InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Regret ( Chapter 22 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

"Why else would I do something as stupid as kiss you?"

Kichiro groaned as he let his head drop back against the rough tree bark and stared up at the unfurling leaves above him.  His anger had dissipated about the time he stepped outside of the apartment building, and what he was left with was ugly, bitter—the gnawing ache of recrimination.  'I . . . Oh hell, I was an ass, wasn't I?'

'Just a little,' his youkai replied with a snort.

Yeah, so that was a bit of an understatement on his part.  He'd been a huge ass.  He hadn't meant to . . . He should have left right away, but no, he had to stop and think, and . . .

Stopping at the base of the stairwell and stalking the floor as he heaved a sigh and dug his hands into his pockets, Kichiro wanted to go back to Gin's apartment; wanted to take her home for the night since she'd been upset enough when he'd left her.  Something about Gin could always make him feel like a complete jerk whenever he tried to tell her that she was going to get hurt.  Maybe it was her eyes . . .

He'd been trying to figure out a way to ask Gin to go with him since she'd probably overact if he just said, 'Get your stuff, you're coming with me.'  He hadn't meant it that way, anyway.  Their father had called a tournament for the following afternoon, and since Gin would be going to that, Kichiro had just thought maybe she could use the calm of the forest to think things through.

But he couldn't shake that hot swell of rage that had gripped his insides when he'd walked into that club only to see the young man dragging his sister around.  It had been drilled into his head over the years: protect Gin . . . watch out for Gin . . . be careful with Gin . . . It had become second nature.

Then Bellaniece . . .

He hadn't expected Bellaniece to come back downstairs.  Why had it bothered him even more, that she would rather sit on the steps and pretend she wasn't there than to come down and face him?  It wasn't like her.  Bellaniece wasn't a coward; reckless, foolish even, but never a coward.

Then she'd stared at him, her gaze unfaltering as she refused to back down after he called her out.  Her hair had caught the dim light of the electric bulbs, but the way she'd stared at him . . . Either it had simply been too damn long since he'd kissed anyone, or Bellaniece really was special.  How he could have felt so much in that brief moment when he'd stopped fighting the need to kiss her and had let himself go perplexed him.  He felt as if he had been as close to having everything he'd ever wanted, and then . . .

He shook his head and closed his eyes for a second.

And then he'd pushed her away.

What had he really been after, when he asked her why she'd followed him?  What did he really expect?  He wasn't stupid enough to think that she was about to tell him that she'd chased him down in hopes that he really would kiss her, was he?

Maybe he was.

'So, she hurts your pride, so you have to crush her completely?  Is that how it works?'

It hadn't taken him long to realize the magnitude of his mistake.  The hurt in her eyes, the sudden wariness as she slowly backed away from him . . .

'I didn't mean to . . . Damn, I shouldn't have lashed out at her . . . Not for that kiss . . .'

'No, you really shouldn't have,' his youkai agreed.  'Not when you wanted it as much—if not more—than she did.'

Kichiro winced.  The truth hurt.

Something about Bellaniece set him off every single time.  She was beautiful and infuriating, gentle and tough, too.  Everything about her was a paradox.  She didn't have the sense to run when he tried to tell her to.  She had too much courage for her own good, and the combination was lethal.  A woman like her was nothing but trouble.  She could twist a man inside out and never even realize how many victims she left in her wake.

'Interesting.  She sounds a lot like you used to be.'

He really had been like that, hadn't he?  All his escapades with Ryomaru had seemed so innocent at the time.  How many girls had they left behind, wondering if they would call or hoping they'd see the twins again?  Kichiro's ears flattened.  Bellaniece didn't really have a thing on them.  They had been worse than she could ever hope to be, because they'd known at the time what they were doing.

'You know, I think you're angrier that Belle was at that club than you are that Gin was with her.'

'That's crap,' Kichiro grumbled.

'Not at all.  Gin might not belong there, but you know that she really can hold her own.  You just don't want her to have to do that, which is fine, but Belle . . . Belle does stuff first, before she can think her actions through.  She's too free spirited, and that's what bothers you the most.'

'Maybe.'

'Maybe?  Admit it, Kich.  You hate the idea that you might have been too late, not only to rescue Gin, but to rescue Belle, too.'

'Belle does nothing but irritate me.  I think she tries to irritate me.  I think she goes out of her way to irritate me.'

'And you don't do the same to her?  Actually, I think you're nastier to her than she could ever be to you . . . and let's not forget that most of the time, you're the one who instigates it.'

'I don't do anything of the sort.'

'Don't bullshit me!  You do.  You always do.'

Kichiro sighed.  He really did, didn't he?  It wasn't enough, to leave it alone.  He had to seek her out, had to make her feel just a little worse.

