InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 3: Forever ❯ Unmasked Truths ( Chapter 36 )

~~Chapter 36~~

~Unmasked Truths~

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Nezumi gasped sharply as she carted around to face Ryomaru. His question had been asked in a hushed tone, but he leaned on his elbow and didn't take his gaze off her. He could see her gulp as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as she dropped her eyes almost guiltily, nervously twisting her fingers together.

 

“You . . . you're awake?”

 

Ryomaru blinked at her question. “Yeah . . . you really thought I'd be able to sleep?”

 

“You . . . were . . . awake?” she asked again, her voice choked, rasping. “I wasn't . . . you weren't . . . you were!”

 

“I was sort of hoping you were going to slip in bed with me,” he remarked lightly, half of him wanting to coax her out of her acute discomfort while the other half of him fought back the disappointment that she hadn't done just what he had mentioned.

 

“I'm really tired . . . I think I'll . . . yeah . . . night.”

 

“Nez,” he called after her before she could make her escape, “wait.”

 

She didn't meet his eyes as she shuffled her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. “You . . . you're . . . Can't you . . .?”

 

“Sorry.” Grimacing as he realized that he was still very naked, Ryomaru grabbed the blanket and yanked it over his lap and held out his hand. Nezumi reluctantly shuffled toward him, slipping her hand into his and letting him pull her down beside him. “What's that?” he asked, nodding at the box she'd left on his nightstand.

 

“No,” she squeaked as he reached for the box, her hand shooting out to stop him. He shook his head slightly, offering her an apologetic grimace as he disregarded the unvoiced pleading in her gaze and carefully retrieved the wooden container. “I . . . don't open it . . . not while I'm right here, okay?”

 

He sighed and sat back, holding the box in one hand and Nezumi's fingers in the other. “What'd she look like? Your mother?”

 

Nezumi shrugged without meeting his gaze. “Like . . . I don't know . . . She smiled a lot. She was pretty, and she always smelled nice, like flowers.”

 

Ryomaru's smile was tinged with sadness. “Do you look like her?”

 

She blushed, scowling at her hands and refusing to meet his gaze. “I don't know . . . no one ever really said.”

 

“Can I see her?”

 

Her eyes finally lifted to meet his, but only for a moment before skittering away. The vulnerability she tried to hide tore at him. Hesitantly, she reached for the box. He let her take it, watched as she slowly opened it and pulled out a small stack of pictures.

 

He reached over and turned on the lamp. Scooting back against the pillows before he pulled Nezumi against his chest, Ryomaru wrapped his arms around her as she held up the first photograph for his inspection. It was a strange thing, staring at the image of a young woman---easily no more than twenty-five, with the little girl---the mirror image of her mother. The girl's ebony hair was caught back in a ponytail, and the woman knelt beside her. Gracefully slender arms wrapped around the girl's waist, and the woman's smile was radiant, bright. “Is that you?” he asked, poking the picture with a claw to indicate the little girl.

 

Nezumi sighed. “Yeah. I was pretty scrawny.”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed as he squeezed her tighter. “You look just like your mother.”

 

“Not really,” she argued. “Mama was really pretty and stuff . . .”

 

“And you're not?”

She shifted uncomfortably, and Ryomaru relented. She'd never been one to discuss her looks. It didn't surprise him that she couldn't see the uncanny resemblance. “Thought you said your mother was Irish-American,” he remarked, trying to get her to relax again.

 

“She was,” Nezumi countered. “Black Irish strain, I suppose. Her hair was so black it looked blue in the sun.”

 

Ryomaru nodded as she held up the next picture. This one was of Nezumi's mother and father on their wedding day. Mitako Yoshi wasn't smiling but he looked proud. Nezumi's mother was smiling happily, her bright blue eyes sparkling, glowing. Again Ryomaru was struck by how much Nezumi resembled her, but this time he didn't comment.

 

As she shuffled through the stack of pictures, Ryomaru couldn't help but notice the way Nezumi grew more and more anxious. Guilt over remembering happier times? Sadness that she never got to say goodbye? The unrealistic recriminations of a child who had been made to see things that no child should have ever had to deal with? Ryomaru didn't know, and the only thing he could do was hold her tighter, closer, to tell her without words that she really wasn't alone, and that she'd never have to feel that way again.

