InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 2: Defiance ❯ Starting Over ( Chapter 3 )

The incessant buzz of the alarm clock rattled Toga out of a dreamless slumber.  With a frustrated growl, he swung his arm at the offending electronic device, inadvertently knocking it across the room with a satisfying thud as it hit the wall and clattered to the floor in a pathetic heap of mangled plastic.

Yawning wide as he sat up, scratching his chest in the shallow vale over his heart with his knuckles, he opened his sleep-gritty eyes and blinked slowly.  ‘Damn . . . another one bites the dust,’ he thought with a grimace as he stumbled toward the bathroom, kicking the remnants of the clock out of the way.

He’d never been a morning person.  Even as a pup, he’d been inconsolable when roused before he was ready.  His mother loved to tell the stories about Toga’s famous temper tantrums.  He grimaced as he turned on the shower taps and stepped into the tub.

‘And one day, she’ll use those stories for her own twisted agenda,’ his youkai-voice warned.  For the record, it also sounded pretty damned sleepy, too.

‘Probably,’ Toga agreed with another yawn.

His youkai sighed.  ‘I suppose it could always be worse.  I mean, at least she doesn’t have pictures of your naked ass . . .’

Toga grunted.  He didn’t think she had any such thing, no, which did not mean she didn’t, come to think of it . . . ‘If she does, then she does.  I mean, if she went to the trouble of taking pictures of my ass, then it would stand to reason that it was pretty cute, right?’

‘Wow, you sound like the baka twins.’

Toga chuckled softly, ducking his head under the showerhead that was slightly shorter than he liked.

Three blissful months, free of the constraints of his overbearing father . . . Toga smiled vaguely as he reached for the bar of Ivory soap.  As close to unscented as he could find in the States, the smell still bothered him, though not nearly as badly as it had in the beginning.  That was neither here nor there, really.  The thing that mattered was that, because he’d completely ignored the alarm the first four or five times it had gone off, he was running slightly behind for the first interview he had scheduled for the day.

He sighed.  True enough, he had plenty of money in his bank accounts to live off of indefinitely.  Trouble was, he refused to use it if he didn’t have to.  He was absolutely positive that his father—meddler that he was—was probably having each and every one of Toga’s personal accounts monitored for activity, and, because of that, he’d opened a new account, using the cash he’d withdrawn before leaving Japan, along with another good amount he’d managed to withdraw when he was still in New York City and again in Los Angeles.  It wasn’t difficult to find a job, anyway.  If nothing else, he had gained a plethora of experience already, which would make finding employment easy enough, and, truthfully, Toga liked staying busy, enjoyed the feel that he was accomplishing something.  If only he didn’t have to get up at the blessed crack of dawn . . .

Finding a job wasn’t taking much effort.  He’d been on a number of interviews and had received a few offers already, but he was still taking a bit longer to interview with a couple of other businesses before choosing the job that would benefit him most.  Opting not to stay in New York City, Toga had moved on to Los Angeles for a week to throw off Sesshoumaru’s bloodhounds.  After that, he’d traveled on to Toronto, then back down to Las Vegas where he’d done a couple interviews, just in case Sesshoumaru was able to trace him that far and hopefully, it’d slow him down when he had to figure out whether or not Toga had opted to stay in Nevada.  After all that, he had finally settled in Chicago, and, though he could have found a nicer place to call home for a while, he chose to rent a modest but decent apartment not far from the business district.  He didn’t have a doubt in his mind that his father was trying to find him.  Toga made a face.  He was the precious heir, wasn’t he?  It would have been wishful thinking to believe that the almighty tai-youkai would just leave him alone, and he didn’t even try to convince himself otherwise.

The other problem was that, as much as he hated to admit it, he was lonely—damn lonely.  Against his better judgment, he had called Kagome last night.  Having never really been so far away from real family for so long without contact, Toga had found himself a little melancholy, and he missed his aunt and uncle—and, yes, the terror twins, too—more than he cared to admit.  

"Toga?  Oh, kami!  Toga, where in the world are you?” Kagome demanded when she answered the phone.

