InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ My Life, My Love ❯ Truth Hurts ( Chapter 12 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

:Chapter 12:
:Truth Hurts:

“Oh, isn't it exciting, Miroku,” Sango asked in animation, “Rin's having a baby!”

Miroku grinned from his side of the table. “Yes, it's very outstanding for Rin and Sesshoumaru. If it's a boy, they'll have an heir for the role as Tai-Youkai.”

A chilly early winter breeze floated through the small, outside-stationed part of the café Fuyu Sakura. Miroku grinned despite the chilly air that blew across his face.

Sango sighed. She felt exceedingly gratified that whatever gods were listening to her silent prayer the last time she was at Fuyu Sakura with Moutomaru, had decided to be kind and let her return. She'd really hoped that she'd be able to come back without being shunned about her behavior during her previous visit...

“Sango, if I may ask: why are we sitting outside when it's snowing?” Miroku asked softly. Although he wasn't very cold, he was pretty sure Sango was getting there, regardless of her rejecting his coat...

“I'm not sure. I guess I'm used to it,” she replied with a small shrug. “Do you want to go inside?”

Shaking his head, Miroku chewed into a piece of celery. “Why would you be used to sitting outside in the snow?”

“It's not that I'm used to sitting in the snow, I'm just used to sitting out here, behind the café. My...parents used to bring me here with my brother when I was younger.”

“What happened to your parents and brother? Do they live around here, because I'd love to meet them,” Miroku smiled happily.

The question was meant innocently enough, in view of the fact that Miroku didn't know about what happened to her parents. But that didn't make the abrupt memory any less painful...

“My parents...they died, along with my brother…in a car accident...just after I graduated from high school.”

The smile on Miroku's face vanished in an instant. “Oh, K-Kami, Sango. Why didn't you tell me?”

As she blinked back unwanted tears, Sango tried to shrug indifferently, but trembled instead. “You didn't ask. Besides, it's not your fault.”

“I'm so sorry, gods, I'm sorry. I—I didn't know, and you never—”

“It's okay, really. It been over four years since that happened,” Sango smiled.

Miroku stared dubiously at her. `Surely, she's not alright,' his nature uttered, `She can't be. You've really done it now, Miroku.'

`I apologized, didn't I? I honestly didn't know about her family, although I did wonder why she said that she'd spent Thanksgiving alone every year.'

`Yes, but you've really hit a sore spot. You've got to make it up to her somehow.'

Miroku sighed. `I know, but how? Sango doesn't seem like the type of person who accepts a lot of gifts.'

His nature was silent for a moment. `Well, you could surprise her. Or...you could do some research and find out what she likes...or something she's wanted for a long time.'

`Yes, I could...and I will. And I'm going to start right now.'

“Sango, do you wonder why I was able to speak to you through your mind?”

Looking up from the place on the table she'd been staring at for the past five minutes, Sango sat fully attentive. “Huh?”

“That...that day you were in the shower, and I...'talked' to you?”

Blushing at the memory, Sango stammered, “U-um, yeah, I remember; w-what about it?”

Smirking at the effect he had on her memory, Miroku continued. “Well, I'm sure you'd like to find out how that occurred.”

Scowling at the positively perverted grin Miroku was giving her, she nodded. “Well, of course. I'd really like to know why I suddenly couldn't control my body, also.”

Pinching the table cloth, Miroku picked up his glass of water and sipped rather slowly, wanting to prolong his explanation.

“Well,” he started slowly, clearing his suddenly dry throat, “It's quite simple. It's not as complicated as you make it out to be.”

“Explain, monk.”

“Okay, well, basically, when the Sacred Jewel was completed, I made a wish,” Miroku gazed at Sango, who was staring at him intently.

“Well? What was the wish?”

“It happened...after you died…”

“Go on.”

Sighing in consternation, Miroku continued. “Are you sure? You're not going to like it.”

Miroku took the dry look on Sango's face as a definite sign of anticipation for his answer. “Just hurry up and tell me, damn it!”

“Well, after you died, I wished that I could stay connected to you in a way that no one else has. I loved you so much, that I didn't want to part with you. So, the Jewel granted my wish. It granted me the power of...elite telepathy.”

“Elite telepathy?”

“Yes. What that means, is that I have the gift of telepathy, but only with you. This way, even if I couldn't see you, I could still be in touch with you.”