 

“She laughed a lot,” Nezumi finally murmured, fingertips brushing over the face in a faded photograph. “She used to say that being with Papa and me made her happy.”

 

“Don't you think it did?”

 

She shrugged. “Yeah . . . I just wish it all made more sense to me, that's all.”

 

“Do you want to go there?” he asked quietly, careful to keep his tone neutral, careful not to pressure her.

 

She sighed and shook her head. “I don't know . . . I mean, what would it prove, to go there now? Wouldn't it just reinforce the idea that not a damn thing makes any sense at all? Would it change anything, Ryo? I don't know if I can . . . at least, not yet.”

 

“Was it ever supposed to make sense?”

 

“I . . . I don't know.”

 

He closed his eyes against the rawness of her pain. It stung him, grated on him, jarred him. “I wish I knew the words to say to make you forget all that. I wish I was better with words.”

 

She shifted, turning to face him. The box slipped off her lap, the lid falling open as the rest of the contents of the box spilled out. She gasped and tried to push the things back into the container. Ryomaru's hands were faster, and he swept the items up, frowning as he stared at the crumbling petals of the pressed flower. The locket dangled from his fingers, but it was the small bit of torn paper that held his attention.

 

“Nez . . . what is this?” he asked, his mind slowing to a crawl as he tried to figure out what it meant. Her face paled, eyes painfully wide, and with a strangled cry, she scampered off the bed. Ryomaru opened his mouth to try to stop her, but the words died on his lips as his gaze fell on the dried flower in his hand once more.

 

`Why'd she keep this thing?' he snorted. `Feh! It's dried out and . . . and . . . Oh, balls, it ain't . . . Fuck, it really is . . .'

 

He knelt down beside the flowers, eyed both carefully. He chose the one with the perfectly shaped leaves, the petals so soft and tender that they quivered when he touched the stem. Using his claw to cut through the reedy stalk, Ryomaru took care not to disturb the petals. He brought the flower to his nose, inhaled the scent as a little smile broke over his features. Turning his head to see her still frowning at her feet, his smile widened, and he held out the blossom.

 

She stared at the flower for several moments. Cautiously untangling her arm, she reached for it, her fingers brushing over his as she accepted the simple offering.

 

He stood up slowly, caught the glimpse she shot him. The expression in her eyes gave him pause, and he blinked quickly, positive that he had read her wrong. She ducked her head to smell the flower but not before he saw it: the cautious hope in her eyes, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, Ryomaru knew the truth. She wanted to be with him. She just needed to be convinced.

 

He let the dried flower fall from his fingers as he glowered at the ticket stub and slowly shook his head. He didn't understand why she'd keep that scrap of paper. Tamping down the urge to chase after her, he narrowed his gaze as he stared at the mint green card. Torn down one side, it appeared to be an admittance stub from something. `Tokyo Academy . . . Spring . . .'

 

`A . . . ticket stub . . . From what?' A low sigh escaped him as the words fell into place. Tokyo Academy was the name of the high school they'd attended, and spring? He winced. `The school dance? What school dance? There was only one school dance she went to, wasn't there, and she went with me to that one. Why would she keep the stub from that dance?'

 

`Why do you think, Ryo?'

 

Swallowing hard as he tried to convince himself that the suspicion that poked him couldn't possibly be true, Ryomaru didn't want to think about it, didn't want to consider the more troubling possibility. Thinking back to that time, to that place, to that morning in the forest, he cringed as a sickened twisting in his stomach throbbed with the ugly truth.

 

“It's really something, isn't it?” Nezumi asked softly as the sun peeked over the horizon.

 

Ryomaru shrugged, too busy thinking about the real reason he'd woke her up and dragged her out of the tent just before the crack of dawn. “Mother makes the old man watch them all the time with her. I used to think it was . . . mushy . . .”

 

“Too masculine to watch a sunrise?” she teased.

 

Ryomaru grinned. “The old man told me that it was a way to give thanks for the things you have.”