'Balls, you know, you nearly knocked her down because you kissed her, and then—'

'I don't need the rehash.  I was there, remember?'

'I think you do.  You hate the idea that you kissed her because you wanted to, and you hate the idea more that you just might have to admit to yourself that you don't despise her, after all.'

'I never said I despised her.'

'Not in those words, no . . . You've been so hell-bent on belittling everything about her to bother saying that you despise her.'

The night air was stagnant, vacant, and Kichiro let his unseeing gaze fall on the empty house he couldn't stand to enter.  He'd noticed how lonely the place was.  He didn't want to think about why it bothered him more lately than it ever had before.

'Anyway, it shouldn't matter, right?  I mean, she's infuriating, insulting, temperamental, not to mention—'

'Beautiful, confident, intelligent, playful . . . and she's got a damn fine rack.'

Kichiro made a face, digging his claws into the thick branch below him.  '. . . Yeah, there's that, too . . .'

'So you did notice!'

'Never said I didn't.'

'You really upset her, if it matters.'

He winced.  'It does.'

'Why should it?  You don't like her, remember?'

'But I didn't mean to do that, either.'

'Which?  Kiss her or upset her?'

'Upset her, of course!  I was . . . I was . . . I don't know why I reacted like that.'

'You do.  You just don't want to admit that, either.'

Kichiro didn't answer that.


Gin sat on her knees in front of the coffee table with a scowl of intense concentration furrowing her brow as she worked the nondescript lump of clay.  "I don't think I've got steady enough hands to do this," she remarked dubiously.

Cain shrugged and leaned over her shoulder to inspect her work.  "You know, you could do this later . . . tomorrow . . . whenever your sugar rush wears off."

Gin waved her hand to shush him and giggled when she wiped clay on his nose on accident.  "I feel really creative, though!  You did say that I should work when the inspiration hit me."

Cain nodded, wishing he hadn't said that just before all the candy in Gin's system kicked in.  The transformation had been startling.  One minute, she was calm, ebullient little Gin, and the next she was practically bouncing off the walls.  Launching into a discussion on inspirations and theory behind his artwork, Cain hadn't had to do much more than nod every now and then whenever Gin would pause to catch her breath.

'So . . . Gin and candy aren't exactly a great combination.'

Cain wiped the clay off his nose with the back of his hand and grinned.  'It could be worse.  She's calmed down a little.'

'Yeah . . . It's nearly two in the morning.  I hope she's calmed down.'

"What do you think?" Gin asked as she sat back, cocking her head from side to side as she gazed at the sorry-looking mound of clay.

Cain opened and closed his mouth a few times.  "What . . . is it?"

"I don't know," she replied with a shrug.  "I mean, I just did what you said: I just worked until it felt finished."

"And that's what you came up with?"

She narrowed her gaze and wrinkled her nose.  "If you stare at it and tilt your head this way, it sort of starts looking like a bear . . . maybe . . ."

Leaning back on his hands, Cain tried to be objective.  

Gin caught the expression on his face and shrugged.  "Try squinting."

He followed her suggestion and slowly shook his head.  "Okay . . . He looks a little . . . ticked off," he commented, poking a claw at what he assumed to be the bear's head.

"That's not his face," Gin told him.  "That's his paw."

"Is it?  Oh, I see . . ."

Gin snorted.  "You don't really see it, do you?"

"Not so much, no."

She giggled.  "Do you suppose I'll get better at this?"

"Sure, but maybe next time you should try it before you eat all the candy in a hundred mile radius."

Her ears twitched as she wrinkled her nose and carefully turned the sorry looking sculpture on the spinning pedestal.  Quirking at the slightest sound, those appendages fascinated Cain.  'They look really soft, don't they?' he mused.

'Yeah, they do.  Suppose they are?'

As if she heard his internal dialogue, her ears twisted almost completely backward, monitoring his movements.  Without stopping to think it through, he sat up and reached for those fuzzy little ears.

Gin uttered a strangled gasp, hands decimating the lump of clay that had been her bear sculpture as her back stiffened, and she sat up straight.  Cain barely had time to pull his hands away from her head and cover his face before part of the once-proud bear smashed against his hands.  The clay thumped on the floor with a dull squish, and Cain laughed as Gin launched another hunk at him.

"What'd I do?" he asked between chuckles, lowering his hands to peek and managing to block another lump of flying clay.

"You touched my ears!" she retorted.

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry!" he assured her.  "I take it you don't like that?"

Gin snorted and mashed clay on his hands.  "Of course not!" she grumbled.

Cain scooped up some clay and tossed it at the disgruntled hanyou.  She squealed and ducked but caught the clay on her shoulder.  "Oi!  You're not supposed to fight back!"

