InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Inevitable ❯ Revelation ( Chapter 10 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha. But you already knew that. Go figure.

 

Author's Note: As always, due thanks to Wendy and her Super Beta Skills, for whom without, this chapter would be incomplete!

 

 

Inevitable

 

Chapter 10

Revelation

 

 

Morning had come and so had impatience. The nausea from the day before had gone, and I had been left feeling weak, tired, and drained. But I'd wanted out.

 

I'd already missed a full day of classes, and I'd long ago decided that I had done enough of that in my youth, but by the looks of it, I would be missing a second day as well. I winced at the thought of my frantic mother; she would be tearing out her hair with worry by now.

 

I thought of Shippou and of how my intended visit had gone so very terribly wrong, and I swallowed hard, wishing that I could just move.

 

My arms were lead weights beneath the sheets, my legs much the same, and after the sickness of yesterday, my body was left weakened, my strength depleted in the wake of recovery.

 

And I had to pee.

 

`Crapt,' I thought, and wondered why Sango-chan had not yet come. I whimpered and felt a tear leak from my eye as I cursed silently at my weakness.

 

But then the shoji slid open and I breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring the uncomfortable revelations of yesterday and speaking out, the sound of my own voice surprising me.

 

“Sango-chan, I need to -”

 

The words died on my lips. That was not Sango-chan…

 

He stood in the doorway, his familiar smile adorning his face, but somehow it just didn't seem quite so genuine anymore. And I found I missed it.

 

Slowly, he walked into the room, kneeling down beside me. He left the shoji door open.

 

`What the hell?' I had thought then, so naïve. `They always close the doors…not that paper doors do much for privacy anyway, but…'

 

“How are you this morning, Kagome-sama?”

 

My thoughts jerked back to him and I turned my head to face him, trying to smile reassuringly.

 

My voice was as croaky and soft as before. “I'm fine, Miroku-sama.”

 

He smiled again and I almost found it encouraging.

 

“I am so glad to hear it.”

 

I floundered for a moment in the silence that followed, waiting for him to say something. But he did not.

 

“Ah…Miroku-sama, I have to…”

 

He saw the slightly frantic look in my eyes and he laughed. The sound surprised me. I had not heard it for so long.

 

“Ah, of course, how rude of me not to ask. 'So sorry. Here...”

 

And to my utter shock, he gently folded the blankets to the side and slid his gentle and strong arms beneath me.

 

A strangled squeak wormed its way out of my throat. “Miroku-sama…!”

 

Chuckling softly, he said, “Do not worry, Kagome-sama. I cannot touch you now.”

 

`What?' I had thought, almost voicing it. But in the end, I had remained silent, still so naïve.

 

Lifting me gently enough that he actually surprised me, he carried me across the room, but he seemed to be having a little trouble, limping slightly and his fingers beneath my knees always flexing.

 

“Miroku-sama?” I asked him worriedly as he passed the already open shoji and slid open the one on the adjoining wall. He didn't have his crutches but I had seen him with them only a week before although he had looked relatively well.

 

“Are…are you okay…?”

 

He smiled at me and nodded, saying nothing and stepping onto the porch, and I turned my head and found myself looking out over a simple, but very pretty garden. He did not stop though, but walked with me across the porch, descended the steps and brought me to the privy. He set me down, and, to my absolute horror, positioned himself behind me and held me up so I could squat over the hole, then his hands moved to lift up the skirt of my kimono.

 

“Stop!” I had shrieked at him, almost panicking. He had been about to touch me there, there…well near there, but it was all the same, and that revived memories that I wished more than anything that I could just will away…but I could already feel them. Claws, pinning me to the ground, blood red eyes full of malice set in a face covered in my blood, the feel of fangs in my flesh, sinking deep and -

 

“Kagome-sama?”

 

My eyes snapped open to look up at his. I opened my mouth, trembling slightly and swallowing hard. I couldn't find the words, they were lost and I couldn't rid myself of the dirty feeling I suddenly felt, the fear crawling beneath my skin.

 

“Don't,” I pleaded.

 

His smile was sad, and he bowed his head. “'So sorry, Kagome-sama, so sorry.” He looked up. “Can you do it yourself?” He ignored my fear and panic, did not acknowledge it.

 

I felt a little chagrined at the question. `I'm not paralyzed!' I remember wanting to shout at him.

 

I frowned indignantly. “Of course I can.”

 

He nodded sagely and said nothing, slowly easing his arms from beneath my armpits. Letting me support myself with my hands on the seat, he stood and took a few steps back.

 

I stared at him expectantly. He raised an eyebrow after a period of anticipating silence. I finally sighed in exasperation. “Miroku-sama! Turn around!”

 

He almost looked surprised for a moment, and then he laughed, and I realized that I really did miss that sound. I almost cried.

 

“Ah, 'so sorry, Kagome-sama. After spending so much time in the village, I've once again grown used to the normal customs. I forget women are so modest in your time, 'so sorry.” And he turned around.