 

Nezumi smiled and shrugged, lost in the tent of an oversized green sweatshirt. “Maybe . . .”

 

He picked individual blades of grass and tore them into tiny bits. He hadn't bothered to stop, to think about just why he felt so anxious. She was just Nezumi, right? He asked her questions all the time. Now wasn't really any different. `Just ask the question already,' he told himself sternly. `It ain't like she'll think you mean anything by it.' Still his hands were sweating, and his breathing hitched in his chest. He would have sworn he was nervous, but that was stupid. Why would he be nervous, anyway? “Listen, uh . . . I wanted to ask you something.”

 

“Okay.”

 

A slight blush washed into his cheeks as he studiously avoided her gaze. `Get a grip, Ryomaru! It's Nezumi, remember? Just Nezumi . . . Spit it out. What do you think? She won't say `no'. Nez never says `no' to you . . .' He couldn't quite manage to look her in the eye. “There's this girl . . . I really like her . . . but she doesn't really pay much attention to me . . .”

 

Nezumi blinked quickly and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Okay,” she murmured again.

 

“She makes me feel . . . I don't know . . . different . . . do you know what I mean?”

 

She swallowed hard. “I . . . yes . . .”

 

He grinned. `See? Just being stupid . . . Nez understands me. She's always understood me.' Ignoring the tiny voice in his head that told him he was missing something important, Ryomaru's grin widened. “Really? Good . . . then you do . . . I was wondering if . . . if you'd go to the spring dance with me . . . you know, so I don't have to show up alone? I thought I could see how she acts then . . .?”

 

She hesitated before answering. The significance of the pause had been lost on him as relief surged in him. “Okay,” she muttered for the third time.

 

Ryomaru let his breath out in a harsh sigh. “Thanks! I owe you one.”

 

The memory faded, and Ryomaru winced again. `It didn't . . . It couldn't have meant anything to her . . . She'd have said, right? She'd have told me . . .'

 

`Do you believe that, Ryo? Do you really? She wouldn't have told you. She'd never have told you.'

 

`That's not true. Nez . . . She would have said something. She's always told me when I've ticked her off. It wouldn't have been any different.'

 

That was it, wasn't it? If it had meant that much to her, Nezumi would have let him know.

 

The pain in his chest intensified as the stub fell beside the flower.

 

`Would she? Do you really think she'd have said any such thing?'

 

`There's gotta be something else in here,' he thought as he grabbed the box and forced himself to look inside. It was empty, and somehow that didn't surprise him. The box fell out of his hand as he used his claw to gently pry open the locket. A picture of Mitako Yoshi was mounted in the left side while a tiny picture of Nezumi was painstakingly fitted into the right. Ryomaru snapped it closed and dropped it onto the flower and the ticket with a sickened sigh.

 

The air seemed to close in around him, stifling him like a smothering blanket. Tossing back the covers, he stumbled off the bed, pausing long enough to jerk on a pair of sweatpants before striding to the door. The house was silent, empty, the aura seemed to sense his upset . . . or maybe it was Nezumi's. He paused outside Nezumi's door, fist poised to knock. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he dropped his hand and turned away.

 

`I can't . . . She . . . Damn it!'

 

He had to get out. He had to escape the stagnant wash of his own stupidity before it overwhelmed him, before it could destroy him. He didn't stop until he was outside, until he pulled the door closed as the frigid air of the late winter night seeped into him.

 

His first thought was that he should run; that he should put as much distance between Nezumi and himself as he could before he hurt her even more. Thing was, he couldn't seem to do that. As much as he knew that she might deserve better, the wretched truth was that without her, he had nothing. Without her, he was nothing.

 

Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard, veering off the porch and springing into the air. He landed on the roof and moved away, stopping only when he had reached his final destination: the roof above Nezumi's window. Hunkering down in the pristine snow, ignoring the slight burn of cold under his bare feet, Ryomaru uttered a low whine, almost a cry, as he lifted his sad gaze to the sliver of a moon overhead.

 

Ryomaru flinched, unable to staunch the flow of memories; unable to ignore the things that he had never stopped to think about.