Slowly digesting this bit of new information, Sango looked down at her hands. Miroku had the mighty power of telepathy, but the only person he was able to communicate with, was...her. For some uncanny and unidentified reason, that knowledge alone gave her a sense of possessiveness. It made her immensely happy that she was the only one that that type of power could be shared with. But then there was something else that bothered her…

“So, why did I lose control of my body? I don't think I was under your influence,” she said uncertainly.

“You are aware that we were...married, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What you were feeling in the shower had nothing to do with telepathy. You were responding to my voice and purely to instinct; I had nothing to do with it, as far as the `hypnosis'.”

Sango's mouth dropped open. “So...what I did…the touching myself and all that…had nothing to do with you taking over my mind?”

Miroku grinned perversely. “Nope, I can't do that. It was all you, Sango. When we were married, Lady Kaede figured out how to bless us. She blessed us in such a way that we would live the lifespan of a hanyou; a full demon was out of the question. We were also granted a bond, very similar to a demon's.”

Sango nodded dumbly, and choked out, “But, if that's the case, then...why did you die?”

Miroku's eyes darkened. “Whenever a demon's mate dies, the bond is broken—“

“--and the other follows the deceased into death,” Sango gasped out. “T-Then that means that—“

“Then that means, that, yes, I died a little after you did. But before I died, I made the wish,” wanting to lighten the dark look that had descended across Sango's face, he added, “but don't look at it in that way. Think of it as...a way for me to keep up to you. You always were faster than I was, even though you're a woman.”

Sango smiled wanly. “Of course I was, and I still am,” her smile slipped a bit. “Miroku?”

“Yes?”

“How . . . how did I die?”

“You were . . . killed.”

“By whom?” An aggressive gleam entered Sango's eyes.

“I can't tell you that.”

“Tell me, damn it!”

“Sango I don't—“

“Who killed me, Miroku? Tell me!”

“You did.”

“I did? What the hell does that mean? Quit playing around!”

“I'm not. You . . . you killed yourself.”

The aggressive gleam left and was replaced by a misty veil that fell over her eyes. Rising to sit beside her, Miroku placed his arm around her shoulders and tugged her to him. Sango buried her face into his shoulder.

“Why?” she whispered shakily.

Miroku's mouth was set in a grim line. “I...I can't tell you that.”

Lifting her head, Miroku saw that although her face was red, there were no tears. “Why not?”

“I can't . . . because . . . it'd kill me all over again.”

A few hours later saw Sango and Miroku at home. Feeling unbelievably guilty, Sango hadn't spoken to Miroku since they'd arrived home. She'd ignored him more than she cared to admit and she knew it was hurting him.

He'd closed himself up in his room and refused to come out, not even to eat. Sango had become more and more worried. Seeing no other option, Sango had called Kagome, asking her to come over to try to coax Miroku out of his room.

“I feel so bad, Kagome. It's like he didn't want to tell me, but I made him tell me anyway,” Sango said miserably from the couch in the living room.

Kagome entered to living room from the kitchen, carrying a cup of steaming tea. Handing it to Sango, she sat down next her and patted her back.

“It's okay, Sango. I'm pretty sure you would've asked about it and he would've had to tell you eventually. It couldn't be avoided forever, you know.”

“I know, but I feel like I caused him a lot of pain for some reason. The look in his eyes when he told me...I don't think I'll ever want to see that look again.” Sipping the tea, Sango sighed. “I killed myself, Kagome. And I don't even know why, because he said he couldn't tell me...or it'd kill him all over again, whatever that means.”

Kagome bowed her head. “I know.”

“You know what?”

“I—I know that, back in the past, you killed yourself.”

Sango shot up, dropping the cup of tea. The glass shattered, spilling its tepid contents onto the carpet in front of her. “You knew what!” she shouted.

Kagome's head dropped even lower in shame. “I knew. Sango, I'm really sorry but Miroku—“

“Just why would you keep something like that from me! And after all those times I wondered how I died, why I died! You knew?”

“Sango, please, it wasn't like that!” Kagome cried in anguish. A single tear slipped from her eye. Sango wanted to comfort her friend, but needed to hear the truth, first.

“Then what was it like, Kagome? Youlied to me! Why?

Sniffling pathetically, Kagome stood and faced Sango. Wiping her face with an upturned palm, Kagome strangled out, “I never lied to you. I said I knew how you died, not why you died. And besides,” wiping her face again, Kagome sniffed, “Miroku asked me not to...right before he died. I had to keep the promise, Sango, he was dying! You believe me . . . don't you?”