 

I bristled. I was sick of stupid, overtly traditional, and narrow-minded feudal Japan. In all truth, I felt like a foreigner thrust into an entirely different world. Even after five years, sometimes I still felt that even though this was my native country, my understanding of the time was just scratching the surface, the tips of grass beneath the frost. I just wanted to go home. So I yelled at him.

 

“What?” `The normal customs?' I sputtered for a moment. “Well - well what about Sango-chan? She's modest, and she's not from my time!” I accused.

 

I saw his shoulders stiffen.

 

“Sango is different,” he said tightly, but his voice was soft. “And do not raise your voice so, Kagome-sama. One who smiles rather than rages is always the stronger.”

 

My mouth fell open as if to protest, but I shut it, blinking in surprise when I felt tears sting my eyes. No, I would not cry.

 

Then he said, his voice still so quiet I could barely hear, “Yes…Sango is very special.” But I did not think he was speaking to me.

 

I took a breath, trying to hold myself up. It wouldn't do to tell him I could barely do it and that I was near to falling right off the latrine. When would `enclosed bathrooms' be invented anyway?

 

I blinked once, willing away the prickles in my nose and the stinging behind my eyes, and I tried to continue holding myself up, but my arms were shaking violently under the strain.

 

“Kagome-sama?” I heard him say, a tinge of questioning in his voice.

 

“I'm fine,” I answered, gritting my teeth. I could and I would piss on my own!

 

The urge to cry was becoming harder to ignore, and suddenly my arms gave way and I fell down onto the seat, my butt sinking through the hole just a little. This thing reminded me of the potty we'd used to toilet train Souta, and a sad smile touched my lips.

 

“Kagome-sama? Should I -”

 

“I'm fine,” I repeated, but I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my hand, and a glistening trail of mucus painted a sticky line to my wrist.

 

I could not stop the dry chuckle that seemed to pass though my lips of its own accord. I blinked, a tiny tear escaping even as the rueful smile pulled at my lips.

 

“Kagome-sama?”

 

“I - I'm fine. Ah -” I glanced around. “There's no paper.”

 

“I shall fetch a servant.”

 

He took a step, then stopped. He seemed about to ask something, and I waited, but he finally walked on, turning to follow the path of stones back to the house. I watched him walk up the steps, across the porch, and through the shoji, closing it behind him.

 

I frowned for a moment, the heavy weight of reality choosing a strange moment to crash down on my senses. My shoulders sagged and another tear fell.

 

“I want my mama,” I whispered, and the tears came freely. I half forgot just why the hell I was sitting in the middle of a garden, sitting in a hole cut in a wooden seat with a bucket beneath, and I wished more than anything that I could just leave.

 

“Mama,” I whispered once more, and then I broke down completely, my hands gripping the sides of the seat as I cried.

 

My head was bowed, so it was not until I heard the very polite and soft voice of a girl saying, “Miko-sama?” did I look up.

 

She bowed immediately and held out the paper.

 

Momentarily in a daze, and thankful for her overlooking my tears, it took me a second to realize why she was there and why she was offering me the paper.

 

But only a second.

 

I blinked quickly, then reached out to take the paper from her hands, but afterwards simply sat on the bench, looking at her.

 

She smiled, asking politely, “Do you wish for assistance, Miko-sama?”

 

“Th - thank you,” I said, nodding.

 

She straightened and smiled, bowing again and stepping behind me, holding me up, letting me lift the skirt of the kimono out of the way. I wasn't wearing any underwear so there was one less problem to worry about.

 

I used the paper, discarded it, and the girl helped me stand, lending her shoulder and wrapping an arm around my other.

 

“Thank you,” I told her again, but she just smiled at me and helped me back up the path, and when we reached the house, Miroku-sama was waiting on the porch and he came down to assist me up the steps. They both eased me down into a cross-legged position upon a cushion that had been set out for me. Miroku-sama seated himself across from me on another cushion. A small table with a tray that held a pot and two small cups for the ocha sat between us.

 

He waved a hand to dismiss the maid, and she bowed and left through the shoji, leaving it open behind her.

 

I stared at the open door. Sango-chan always closed it.

 

The sound of a liquid being poured brought me back, and I watched Miroku-sama gracefully pour the ocha in both cups. Setting the pot down, he handed me a cup.

 

At first I didn't take it, my eyes, for the first time that day, landing on his left hand that rested on the side of the little cup, three fingers gone, bandaged in white, his two other fingers keeping the cup balanced with his other hand.

 

“Kagome-sama?”

 

“Oh,” I whispered, feeling a sob wind its way up my throat and through my lips. A silent tear fought and fled, running down my cheek and escaping to my lap. “Your hand.”

 

He looked so - so very, very sad, but he smiled anyway and held the cup a little closer.

 

“Have some ocha, Kagome-sama, it will make you feel better.”

 

`Yes, have some ocha, drink the tea, drink the stupid, stupid tea, and everything will go away.'

 

He waited for my hands to steady before letting go and taking up his own in one hand. Blowing off some of the steam and sipping, he looked out over the garden.

