becoming far too real to merely be limited to a dream state. The corners of his mouth cracked up into a smile as soft kisses were pressed into his neck. His hands found her hips and he shifted again, preparing to lift and tuck and sheathe, and in the haziness of his half-awake mind, he decided there was no better way to wake up than this.

“Sango!”

Miroku froze where he lay, his eyes cracking open. Daylight streamed into the room, piercing against his tired senses. He glanced to the side, catching Sango’s gaze and watching, with no small amount of dread, as it narrowed and focused back on him.

Muffled voices continued to filter into the room, along with the sounds of a small scuffle. “You have no right!” cried an unknown female, followed by sounds of the suite door opening.

A man answered her, sounding quite affronted. “I have every right,” came the response. “She is my fiancée, living in my hotel! I only wish to know how she is doing, in light of the news.”

Miroku’s heart began to pound furiously. He struggled to wipe the cobwebs from his brain, but under the guise of so little sleep, it was proving to be a difficult task indeed. Sango’s arms wrapped round his neck as the voices moved closer, and he was startled to feel the urgent press of her mouth to his, a jolt of surprise rocketing straight down his spine.

“The news you gave her?” argued the woman. “You should’ve known how she’d react, you ungrateful prick!”

“That’s enough,” admonished the man, sliding his key into the bedroom door. “This is none of your affair, Akiko.”

Sango released Miroku in the same moment that the door opened with a flourish. His attention turned to the scene that greeted them, and he was ill-prepared for what unfolded right before his eyes.

“S-Sango,” the man said, stumbling over her name.

Miroku eyed him curiously. Given the snatches of conversation they’d been privy to already, he could only conclude that this was the mysterious fiancé. He was of average height and average build, with brown hair and brown eyes, but he carried an air about him. He was dressed in the highest cut of fashion as well; even an untrained eye could see the quality of cloth and value of custom tailoring that made his clothes mold perfectly to his frame. His face was pleasant enough, or at least it would’ve been, had it not been marred at such an expression.

“What do you want?” Sango asked in clipped tones, her voice full of cold, seething anger.

Karanousuke’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he struggled to take in this shocking scene. It seemed so strange to Miroku that he was not equal parts angry and raging and righteous; instead, Karanousuke appeared well and truly surprised and hurt to see his future wife lying in bed with another man. His eyes were wide and round, unblinking, and his lips were thin and tight, as if he was trying not to cry. Akiko finally pushed her way into the room and gasped, covering her mouth and looking away, but Miroku couldn’t discern whether she was horrified or gloating.

“S-Sango,” Karanousuke tried again, finally dragging his eyes away from her and onto the interloper. His eyes narrowed as he studied Miroku for the merest moment before turning his attention back to his estranged fiancée. In the space of a breath, he managed to completely calm himself, straightening his spine to appear even more regal than before.

“My dearest, we have an appointment this morning,” he announced, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

“No, we don’t,” Sango argued, gathering the sheets around herself and sinking back, as if hunkering down for a long row.

Karanousuke blinked. “Yes, we do – 9 am, at the morgue. The coroner is ready for an identification.”

Sango blanched, and it was all Miroku could do to not pull her close. “My brother?” she choked out.

“Of course,” Karanousuke confirmed. “Unless – you are otherwise occupied? If so, I can do it myself, but I would need a picture, to make sure I give a positive ID.”

Sango sank further into the pillows, her color returning and flaming with a vengeance. “No,” she said swiftly. “He’s my responsibility.”

Karanousuke assented, his gaze falling to the floor momentarily. “Of course, my love,” he replied, walking around to her side of the bed, pushing a lock of tousled hair behind her ear, before bending and pressing a light kiss to her temple. “I’ll give you some privacy to change. Meet me outside in an hour?”

Sango didn’t so much as look at him, singularly unmoved by these comforting caresses. Her tension was palpable to Miroku, radiating from her in copious waves, and he wondered for a moment if this fiancé was just that calculating, or just that oblivious.

“Come along, Akiko,” Karanousuke said a moment later, retreating from the room. “Let’s give her space now.” It didn’t take much for him to dislodge the still-gawking girl from her spot before closing the door once more.