He snorted.  "Pfft!  Like I'm going to let you bombard me with clay," he scoffed.  "Bring it on, baby girl."

"Oh, it's on, all right," Gin growled in mock anger and flung another handful of clay at him.  Cain ducked and winced as it hit the wall, lingering for a second before it slowly slid down the white wall leaving a reddish-brown streak before it plopped onto the hardwood floor behind him.

"Damn, you're making one hell of a mess, Gin," he pointed out as he ducked more flying clay.

"Yeah, I think you should help me clean it up since you made me throw it," she shot back, leaning to the side to avoid his retaliatory attack.

"And I think you should do it yourself, since you're the one who can't stand to have her ears touched."

Gin made a face as she scooped up a handful of clay and whipped around.  Cain covered his face, and Gin took advantage of the situation to tug his shirt and drop the clammy mess between the material and his skin.  He tried to twist away from her.  She mashed her hands against his chest, smearing the clay all over him in the process.

Gin pushed herself onto her hands and knees to crawl away as he broke into a low growl, but Cain grabbed her and pulled her back against his chest, one arm around her shoulders to hold her in place as she kicked her feet and giggled helplessly.  "All right!" she gasped as she twisted from side to side and pushed at his arm in a futile effort to escape.  "I'm sorry!"

"Too late," he told her as he daubed a line of clay down her forehead to the tip of her nose.

"Really sorry!" she giggled.

"You don't sound sorry," he remarked, mimicking the lines on her cheeks.

"Cain!"

"Say, 'I'll never smear clay on you again'," he ordered.

Gin laughed.  "You'll never smear clay on me again."

He rolled his eyes but chuckled as she grabbed his wrist in both her hands and tried to hold him off.  "Okay . . . 'Gin will never smear clay on Cain again'."

"Yeah, that," she agreed.

"No, I think you need to say it."

She squealed again when he drew a couple more lines on each cheek.  "Fine, you bully!" she hollered.  "Gin will never smear clay on Cain again!"

Satisfied that she'd keep her promise, Cain loosened his hold on her.  "Good enough."

Gin giggled a little longer, clutching her stomach as she alternated between giggles and moans, but she didn't try to sit up.  "My stomach hurts," she complained.  More giggling ruined the effect of the mock pout on her face.  "Oww . . ."

"Told you not to eat so much candy," he gloated.

She snorted.   "It wasn't the candy . . . It's just been awhile since I've laughed that hard."

"Really?  I always thought you were happy enough."

"Sure," she agreed.  "I am.  It's just been awhile since I've laughed like that, is all."

"Hmm, when's the last time?" Cain asked as he grimaced and peeked down his shirt at the damage.  'Oh, hell . . . I can't see any skin.'

'Yeah, call it collateral damage.  Look at the way her eyes are glowing.'

Cain peeked at her and caught his breath at the brightness of her gaze, the pleasant flush of her skin beneath the streaks of clay on her cheeks.  He had to restrain the urge to kiss her again.  'Damn . . .'

Gin sighed and finally sat up, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees.  "I don't really remember . . . I mean, I've laughed a lot, but . . ."

He managed a weak smile as he forced his gaze away from her.  Did she have to look so damn cute despite the clay covering her face?  Or was it because of that?  Cain grimaced inwardly as Gin yawned.  "Wow . . . I'm really tired."

'She's coming down off that sugar rush, Cain.'

'What?  Oh, yeah . . .'

'Are you listening to me?'

Cain made a face.  'Of course I am.  I sort of have to, don't I?'

'Like you've never ignored me before.'

Gin sighed again.  "Ugh, I need another bath now," she grumbled.  "I'd rather just crawl into bed . . ."

Cain chuckled then flinched as he surveyed the splattered clay all over the room.  "Tell you what: you go get cleaned up, and I'll . . . I'll see what I can do about this mess."

"No, it's my fault.   I can get it . . . maybe in the morning."

"By morning this stuff will be permanently stuck.  It's fine, Gin.  Go on."

"You sure?"

Cain nodded.  Gin smiled and leaned toward him, brushing a soft kiss over his clay-splattered face.  He tried to hide his blush as she got up and stumbled off to the bathroom.

'She's really something.'

Cain took a deep breath and stood up to find the cleaning supplies.  'Yeah, she is.'

'You know . . . I really want to like her.'

He smiled almost sadly, remembering the sweetness of the kiss that never should have happened.  Gin had been so stunned, she hadn't reacted, and when she finally had . . .

'That . . . isn't possible,' he told himself.  'Gin . . . Gin's a beautiful dream.  That's all she can ever really be.'


Bellaniece rested her forehead against the cool glass window as she stared at the hands of the clock on her nightstand.

She felt strangely numb, almost empty—as empty as the bedroom she sat in.  A bed, a bureau, and a closet, but nothing personal, nothing that marked the room as being hers . . .