He could see her in his mind, standing in the kitchen with the phone gripped so tightly that her fingertips had turned white.  "I can’t tell you where I am, but I’m fine.  I just wanted to call and make sure that everyone’s all right.”

Toga heard his uncle’s voice in the background.  "Give me the phone, wench.”  Toga smiled.

"Back off, dog-boy!  He called me, not you!” Kagome said, her voice muffled as she obviously covered the receiver to growl at her mate.  "Toga, Kagura is worried sick over you, and Aiko—”

"Has otou-sama promised to stop screwing around in my life?”

Kagome’s pause was telling.  "Umm . . .”

The smile that surfaced on his face was entirely devoid of real amusement.  "I didn’t think so.”

She sighed.  "I wish you’d come home and just talk to him.  Sesshoumaru’s been so quiet, and—”

"I’m finished talking to him when he refuses to listen.”  Toga rubbed a tired hand over his face, grimacing since he hadn’t actually meant to snap at his aunt.  "Tell kaa-chan that I’m sorry, and that I’m fine, and tell Aiko I wish her the best for her wedding since I kind of doubt I’ll be able to make it back for it.  I’ve got to go.  Don’t be too tough on Yasha-oji-chan.”

Kagome heaved a put-upon sigh, designed to let him know, just what she thought of his message.  "All right, Toga.  I love you.”

"You, too.”

Toga sighed, shaking himself out of his reverie as he rinsed the rest of the soap off his body.  No, Sesshoumaru had meddled in his affairs for the very last time, and this time Toga wasn’t going to roll over and play dead . . .

Making quick work of the rest of his shower, Toga finished dressing and left the small apartment, heading for the parking garage as he dug his keys out of his pocket.  With a sigh, he shook his head slowly.  Hating the stench of the city, loathing the constraints of this place, he brushed aside his dislike and steeled himself for another day of the same old thing.

To ga turned onto the quiet street on the outskirts of Chicago.  Glancing at the open laptop computer on the passenger seat to double check the address, he reached over to tilt the screen so he could better read the text.  ‘Midwest Financial, North Ridge Avenue . . .’

Fumbling around for his glasses, Toga wasn’t paying nearly as much attention as he should have been.  A huge thump rocked the Jeep Cherokee, and he slammed on his brakes with a wince and a muttered curse as he pulled over and stumbled out of the driver side door in time to hear the piercing wail of a female’s outraged screech.

"Oh, my God!  My dog!  You hit my dog!”

Toga grimaced as he knelt down to pull the dog’s body out from under his vehicle, grinding his teeth together at the unsettling sound of the animal, being gently pulled over the debris of the shattered turn signal casing that littered the ground beneath him.  The distraught girl shoved him back as she gently lifted the large animal’s head.  From where he was, Toga could tell he was already dead.  "I’m sorry,” he said, wincing at the lame sound of his own voice.  "Kami, I’m so sorry . . .”

Peridot green eyes stared incredulously at him, as though she couldn’t believe he’d had the absolute nerve to apologize to her.  Cheeks reddening with indignant anger to match the dusty rose of her full lips, Toga blinked and retreated a step at the raw ire that delineated every single thing about the otherwise diminutive young woman.  "You’re sor—?”  Cutting herself off, she furiously shook her head, as she quickly glanced around, like she was looking for something—anything—to throw at him.  "Why don’t you watch where you’re going?  Where’d you get your license?  Out of a Cracker Jack box?  Oh, my God!  You’re an idiot!  You asshole!  You killed my dog!”

"I didn’t mean to,” he blurted, painfully aware of the number of pedestrians who had stopped in their tracks to stare at the unfolding debacle.  Jamming his glasses up his nose, Toga yanked off his suit jacket and gently wrapped the animal in it. Upset over the taking of a life warred with the confusion at the fierce desire to appease this unknown girl.  "Can I take him somewhere?  Anywhere . . . I’m . . . I’m so, so sorry . . .”