 

He arrived at her house almost forty-five minutes late. She was waiting for him, wearing a dark blue silk pants suit with her hair spilling down her back---a stark contrast from the usual pony tail she favored. The fabric complimented her eyes, and when she smiled nervously, he made a face and waved a hand at the door. “You ready?” he demanded as he brushed aside the unsettling feeling that had come over him when Nezumi had opened the door.

 

“Yeah . . . You, uh . . . look nice.”

 

“Feh! Come on; we're late.”

 

A shadow of a frown haunted the depths of her eyes, but only for a moment before she closed that away and offered him a tight little smile. “Yeah . . . late . . .”

 

Ryomaru winced. Had he really been so wrapped up in himself that he hadn't seen the things that he should have? How had that seemed to her? A low whine escaped him, ears flattening against his head, as he remembered something else. He hadn't even bothered to tell her that she had looked nice, had he? `Fuck . . . Damn, what did she think?'

 

He'd taken her to the dance, and after about five minutes of joking around while he looked over her head to find the girl he'd targeted, Ryomaru had left Nezumi with Kichiro, and he . . . `I left her alone then . . . I left Nez with Kich so I could chase after some girl . . . and I can't even remember her name . . .'

 

`You're missing the point, Ryo.'

 

`Point? What point? I hurt her, I know that, and I---”

 

`Why did she agree to go to that stupid dance with you, in the first place? Why would she? Ryo . . . has it occurred to you that she might have had feelings for you even before then? Has it occurred to you that she might have told you to go to hell when you asked her? Nez never wore anything like that before. She didn't wear anything like that afterward, either, not until that night she went on that date . . . Does that mean anything to you?'

 

The whine cut off as Ryomaru gasped. The pain in his chest was heavy, debilitating, and the foreign stab of hotness behind his eyes betrayed him, and he blinked furiously, refusing to relinquish his control on the emotional release he needed. The realization of what he'd done to her time and again was bitter, ugly. `Kami, and I . . . I asked her to believe in me---in us . . . What the hell right did I have? What the fuck was I thinking? Nezumi . . . I'm sorry . . .'

 

Would it be enough? Could being sorry erase the pain he'd caused her? Did he even have a right to ask that of her?

 

 

-=-0-=-0-=-0-=-0-=-0-=-

 

 

`That was stupid, Nez! How could you be so stupid? You should have gotten out of there before he looked in that box . . .'

 

Rolling over onto her stomach, Nezumi buried her face in her pillow and stifled a groan. The look of utter confusion on Ryomaru's face as he stared at the dried flower, at the ticket stub from the school dance . . .

 

`He didn't understand! He didn't understand at all . . .'

 

She thought he would. She thought he'd understand everything, if he saw those things. Maybe it had been cowardly; to expect him to understand the things she just couldn't say. Maybe she'd been relying on the idea that Ryomaru had always seemed to understand her before. Thing was, the stakes were much higher now, and she'd placed her bet on a box of trinkets that might not mean a thing to him, after all . . .

 

`Ryomaru . . .'

 

She knew him better than she knew herself, or so she thought. She'd always believed that. Everything was different now. Everything was skewed. The lines between friendship and something more were harder to see, and Nezumi felt as though she were lost in a foreign land, trapped in a void where she didn't want to stay but was too afraid to leave. Ryomaru was both: the temptation and the prize, the fear and the reassurance. The trouble with wanting it all was that sometimes one was left with nothing, and Nezumi couldn't stand that idea. It left her raw, aching, hurting in places the human eye couldn't see.

 

She'd made the mistake of leaving too much to chance, too much in the hands of his comprehension. She remembered the dance. She remembered it because it was the closest she'd ever been, the nearest she'd ever come to feeling, even for a moment, that he had seen her as a girl, not simply as just one of the guys. Until the night years later, she'd held to that memory. When she'd opened the door, he'd seemed genuinely surprised. Unable to bring herself to wear a dress, she'd worn a loose silk pants suit instead. Still he had blinked as he slowly looked her over, and he'd seemed startled for a moment before his usual brusqueness returned.

 

She remembered it because it meant something to her. She wasn't at all sure if Ryomaru would remember it, too.