"Why decorate when we won't be here that long?" she'd asked Cain when he had suggested she buy some things for her room.  "Only six months, right?  That's not long enough to bother."

"True as that may be," he had agreed, rubbing his chin as he shrugged and leaned over the morning paper.  "You've never really been away from home before.  Just thought it'd help you adjust."

Bellaniece had laughed at him.

It had seemed like an adventure of sorts, back then.  Sure, she knew that working for Kichiro wouldn't be easy since he had seemed to despise her at first sight, but . . .

'But I stupidly thought that maybe he'd change his mind, once he got to know me, or that he would at least stop being so nasty . . .'

She sighed, propping her elbow on her raised knee and cupping her forehead in her hand as she closed her eyes.  They were puffy, feverish.  She'd cried longer than she wanted to admit, even to herself, under the cover of the falling streams of water in the shower.  She was all cried out now.  'Maybe I should have tried harder to convince Daddy to let me stay behind and start college.'

'Do you think that would have changed things, Belle?'

'You . . . You've been conspicuously quiet since . . . Why is that?'

'I didn't think you'd welcome my advice.'

Bellaniece snorted a harsh laugh.  'No, I don't think I would have.'

'You . . . We didn't really deserve that.  What Kichiro said—"

'Don't talk about him, all right?  Don't even think about him.'

'Belle—'

'No!  Maybe I do deserve most of the blame for tonight at the club, but he . . . I don't want to talk about it anymore.'

'. . . Okay.'

The sudden wave of loneliness that shot through her made her wince, and Bellaniece uncurled herself from the window seat and shuffled to the door.  It had been such a long time since she'd felt like this.  Completely alone, lost, even a little afraid, she moved instinctively toward the one place where she'd always found a measure of comfort before.  She lifted her hand to tap on her father's door but winced when she realized that he wasn't there.  The apartment felt empty, void, and she didn't have to search to know that he was still with Gin.

She considered going over there for a moment before discarding that idea.  Maybe it was better this way.  She didn't want her father to see her like this, did she?  She couldn't stand to let him see her upset.  The irrational fear of adding to Cain's troubles welled up in her, and Bellaniece forced the emotion back with a brutality borne of sheer determination.

'We don't have to tell him, you know.  Maybe if we just borrow something of his . . .?'

Before she could talk herself out of it, Bellaniece pushed the door open and stared around the darkened room.

Cain's scent was comforting to her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting her father's aura calm her.

'One of his shirts.  That ought to do it.  It'll smell like him, and that's enough, right?'

Bellaniece nodded and headed for his closet, intending to grab the first shirt she touched.  Something else caught her attention, though, and she narrowed her gaze.  The thin light of the wan night fell in an elongated line across the floor.  Trapped in the slight pale, the shimmering fur that she knew so well: Cain's Mokomoko-sama.

He'd wrapped her up in it too many times to count, and remembering those times made her smile.  Without another thought, she pulled it out of the closet and quietly stole back to her bedroom as she wrapped the thick fur around herself.  The comfort it offered was immediate, heartening.  Too bad it couldn't heal the abrasions that Kichiro's words had left on her pride—on her soul.

Bellaniece curled up on her bed, sighing as she blinked at the deep shadows dancing over the ceiling.  'Sometimes . . . Sometimes I wish Mother had lived.'

'Yeah . . .'

If she had lived, would Isabelle have been able to explain why Kichiro had said what he'd said?  Would Bellaniece have felt comfortable enough to talk to her about it?  Even if she could have explained, was there really an excuse for his behavior?

She sighed and snuggled in the familiar reassurance of the Mokomoko-sama.  It didn't really do any good, to wish for things that were impossible.  She'd learned that from her father.  All his moments of pensive silence, all the times when his thoughts had seemed to take him to a time and place where Bellaniece wasn't allowed . . . She'd seen him staring off into space with a vacant sort of look, with a sadness in his gaze, and she had known somehow, even as a little girl, that he had been thinking about Isabelle.  Whatever thoughts he had of her always made him sad, and his sadness had become hers over the years.  His melancholy had reached her, scarred her.  She couldn't remember a time when he wasn't there.

'But he isn't here tonight, and that's a good thing because he'd demand that you tell him what's made you so upset.  He'd ask questions, and he'd want answers . . . and those answers . . . They wouldn't make him happy.'

Bellaniece squeezed her eyes closed and buried her face in the soft bronze colored fur.  'Kichiro Izayoi will never hurt me again,' she told herself, chanted in her mind, over and over again.  'He won't hurt me because I . . . I won't let him.'

'Will it be as simple as that?'

Bellaniece grimaced and tried to force him from her thoughts.  'Yes, it is.'