His actions seemed to give her pause, and the girl sat back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she blinked in amazement and finally turned to look at Toga.  Gaze curious despite the sheen of unshed tears that brightened her eyes in an entirely uncanny kind of way, she stared at him for a moment then shook her head, as though she couldn’t believe what had happened—as though she couldn’t understand . . . "Oh, your jacket,” she said quietly, the anger suddenly draining from her voice as she shifted her eyes to her beloved dog, carefully—almost lovingly—wrapped in the tailored suit jacket.  "It’s ruined . . .”

"Don’t worry about it,” Toga muttered.  Those creamy light green eyes flicked over his face again, more questioning than wary, the longest dark brown eyelashes that he’d ever seen before fluttering over her cheeks as she blinked at him in surprise.  Unaccountably flustered by her simple expression, Toga forced his gaze away as he fought down the rising flush.  "I-I-I didn’t see him . . . I’m really sorry.”

"What were you doing?” she asked, her tone pleading, as though she were trying to make sense of the accident.  "What do you mean, you couldn’t see him?  He’s huge!  How could you miss him?”

Toga reddened as he easily lifted the dog’s weight.  The Great Dane was a huge dog.  Toga held him like he weighed nothing at all.  "I was checking an address . . .” he admitted, unable to staunch the flow of blood that shot to the surface of his skin.  "Can I take you somewhere to . . . well . . .?  I . . . I don’t want to leave him here.”

She sighed, running her slender fingers through her long hair.  Blonde with just a hint of red in the otherwise golden curls, Toga noticed with a vague grimace that she smelled like apple blossoms.  Dressed in faded blue jeans and a short-sleeved tee shirt that hugged her curves a little too well, the girl was a mystery to him.  Standing beside him, she barely reached his shoulders, so why could this tiny slip of a human girl intimidate him?  And why did she captivate him, too?

A fresh sheen of tears gathered in those incredible eyes of hers, and Toga flinched.  "My car’s in the shop,” she explained as she furiously wiped her cheeks again.  "If I call them, they’ll just take him and . . .” Trailing off as though the idea of what ‘they’ would do with the dog’s corpse was unbearable, the girl shook her head miserably and blinked back a few more tears.  "My mom has a farm where I could bury him, but . . .”

Nearly whining at the smell of her upset, Toga sighed.  "I’ll take you,” he offered quickly.  Anything—anything—to make her understand exactly how sorry he truly was . . .

Sniffling as she blinked, staring at him as though she couldn’t believe her ears, she shook her head slowly, the abject misery of her loss, rolling off her in invisible waves.  "That’s . . . I couldn’t . . . I don’t know you from Adam, and—”

"And I . . . I hit your dog,” he finished quietly, ruefully.  "Please.”

For the briefest of moments, he thought that she was considering, taking him up on his offer.  Suddenly, though, she shook her head, dashing her hand across her eyes again as she shrugged in calculated indifference, as her chin lifted just a notch, attesting to her own resolve.  "No, thank you . . .” she demurred, waving a hand as though to dismiss his offer entirely.

Toga adjusted the dog in his arms, balancing the animal carefully so that he could catch the girl’s sleeve before she could step away.  "Wait, please . . . I . . . I really am sorry.  It’s the least I can do.”  He winced, fumbling for words to convince her of his absolute sincerity.  "Just, please, let me . . .”

He could see the war inside her—her desire to get the hell away from him, fighting against the overwhelming need to lay her companion to rest in the best place she could think of.  Common sense told Toga that it was a battle that, by rights, wouldn’t lead to a positive outcome, and how could it?  As far as the girl was concerned, she had no idea, just who he was or what he could or couldn’t do, and she’d be absolutely crazy to take him, a perfect stranger, at his word, even if Toga really, truly, just wanted to do right by her.

"I, uh . . . I wish I could explain, just how terrible I feel about this,” he said instead, unable to keep himself from grimacing as he slowly shook his head.  "At least . . . Can I pay for a cab or something?  I-I-I mean, that way, you could take him to your mom’s farm, right . . .?”  Glancing around quickly, Toga took a step toward the sidewalk to lay down the dog’s corpse so that he could retrieve his wallet instead, only to wince once more when logical thought kicked in once more, and he stopped and turned back to face her again.  "I, uh . . . I don’t have cash on me right now—at least, not enough for a cab, I don’t think.  If the cab can take a card, though . . .?  Uh, oh!  If . . . If you want to wait here for a few minutes?  I can go find an ATM . . .?”