 

I stared at the green tea in my cup, but did not drink. My thoughts were elsewhere.

 

“Is the ocha not to your liking, Kagome-sama?”

 

I looked up, surprised. “Ah - no, no, it's…I was just thinking, that's all,” I said, then took a sip, trying not to spit it out when it burned my tongue.

 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked politely.

 

I looked up. “I…I just wondered where Sango-chan was.”

 

He nodded. “Ah - she is seeing to matters concerning her brother.”

 

“Oh,” I murmured suddenly feeling ashamed.

 

He cleared his throat, and I looked up.

 

“I would ask of you one thing, Kagome-sama,” he said.

 

I took a careful sip of my ocha.

 

“Yes, Miroku-sama?”

 

He took another sip of his ocha. “I would ask you, on behalf of Sango, that you ignore her grief. It will only shame her to do otherwise, Kagome-sama. Please, for her sake,” he added, lowering his voice. His eyes met my gaze, and I could see he was very serious.

 

I took a long sip from my cup, trying to calm myself and not scream at him. Slowly, I set my cup down. “So…” I began, trying to keep my voice level, “if I tried to comfort Sango-chan, because she is my friend, then, that would be shaming her?” I could not keep the incredulous note of anger from creeping into my voice.

 

Miroku-sama sighed heavily. “Please try to understand, Kagome-sama, it is obvious things have changed much in your time -”

 

`You could say that again.'

 

“- but please, just be patient with us. Remember the saying, `obey the customs of the village',” he said, smiling at the end.

 

`Do I have a choice?' I'd thought, and I would have said so, if not for the soft voice, an inkling of a memory.

 

“No, Kagome-chan. There is only shame to be found in tears.”

 

I blinked once, then reached for my ocha, sipping, keeping my eyes lowered and ignoring Miroku-sama.

 

“Please - please forgive my shame. Forgive me…it is shameful to grieve like this…”

 

Choking on the tea as it went down, I spluttered briefly.

 

“Kagome-sama?”

 

“Please, I beg of you, take no notice of my grief, please.”

 

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, setting the cup back down.

 

“Kagome-sama?”

 

“I promise, Miroku-sama,” I said quietly.

 

“Eh, Kagome-sama?”

 

I looked up at him, nodding. “I promise, Miroku-sama,” I said, louder. Then softer, “I will respect Sango-chan's grief, I will not shame my friend.”

 

He smiled at me and took another sip of his ocha. “Was there anything else you wished to ask, before, Kagome-sama?” he offered casually.

 

My brow creased in a frown, and I glanced to the open shoji. “Well…I wondered,” I cast my eyes to my ocha, feeling a little silly, “Sango-chan always closes the shoji doors. I just wondered…why you do not?”

 

A faint look of surprise flashed across his features, but it was quickly replaced by a soft smile.

 

“Ah,” he began “you see…you are with Inuyasha now.”

 

I felt myself stiffen at the statement. I said nothing.

 

“With youkai, matrimony is the same as with humans. It is one in the same, yes?”

 

“But I am not his wife,” I said indignantly, confused.

 

“Ah, yes,” he said. “But to Inuyasha, it does not matter. He still views you as his wife and so it does not matter.”

 

`Of course it matters,' I had thought, my spine going rigid, but I had nodded, suddenly impatient to know the reason.

 

“Well, for a wife to be found alone with another man behind closed shoji…the husband then has the right to kill or order the death of his wife.”

 

The cup of ocha fell from my fingers, but I did not notice.

 

Miroku-sama frowned. “Kagome-sama?”

 

“I…” I swallowed. “I…I'm sorry, what?”

 

His eyebrows drew down, and he set his cup back on the tray, reaching over to pick up my fallen cup.

 

“I shall send for a -”

 

“No!” I grabbed his wrist.

 

He stilled, watching me guardedly. I gulped, and let go of his wrist.

 

“Ah…” I licked my lips. “But…but what if…if they're just talking?”

 

He cocked his head. “You mean, a man with another's wife?”

 

I nodded.

 

He shook his head. “No, Kagome-sama, no matter how innocent the conversation may be, it makes no difference behind a closed shoji. A man can still kill his wife for it. He can beat her to death if he so wishes, even if she simply displeases him. A wife belongs to her husband. She is his property.”

 

I suddenly felt cold.

 

“Of course,” he said thoughtfully, sitting back, “I know that not all youkai are the same, such as the lowly ones of course, but the ones that take on the forms of humans have rules that are in accordance with much of the laws of our court. They are as equal to any daimyo as much as any other human feudal lord - though sometimes with even more power, hmm? They must act accordingly.”

 

I swallowed hard, but I didn't say anything.

 

“Kagome-sama?”

 

“I - I think I'd like to go back to bed, Miroku-sama. I must have exerted myself too much. Sorry.”

 

“Ah, no, no, 'so sorry, Kagome-sama, do not blame yourself. I should have let you rest longer. I'll send for a servant.”