Sango sat down and stared dumbly into space. Her anger quickly dissolved into sorrow and regret. `I feel . . . I feel like . . .'

`Like a bitch?' her nature offered.

`Yes, yes like a bitch. How could I doubt Kagome? She's the most honest and trustworthy person I know.'

`She's probably the most honest person we'll ever meet in our life.'

`I need to apologize, don't I?'

`Yep.'

“Ka—Kagome?” Sango asked, still staring into the air.

“Yeah?”

“I'm . . . I'm so sorry. I'm just confused and I kn—“

“It's okay,” Kagome said plainly, “I understand. C'mon, we'd better go and try to get Miroku out of his room. You can get him out, you know.”

Sango's gaze drifted to Miroku's door. “He's—he's leaving next week; on Friday.”

“Are you unhappy about that?” Kagome asked softly.

“I—I'm not . . . sure.”

Kagome smiled knowingly at Sango, as she fidgeted uncomfortably. “Don't worry, Sango. Everything will work out for the better; you see.”

“Thanks, Kagome.”

Standing up from her seat, Sango moved to greet the inevitable.

Removing Miroku from his room . . .

Sango knocked lightly on the door that housed Miroku on the other side. After seeing Kagome out, she'd decided to come and check on Miroku once more. She felt incredibly guilty about what happened earlier that day at the café. In addition to that, she kept feeling this strange surge in the air. It felt like an aura in turmoil…

“Come in, Sango. It's open.”

Opening the door and poking her head around it, she saw Miroku lying on his bed, arms tucked underneath his head. His eyes were glued to the ceiling and he hardly blinked. Stepping quietly towards the bed, she sat down next to him and looked into his face.

“Are you alright, Miroku?” she asked in concern.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he answered, turning his head to look into her eyes.

Biting her lip at the intense stare, Sango turned her head and looked at the wall. “I'm fine.”

“Don't lie to me, Sango.” Miroku sat up and moved so that he was sitting abreast to her.

“I'm not lying and I am fine.”

“You can't lie to me,” he said, leaning over to whisper into her ear. “I know everything about you, Sango.”

Huffing and trying to push Miroku off of her with one arm, she gasped as he knocked away the other arm that was holding her upright.

“What're you—hey!” she yelled, wiggling, as Miroku shifted so that the length of his body ran the length of hers. Smirking at the irritated scowl that was aimed directly at him, Miroku braced himself against Sango's fierce squirming.

“Are you still `fine'?” he mocked her.

“Get off you pervert!” Sango snarled.

“If you keep wriggling like that, your command will be my wish.”

Sango stilled almost immediately at the implication, lifting an eyebrow. “Don't you mean `my wish will be your command'?”

Giving her a `cat that ate the canary' grin, Miroku chuckled. “No.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very. Of course, I don't mind too much,” lowering his head, so that his lips barely escaped hers, he whispered, “given that I plan to have you writhing underneath me, anyway.”

Sango stopped breathing at Miroku's bold statement. Surely, he didn't mean that…

“That's not funny, Miroku,” she said, trying to control her rapid heartbeat. What if he did mean it...?

“Oh, I'm very much serious, Sango; probably just as serious as you are. This is no game, so you're absolutely right; it isn't funny.”

“Then why won't you get off of me?”

“I won't, because you don't want me to. And as I said before: your command will be my wish.”

Nuzzling Sango's neck, Miroku sighed. He could tell she was uncomfortable; he could feel it. Although Sango's exterior screamed resistance to him, her interior was entirely different. He knew how she really felt: confused, upset, and maybe even a bit blissful at his activities. He also knew that he shouldn't have swept through her mind to find out those feelings . . .

But, he had, and there was nothing she could do about it; at least, not yet. Miroku knew that Sango still had a lot to learn, about him, and even, about herself. She needed to know that she didn't have to fear him; she had no reason to. And as for herself, Miroku figured that it was high time he taught Sango how to shield her mind. Even though he hated to admit the fact that she did deserve her own privacy, he owed her retreat.

`Maybe later, though…' he thought, nipping the pulse in her neck.

“M-Miroku...stop. You have to s-stop,” Sango said heavily, trying to resist how good Miroku smelled. Her vision was blurring and her brain felt fuzzy; exactly the way it had that night in the shower, when she'd first encountered what Miroku could do to her . . .

“Why, Sango? Don't you like this?” Miroku's head dropped even lower so that his mouth came in contact with her collarbone. Licking gently, he reveled in the moan that sounded from Sango.