 

`But the flower . . . he'd recognize that flower, right?'

 

She wanted to believe he would. She wanted to think that even that simple gesture would spark his memory. Truth was she wasn't sure at all. As unsure about that as she was about everything, maybe she really didn't know anything at all, and maybe all the things she struggled to understand were misconceptions and tricks of light.

 

Weary of hiding behind excuses, behind reasons that she didn't fully believe, she'd taken a chance, thought that maybe he'd understand. She'd put all her hope into that one act. Meaning only to leave the box on his nightstand, she hadn't realized that he had still been awake. She should have followed her first instinct. She should have run.

 

Why was it always so easy to see the things she should have done after the fact? Why was it so much simpler to dissect her actions and see the things she should have done differently?

 

A savage pang shot through her, the need to see Ryomaru, to be near him forcing a low moan from her as she smashed her face deeper into her pillow. The pang swelled into a dull ache, a painful constricting in her chest, in her heart. That was all she'd ever really wanted. That was the reason she'd never taken chances before. To be near him had always been enough, and yet even here in the house she shared with him, he'd never seemed quite so far away.

 

Hot tears squeezed out of the seams of her tightly closed eyes, soaking into her pillow despite her resolve not to cry. Gripping the pillow in her fists, she willed the tears to stop, but the harder she tried to staunch the tears, the more she felt her resolution crumble, falling around her like the remnants of a dream, of a fantasy that was too beautiful, too perfect, to have ever been true.

 

The darkness closed in around her, pressed against her eyes, infiltrated her mind. The numbness that accompanied the melancholy never came. The ache inside her surged deeper, swelled bigger, loomed darker. It was the same feeling she'd had that afternoon so long ago, when the policewoman had coaxed Nezumi into the squad car as the paramedics hid her mother from view. She remembered thinking at the time, if she could only reach her, touch her, then her mother would open her eyes. If she could only reach Ryomaru, touch him, maybe he'd understand after all. Maybe he'd know what she couldn't bring herself to say.

 

“Nez? Kami, Nez, don't . . .”

 

The touch of his fingers on her shoulder was like an invisible draw. She heard the dull thump as he dropped to his knees on the floor. Before she could stop herself, before she could think, she pushed herself up, threw herself against him. He caught her, steadied her, a soft little whine escaping him as he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against his chest as quietly begged her not to cry.

 

“I'm sorry,” he repeated over and over, burying his fingers in her hair as he leaned his cheek against her forehead. “I never knew, and I'm sorry . . .”

 

The desperation that tinged his voice, the unmasked upset that he felt he was solely to blame shredded the last of her faltering resolve, left her soul bare, left her heart in tatters. Her sobs escalated, unable to be contained, unable to be locked away or hidden, as they grew harsher and darker, more sinister and somehow more cleansing.

 

Somewhere in the depths of her misery something else was welling up. Stuttering, vacillating, hesitant and uncertain, she couldn't understand what the other feeling meant, couldn't grasp the wispy strands of the subtle emotion, but the hotness on her forehead shocked her, the dampness of tears that weren't her own. “R-Ryo?” she hiccupped, trying to pull away, to see what her mind would not comprehend.

 

He wouldn't let go, wouldn't loosen his grip. He shook his head stubbornly, pulled her a little bit closer. “No,” he growled, voice barely more than a harsh whisper. “I can't . . . Don't leave . . .”

 

She snuggled closer, slipped her arms around his waist, trying to tell him the only way she knew how that she wasn't going anywhere, and that maybe she had finally figured out just where she really belonged.

 

Her acceptance unleashed a savagery in him. She gasped as his arms tightened even more, as he let go of the precarious control he had over his emotions. Wincing as his body broke into jarring sobs, she had somehow become the one to offer him comfort, and when he accepted it, she was amazed.

 

She wasn't sure how long they sat like that, each wrapped around the other, and neither willing to let go. Vaguely Nezumi felt the pressure of tiny feet as Yukitora hopped into her lap, as though she wanted to comfort them, too.