He was babbling.  He knew he was babbling and fast losing a good portion of IQ points in the process.  He’d thought briefly last night about taking out some money to have some cash on hand, but he hadn’t gotten around to it.  Now he really wished that he had . . . "I-I’m so sorry,” he said again, sounding more and more miserable by the second.

"All right,” she finally agreed, staring him up and down as though she were trying to size him up, or maybe his babbling had worked in his favor somehow.  He didn’t know, but she sighed.  "I warn you, though, I have a cell phone, and pepper spray . . . and I’ll knee you where it hurts if you try anything.”  She relented as she opened the hatch of his SUV so that he could put the dog inside.  "And I guess you can’t be all bad.  I mean, you did give up your jacket for Dennis, didn’t you?  Is . . . Is that Armani . . .?”

"Wha . . .?  Oh, the jacket?  Maybe?  I guess?”  He made a face since he didn’t really see what the make of his suit really mattered at the moment.  "It’s not a big deal, just a jacket.  Who’s Dennis?” Toga echoed with a confounded shake of his head.

She sighed and lifted her arm to gesture at the SUV as he closed the hatch.  "My dog.”

Toga winced yet again.  "Honestly, Miss . . . You, uh . . . You have no idea how sorry I am.”

She nodded as he followed her around to the passenger side and let him open the door.  He made quick work of snapping the laptop closed and clearing off the seat before he headed around the vehicle and climbed back inside, giving the damaged passenger’s side front corner only a cursory glance.  The turn signal was broken, but the headlight seemed fine, and there was a dent where the dog had impacted with the Jeep, but it didn’t look serious by any means.  The girl was already on her cell phone, telling her mother that she was on her way and if she wasn’t there within ninety minutes, she’d fallen prey to the deranged lunatic who had killed her dog, he supposed.  

"My name’s Toga,” he offered when she clicked her phone closed.  Glancing out of the corner of his eye to check traffic, he cringed inwardly when she pulled out the aforementioned pepper spray and held it firmly in her hand.

"Turn up here and take it straight out of the city,” she informed him, pointing straight ahead at the next street light when he maneuvered the Jeep back onto the street.  "I’m Sierra.”

"Sierra,” he repeated, enjoying the way her name sounded in his ears.  "That’s, uh, really pretty.”

She didn’t respond.  He could feel the intensity of her gaze on him again, and he concentrated on not hitting anything else as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.  Luckily for him, he supposed, he didn’t feel anything off about the way the vehicle handled, so it seemed like the light casing and the nice dent on the side near that was the only actual damage to the Jeep.  "You’re not from around here, are you?  You’ve got a little bit of an accent . . .”

"An accent?” he replied, licking his lips nervously.  "And, uh, no . . . I just moved here a few months ago.”

"Where are you from, Toga?”

Deliberately ignoring the ease with which she said his name, the sudden tumbling sensation in his stomach as his name rolled off her tongue, Toga kept his eyes on the road.  "The last place I was?  Berlin.”

"You don’t sound German,” she mused, "and you don’t look German, either.”

He shrugged in what he hoped was an offhanded kind of way since he really didn’t want to talk too much about where he was from and why he was here, of all places.  "Isn’t everyone in America from somewhere else?”

She sighed.  "I suppose.”  Staring out the car window with the can of pepper spray still clenched in her fist, Sierra shook her head.  The smell of her hair spiked with the movement: welcome, inviting . . . familiar . . . Toga tried to block it out.  "It’s very decent of you, to do this.”

Shaking his head to refute her assumption that he was simply trying to be generous, Toga stifled a sigh.  "Yeah, well, it was the least I could do.  Where I come from, it’s bad form to go around, killing your own kind.”

"Your own kind?” she echoed with a raised eyebrow.

Toga winced inwardly.  "Sure . . . don’t you women all think men are dogs?” he joked, hoping that his cover-up worked.

"Maybe not all men,” she allowed with a small smile.  "Would you mind if I . . .?” she asked, gesturing at the radio console.