Miroku and Sango half-lay, half sat in the bed for a long, silent moment. He watched her closely as he tried to decide on a course of action; he still wasn’t entirely alert, his mind was still sloughing off the events of the night, as well as the throes of thwarted passion. He felt any myriad of emotions at the moment – lust and need and surprise and annoyance and fear…and for once, he had no ready answers.

She moved, shifting to the side of the bed and swinging her feet to the floor, wrapping herself in the blankets and giving him her back. He swallowed hard as the knot of dread in his stomach doubled, finding it exceedingly difficult to get past the lump that had built in his throat.

She’s going to say goodbye, he realized, a spear of pain slicing through his gut. And there’s nothing I can do to stop her.

“You should go,” she murmured starkly, twisting the bedclothes even more tightly around herself.

He squeezed his eyes shut as a shaky breath rose in his chest. “Sango –” he started.

“No,” she burst out, unable to conceal the tremble of accompanying tears in her voice. “Just go.”

He moved across the mattress, reaching out to touch her, to reignite the connection that had bound them together so swiftly only a few hours earlier. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, brushing his fingers across her back.

“I know,” she replied forcefully, but under the intensity of her voice he heard the strength of her fear.

Another time, another place…he’d known that very fear. He could be empathetic to the pressure and strain she was under; he could understand the way she felt boxed in by her own guilt, as if she had no other choice but to submit to the manipulations of the man running the show. But at that very moment, he was also cognizant of his own rawness and vulnerability. Whether she meant it or not, the chill of her rejection struck him at the very core.

“You don’t owe him anything,” he muttered, surprising himself with the force of jealousy in his voice.

She whipped around to face him then, rebellious tears splashing down her cheeks. “I owe him my life,” she argued through clenched teeth before burying her face in her hands.

He gathered her in his arms then, holding her as close as humanly possible, as though he’d never be able to close the gulf rising fast and hard between them. “Then why did you stay with me instead?”

She shook her head and sobbed into his shoulder, unwilling to answer him or even return the embrace. “This isn’t real,” she blubbered. “This isn’t who I am. I don’t lie. I don’t cheat.”

“I think you know, this is very real,” he countered softly, pulling away just enough to press his lips to hers. Her response was swift, immediate, melting into him; her need and fear and anguish was acute, palpable, blatant.

She pushed away after a moment. “No,” she insisted. “This isn’t real. You don’t know me.”

Miroku’s jaw dropped. “I don’t know you? I know everything about you.” His mind was racing. How could she say such a thing? Now?! After everything we’ve been through – done together –

“And I don’t know anything about you,” she shot back.

The rational part of him realized it was her renewed grief talking, but the emotional side of him balked at the denial rampant in her words. He couldn’t shove away the hurt that rose up within him, the result of laying his heart bare, only to have it thrown back in his face. Could she make it any clearer that he had no place in her world? That, because he had nothing beyond love and compassion to offer her, he wasn’t good enough for her? Look around! cried the little voice in his head. Karanousuke is an idiot, but he can give her the moon!

“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “Maybe this is all a dream. But there’s nothing wrong with holding onto dreams.”

“Not when reality slaps you in the face,” she muttered bitterly.

He could take no more of this. He’d already known he was going to suffer, whether it was with her or not. He wanted to be there for her; he wanted to hold her and show her life was worth living even after heart-rending tragedy, but he couldn’t stop her from pushing him away. He couldn’t – he wouldn’t – force her to relive this pain and anguish every day, as her fiancé seemed content to do.

“One day, you’re going to realize you deserve to be happy, Sango,” he finally said, pulling away from her completely and standing up. He moved around the room, dressing and gathering his belongings. She was silent, but she stayed, alternating between watching him and looking away, as if unable to refute him but not unwilling to try.

Finally, against every good grain of his body, he made the toughest decision of his life: he left her there without another word. It wasn’t until he was safely in the elevator once more that he allowed himself to give in to his own tears. Just remember, he told himself, eyeing his ruddy reflection in the mirrored steel doors. Sometimes goodbye is a second chance.