 

Ryomaru had stopped crying though his breathing was still harsh and stunted. He sniffled and sighed as he loosened his grip though he held enough tension that she knew he wasn't about to let go.

 

“We're both kind of stupid,” she muttered, breaking the silence with her rueful observation. “I'm sorry, too, you know. I'm sorry for a lot of things.”

 

“You ain't got a thing to be sorry for,” he grumbled, shifting so he could pull her closer. “The baka gene, remember? Nez, I . . . I should have known.”

 

She swallowed hard, leaning back to stare into his eyes. Glowing in the darkness, misery still reflected in his gaze, they blazed like beacons in the night. “So what now?”

 

He tried to smile, and she knew that he was doing it for her benefit. He couldn't quite manage, and he gave up with a heavy sigh. “Still on your terms, Nez. I just . . . need you here with me.”

 

She nodded and started to answer. A wide yawn interrupted her. Exhaustion closed in fast. The emotional toll had left her bone-weary. He sensed it, too, and, in a single fluid movement, lifted her and set her on the bed before crawling up beside her. Grimacing as he tapped his claws on the comforter, he shot her a chagrined glance and shrugged as he dropped his gaze away. “If you want . . . I'll, uh, go to my room . . .”

 

“Wait,” she exclaimed softly as he started to get up. “I want you to stay . . . I mean, unless you want to go . . .”

 

“It ain't that,” he assured her as he slowly sank back down. “I thought maybe . . . I'm not so good at this, am I?”

 

“No worse than I am.”

 

He snorted but stretched out, pulling Nezumi into his arms. She didn't fight him, and she didn't panic. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt differently now, but she didn't stop to question it, either. The mixture of emotional release coupled with the feeling of being completely safe was a heady mix that lulled her. The security of being cradled to his side was enough. She'd noticed the same feeling before, hadn't she? The difference was she had tried to deny it, tried to tell herself that she was imagining things because she didn't want to get used to it, lest it should all be taken away.

 

She was almost asleep when he spoke, and his voice was so soft, so gentle, that she almost didn't discern it. “Nez . . . one more thing . . . I should have told you before . . . I thought you looked really nice the night of the dance. I guess I thought you'd just know.”

 

She wanted to answer him but sleep was too close. She might have murmured a sound of acknowledgement but she couldn't be certain. He gave her a gentle squeeze, pressed his lips against her forehead. She thought she smiled into the darkness, but even if she didn't, she knew in her heart that he understood.

 

`Ryomaru knows me . . . and I know him . . . and maybe we do belong together . . . What was his word? Ah, yes . . . mates . . .'

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~ *~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

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Reviewers

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xenus (FFnet):

I was wondering, do these characters, like Nezumi, and Toga, come to you from out of the blue, or do you see something when you're, I don't know, walking down the street or something? I know I get mine in dreams, trying to make a version of the characters within my Gemini mind. The mind of an aspiring author. But it was merely a question, and I await the next chapter. Later!

 

Toga, the twins, and Gin were all introduced in the original Purity. They evolved the way I could see them evolving. There's no set thing I do to gather inspiration. I just write.

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MMorg

NyteAngelOfDarkness7 ------ inuyashasluverforever ------ foamyfan15010 ------ Rawben ------ Descendant of Darkness ------ notzathros ------ Zirra Nova ------ DarklessVasion ------ trinigirl524 ------ EAP ------ Terrasina Dragonwagon ------ mizbum2u ------ OROsan0677 ------ CJ Finnegan ------ yasha 101 ------ Aiko-chan

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FFneteave

Zorioko ------ My Own Self ------ Valdimarian ------ Drake Clawfang ------ SilverStarWing ------ Akashadair ------ Flames101 (Yes, Gin can hear her youkai too) ------ hyorii ------ Shilyn ------ Kurisu no Ryuujin ------ Ryguy5387 ------ Captain applesauce ------ agent-doo ------ Dogiegurl26 ------ ILOVEINUS589 ------ Crolynx ------ Fairia13 ------ Shallan ------ Katie Janeway ------ Starr Stealer ------ Jasmine Fields ------ Catie-san ------ InuyashasChic612

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Final Thought fromNezumi:

…Mates …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Forever): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~