"Oh, no . . . go ahead,” he told her as he prayed that she wasn’t into loud music.  As badly as his nerves were already strained, being surrounded by too much noise just might send him teetering off the proverbial deep end.

Luck was on his side this time.  Flipping through the channels until she found one that played soft classical music, Toga couldn’t help but sigh in relief as she lowered the speakers to just a gentle hum before settling back in her seat again.  "Is this okay?”

"Yeah, fine.”

She nodded and bit her lip, glancing around as though she were trying to come up with a change in topic.  "So, you just moved here,” she remarked at length.

"Yes,” he answered, relaxing just enough that he wasn’t a complete bundle of nerves.  Why was it that every single nerve in his body seemed to be listening to her?  He shook his head.  Stupid thought, that.

Her sigh was soft: more of an exhalation than a real sound.  "Me, too . . . I mean, into the city . . . Better jobs than on the farm.  Better hours, too, come to think of it . . .”

"I’m not much of a morning person, myself,” he admitted.

"Turn here,” she instructed.  Toga did.  "Can I ask what you do for a living?”

Toga shot her a quick glance, an apologetic smile.  "I broker corporate mergers.”

She blinked in surprise.  "Really?  I guess that would explain your Armani suit . . . You just don’t look like a business shark.”

He couldn’t help but shake his head at her estimation.  "Why’s that?”

She waved her hand in a broad gesture.  "Your hair . . . your smile . . . You don’t look old enough to be in that line of work . . . and you’re decent enough to run me out to the country to bury my dog.  You don’t know me, you realize.  I could very well be a serial killer.”

His smile was genuine, if not a little self-conscious.  "Are you?” he couldn’t resist asking.

She laughed quietly.  "Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, Toga.”

Cheeks heating at her appraisal, Toga cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.  "Fair’s fair, right?  So, tell me, Sierra: what do you do?”

She smiled.  Her eyes twinkled when she did, he noticed before shifting his gaze back to the road.  "Well, right now, I work in the press room at the Tribune.  One day, though, I hope to have my own byline.”

"Cover anything good lately?”

She shrugged.  "At the moment, we’re doing a story on Sesshoumaru Inutaisho.  You ever heard of him?  He owns Inutaisho Industries International.  I’m so jealous.  The girl who’s going to Japan as the assistant to the reporter on the story was hired in just before me . . .”

Toga didn’t answer.  Eyes locked on the road, carefully schooling his features blank, the very mention of his father was enough to set his teeth to grinding.

"I can’t really complain too much, though.  I really didn’t think that I’d be able to land a job at the Tribune straight out of college, so I think I’m in a good place,” she went on, oblivious to Toga’s reticence.

"It seems like a fairly reputable publication,” he allowed.  "Congratulations.”

"Thanks,” she said with a sigh.

Toga winced inwardly as the lull in the conversation seemed to spur on a return of Sierra’s sadness, too.

‘Sad would be kind of an understatement.  I mean, you killed her dog, Toga.’

‘I know; I know . . . Damn . . .’

"You . . . You’re not going to be late to work or anything, are you?” she asked, sounding particularly reluctant at the late concern on her part.  "You said you were looking for an address when you . . . when you hit Dennis . . .”

Toga flicked a hand in dismissal, mostly to try to reassure her.  "An interview,” he admitted.  "Probably wasn’t somewhere I was seriously looking to work, though.  I’ll give them a call later.”

"Sorry about that,” she apologized, and she really did sound contrite.

"Don’t worry about it,” he told her.  "I’ve already gotten a few offers, anyway.  Just wanted to finish the interviews I’d scheduled before I figured out which place would be the best fit for me, anyway.”

She digested that in silence as they drove on.  Toga wasn’t particularly worried, given that Sierra was watching carefully out of the window.

‘She’s probably committing the area to memory in case she needs it later—you know, if you were thinking to try taking her somewhere to off her,’ his youkai quipped.

He snorted indelicately.  ‘Very funny—meaning, you’re not at all.  Funny, that is.  As if!’

‘I’m not saying that you’d consider it.  I’m say that she might well think it, though.  Objectively speaking, you are still a stranger to her, after all.’

