InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Inevitable ❯ Grief ( Chapter 9 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, I make no money doing this, unfortunately for me making money involves tills and groceries.

 

Author's Note: Transition chapter, and the shortest yet…! Remember, these chapter are supposed to be short. The next one will most likely be longer but no promises.

 

As always wonderful thanks go out to my awesome beta, Wendy, who knows my stories better than even me. ;)

 

 

Inevitable

 

Chapter 9

Grief

 

 

I would later find out, hours after I had awoken, that I had been unconscious for two days, but when the first pieces of consciousness had returned, and with it the pain, the duration of my `sleep' had been the last thing on my mind.

 

The stiffness and soreness of my limbs came after the feeling of being cold and covered in sweat, the headache and the nausea soon after.

 

My movement was restricted and I had to throw up, but I barely even managed to roll over and drag myself off the futon. I was only just holding back the urge to puke my guts out when I heard the shoji door slide open. There was a pause before a loud thump, the sound of something being set down hurriedly, and then suddenly there were cool, clean hands holding back my hair, and there was a bucket in front of me and there was the acrid taste of vomit burning my throat.

 

And I was crying.

 

Only after she had helped me back to the futon and tucked the blankets up to my chin, and wiped my bangs from my sweaty forehead, did I actually register the face.

 

Then, I remembered and my sobbing began anew.

 

She hushed me and whispered softly and wiped my face with a cool cloth, cleaning away the salty tears. When my cheeks bulged she had the bucket and was holding back my hair again. When I finally shoved it away, she wiped my mouth and tucked me in again.

 

By that time, I was too sore and tired and sick to cry anymore, and all I could say was, “I'm sorry.”

 

But she just smiled and shook her head and helped me sit up. Offering her support, she rested my head on her shoulder and forced me to drink the ocha even though I told her `no' and that I wished to throw up again.

 

When she could no longer make me swallow what she poured down my throat, she eased me down and covered me with blankets again, but soon had to help me up again to the latrine.

 

Once again, she had to tuck me in, and once again, she made me drink the tea, but it had cooled and I spat it out. So silently she lay me back down and took the tray, sliding the shoji open and then closed behind her.

 

In less than ten minutes, she had returned with a fresh pot of ocha that was so fresh that it burned my tongue, but she made me take it anyway.

 

Eventually, coughing and having thrown up once more, she helped me lay down again and placed a cool cloth smelling of ocha on my forehead. Then, straightening up her little tray, she stood up as if to leave.

 

“W - wait…” I rasped, reaching out a heavy arm that fell to the floor beside me when I could not hold it up. “Wait…Sango-chan…”

 

“Yes, Kagome-chan?” she asked, kneeling and setting the tray down beside the futon. “What is it?”

 

I started crying again. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry…”

 

“Shh, do not say such things, Kagome-chan. Do not shame yourself with blame.” She smiled sadly.

 

I shook my head. “I should have known…if - if only…then - then I could have done something…”

 

“No.” Her voice was firmer than I had expected and it startled me.

 

She sighed. “No, Kagome-chan. There is only shame to be found in tears. Please don't blame yourself. He died with honour…” her voice cracked, “…he - he is…” The first tear made its way down her cheek, and her voice shook with a sob. “…He - he no longer has shame…he - he died with honour…” She began to weep, and covered her eyes with one hand.

 

“Please - please forgive my shame,” she whispered, and I could see she was struggling as she tried to hold back her tears. “Forgive me…it is shameful to grieve like this… I - I…” but she was choking on her words, and I could see her shoulders shaking as she cried.

 

“Sango-chan…” I whispered, and held out a weak hand to grasp her left hand that rested on her knee. She did not look up.

 

“Sango-chan, there's no shame in grieving - don't - don't do this to yourself,” I pleaded through my own tears. “Sango-chan, it's not your fault…”

 

The sudden feel of her hand clutching mine made me jerk, but I met her teary gaze after she had wiped the tears from her eyes.

 

“You do not understand, Kagome-chan,” she told me bluntly. “Kohaku, he - he was ashamed. He felt dishonoured but -” she covered her mouth with her free hand, new tears running down her face. “If only he would have listened to me…” and she was sobbing again, and all I could do was hold tightly to her hand and cry with her.

 

“Sango-chan…”

 

She shook her head, pulling away.

 

“If - if only he had asked me…I - I could have ended the pain for him but…” her voice rose and broke off in another sob. “I would have been his second. I would have…”

 

“Would you?” I couldn't help but ask, my own voice high and raspy.

 

Her crying momentarily stopped, and she looked up to meet my gaze, her hand falling limply to her lap. She sobbed once, then said, “…no…” and began to weep again.

 

She sobbed into her hands, and although I knew she was trying desperately to stop it, she could not. When I tried to comfort her, she tore away, wiping furiously at her eyes and then rubbing her hands on her apron, blinking almost angrily as she tried to rid herself of the tears.

 

“Sango-chan -”

 

“No, Kagome-chan,” she cut me off, her voice gentle but firm. She wiped at her eyes. “Please, I beg of you, take no notice of my grief, please. My brother…” she had to swallow hard, “…he died with honour and I hope his soul will be blessed in the next life for it surely was not in this one…” Then she had to turn away, shaking her head and murmuring things to herself that I couldn't hear.

 

She had then turned around, wiped at her eyes, smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her kimono, and walked over to pick up the tray, her eyes still red. And then she had left, opening and closing the shoji behind her, and when she came again, I said nothing and neither did she.

 

It had not been until the second day that someone else come to see me.