“I . . . I can't . . . I can't . . . concentrate . . .”

“Is that right?” he asked distractedly while moving upwards to her earlobe.

Sango moaned again and shivered.

`Her instincts are taking over,' Miroku's nature pointed out.

`Yes, I know. This is really too much fun!'

His nature snorted. `Stop it! This isn't a game, you know!'

`I know that . . .'

His nature chuckled suddenly.

`What's so funny?'

`Do you realize how pissed she's going to be with you, when she realizes that you could've taught her to guard her mind when you first came into contact with her?'

Miroku winced. `Yeah, there's that . . .'

`Heh, you'll be lucky if she doesn't kick us out. We still have a whole week before we have to leave, you know . . .'

As the thought of leaving Sango sunk in, Miroku instantly regretted thinking it. Cursing his rotten luck, he sat up and stared down at Sango.

Biting her lip, Sango's cheeks were flushed from her resistance to him. Her hair, once tied into her usual low ponytail, had come undone and spilled across the bed and cascaded down her shoulders. Miroku watched, transfixed, as her eyes flickered open and cleared from their clouded haze.

Licking his lips and quelling the urge to groan at the lingering taste of her skin on his lips, Miroku shifted uncomfortably. “I shouldn't have done that.”

Rising to stand, Sango scowled. “No, you shouldn't have.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You should be! You're such a lecher!”

Miroku lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I wouldn't have done that, if you hadn't started it.”

Sango shot up from the bed in exasperation. “I started it? What the hell does that mean?” Pointing an accusing finger at Miroku, she roared, “You were the one who knocked me over!”

“Yes, that is true.”

Miroku also stood and started toward Sango. She stepped back trying to avoid the predatory gleam that entered Miroku's already intense stare as he stalked her...right into the wall. Putting his hands on either side of her head, Miroku leaned down and whispered, “But that shouldn't have stopped you. You could've very easily removed me. Your struggle didn't seem very...productive.”

Sango gulped. He was right. She could've punched him; it would've worked. But she didn't, and that gave Miroku a major advantage on his side of the debate. He was missing something, however...

“Wait a minute,” Sango said, glad that the tremble in her voice didn't show, “You could've stopped. Didn't you say that my reactions to you were based purely on instinct?”

Miroku stilled. “Yes, b-but that's—”

“And didn't you say that we had some type of extra-sensory, mental contact?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then that would mean that there must be some type of way for me to shield my mind, right?”

Miroku sighed in defeat. “Correct.”

Sango narrowed her eyes. “And . . . you know of this technique . . . don't you?”

“. . . Yes . . .”

Sango shut her eyes in a furious manner, while Miroku slowly backed off. Coming off of the wall, she reopened her eyes to see Miroku backing away slowly. Miroku swallowed rigidly at the menacing glitter that had entered Sango's brown eyes. Beautiful . . . she was; forgiving . . . not likely.

“Now, now, Sango; violence is not the answer,” Miroku said nervously, shying toward the door.

Sango advanced ruthlessly, the gleam in her eyes intensifying. “Neither is mind rape.”

“Mind rape?” Miroku stopped stepping backwards. “I never mind raped you. I told you, your—”

“--Reactions are based purely on instinct,” Sango ended frighteningly, coming within a few feet in front of Miroku, who had stopped to glare defiantly at her. “Close enough!”

With a loud shriek, Sango pounced on an unsuspecting Miroku, toppling them both to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs. Sango, the more maneuverable of the two, climbed onto Miroku, plunking down onto his abdomen. Wrapping her hands around his neck, Sango applied an ample amount of pressure, all the while shaking him furiously.

“Damn you, damn you, damn you!” she roared, still shaking him profusely.

“S-an-go,” Miroku rasped out between jolts, “W-ai-t, let me ex-pla-in!”

“Damn you to hell, monk! Damn you, damn you, damn you to hell!”

Grasping her fingers in his, and prying them away from his neck, Miroku gasped for air as Sango tried to release her clenched fist.

“Sango! Sango, please! Listen to me!”

“Why should I?” she snarled.

“I was going to teach you, honest!”

Sango yanked her hands away and crossed her arms across her chest. “Oh, yeah? When?”

Miroku rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh . . .”

“Bastard!”

`I told you,' Miroku's nature chided in a very condescending voice. `You should've listened . . .'

`S-hut u-up!'

A/N:

Reviewers

Ending Deliberation: Miroku:
When she finishes, I'll be damned for the rest of my life . . .

A/N: MAJORLY REVISED