"Turn here,” Sierra said suddenly, completely unaware of the unsavory nature of the conversation he was carrying on in his head as she leaned forward and pointed to a large farmhouse on the right side of the highway.  He turned off onto the county road and continued on for a good mile and a half when she pointed to indicate that he should turn down the very long gravel driveway that led to the lone farmhouse and three pole barns.  The house was set well back from the road.  He followed the driveway around the back of the house and into the clearing between it and the pole barns, parking next to a late-model, bright red Chevy truck and killed the engine before getting out and carefully retrieving the animal from the rear hatch.

She sighed as she led the way to the back of the sprawling yard between the house and the closest building.  Her mother was already at the back of the clearing under the spread boughs of a very large oak tree with a shovel in her hands and the start of a neat hole, already carefully stripped of sod that was neatly laid in stacked strips beside the hole.  A small, frail-looking woman doing a man’s task . . . Toga hurriedly lay the dog down and gently took it from her.

"Mom, this is Toga.”

"The dog murderer?” Sierra’s mother commented, standing back, hands on hips, as she let Toga take over with the manual labor.

Toga flinched.  "I’m really, really sorry,” he assured them both.

"Mom, he didn’t mean it.”

"How could you not see that tank of a dog?” Sierra’s mother persisted.  "He’s a Great Dane, for God’s sake!  Are you blind or something?”

Toga grimaced.  "I was, uh, double checking an address . . . and trying to find my glasses.”

Sierra’s mother sighed then chuckled.  "City boy, do you even know how to use that shovel?”

Toga could feel himself flush again.  He’d dug enough holes in his youth to argue that claim.  Somehow, though, the idea of digging the hole with his bare hands didn’t seem like such a good one, at the moment.

"Stay away from that one, Sierra,” her mother warned her in a loud whisper.  "He’s got the look of a devil . . . the pretty ones always do.”

"Mother!” Sierra hissed, hand hurriedly covering her mouth as Toga pretended not to have heard the exchange—difficult to do when his face was blazing . . .

'In the realm of ignorance, Toga . . . you are absolutely an idiot savant . . .’

Lying in his bed, staring at the darkened ceiling as lights from passing cars danced across the walls, Toga heaved another sigh and blinked as sleep eluded him.  He’d been trying for the past couple hours, to no avail.  His mind was too wound up, too busy thinking and wondering and realizing . . .

It wasn’t bad enough that he had inadvertently killed a dog.  It wasn’t bad enough that he felt so horrible about it that he had offered to take Sierra to her mother’s farm.  It wasn’t bad enough that Sierra worked for the freaking Chicago Tribune and obviously knew the Inutaisho name.  It wasn’t bad enough that Sierra’s mother was pretty well convinced that he was about as useless as they came, given that he couldn’t hide the clumsiness with which he handled the damned shovel.  It wasn’t bad enough that the girl had managed to twist his mind and body in knots.  Nope, oh, hell, no.

The worst of it?  In classic stupid-Toga fashion, he hadn’t even thought to ask her last name, her phone number . . . not a damn thing . . . just knew the building where she’d asked to be dropped off at ‘a friend’s’ apartment—after her mother had given him the third degree, and after she’d demanded to question him on his overall fitness to drive.  Had he had any car accidents, ever, and if so, were they his fault in any way, did he have any outstanding tickets, et cetera . . .

‘Forget her, Toga . . . She knows who your father is, remember?  You don’t want him to find you, do you?’

Of course, the logical thing to do would be to put Sierra out of his head . . .

Too bad he couldn’t seem to do that.

Her eyes . . . He’d never seen eyes like hers before.  Jewel-like yet misty, secretive with an open, friendly smile, everything about her seemed like a paradox; the tiny woman with the nerve to stand her ground against him . . . He’d never seen hair the color of hers, either.  Honey gold with touches of reddish highlights . . . But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there?  Something about her . . . Well, something about her spoke to him, as corny sounding as that was.  It was the only real way he could describe that feeling . . . What was it about her that spoke to him?

She was beautiful; she was mysterious.  She was as earthy as she was ethereal . . .

And all he knew was that her first name was Sierra.