InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Confessions: Part II ( Chapter 43 )

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

Gin hurried out of the bathroom, toweling her wet hair as the phone rang again.  "Moshimoshi?" she answered a little breathlessly as she cinched the belt on her short, pink satin robe a little tighter.

"I was just going to hang up," Kagome said with a little laugh.  "I'm glad you're home, though.  Did you have a good time last night?"

She winced and brushed aside the guilty feeling over the lie she was about to try to sell her mother.  "Oh, the best," she assured Kagome.  "It was . . . indescribable, really . . ."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kagome remarked.  "Did you get to meet L'amont-san?"

"Uh huh," she answered.  At least that part wasn't a lie . . . "He was very kind, and he invited me to lunch next week to discuss art."

"Really?  And what did Zelig-san think of that?"

Gin sighed and chewed on her claw.  "Why would he care?" she countered.  "We're just . . . He's just . . ." She cleared her throat, "My . . . sensei."

"Gin, you sound a little . . . strange.  Are you all right?"

"Yeah, of course, Mama.  W-Why wouldn't I be?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes.  I'm fine—just fine."

A soft knock on the door made Gin jump.  "I have to go, Mama.  Someone's here."

"All right.  Call me tomorrow."

"Okay," Gin agreed.  "Give Papa a kiss for me."

Kagome laughed.  "I'll do that."

She dropped the receiver into the recharge stand and ran to the door as the knock sounded again.  'Cain?' she thought with a marked scowl as she unhooked the chain and twisted the deadbolt lock to open the door.  "Wh-What are you doing here?"

Cain stopped with his fist poised in mid-air and stared at her, mouth opening and closing a few times like a fish out of water.  "You didn't come back over," he finally blurted, cheeks reddening as he forced himself to look over her head, from one side to the other at the empty hallway—anywhere but directly at her.

Gin nodded, stepping back when he gestured at her apartment to ask himself in.  "Yeah . . . I . . . I thought I should take a shower and . . . stuff . . ."

"I see . . . Were you going to come back over?"

She pushed the door closed and wandered past him toward the shelf beside the window.  "I thought I'd stay here.  The exterminator came, and . . . He didn't find anything."

"Oh, right."  He shuffled his feet, jamming his hands into his pockets as he shrugged and directed his scowl around the room.  "You seemed upset when you left earlier."

"I wasn't upset," she assured him.  He crossed his arms over his chest and leveled the dubious frown at her.  She grimaced.  "Maybe just a little."

"You going to tell me why?"

". . . No."

He looked peeved at her reluctance to tell him what was bothering her.  Gin snatched a seashell off the shelf, turning it over and over in her hands.  "Okay, but Gin, I gotta tell you: I sat down with that picture, and I tried forever . . . Stared at it, just to figure out what about it that bothered you so much.  I couldn't, so why don't you . . . Help me out here?"

Gin smiled sadly, staring at the seashell.  "Isabelle . . . She looked like a dancer."

Cain shook his head and leaned against the window.  "I guess so."

"I thought she'd be beautiful, but she was . . . She was more beautiful than I expected, you know?"  Ears flattening as she quickly shook her head, she avoided Cain's gaze as she clutched the seashell to her chest.  "I mean . . . I could see why you . . . loved her . . ."

"It wasn't because of how she looked," he remarked tightly then grimaced.  "Maybe it was.  I don't know."  He barked out a terse, humorless laugh.  "God, that sounds bad . . ."

"No . . . You would have had to have been . . . attracted to her, right?"  Gin shrugged.  "It makes sense."

"You don't have to make excuses for me.  I've made my share of mistakes."

Gin frowned.  "But Isabelle . . ."

"No, no . . . not her.  If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have Bellaniece.  Never her."

"Of course not."  She set the shell back on the shelf and grabbed another one.  "Cain?  Can I . . . Can I ask you something?"

"All right."

Her swallowed hard as she tried to find the right way to phrase it.  Trouble was that there really wasn't an easy way to ask, no gentle way to delve for answers that she wasn't entirely sure he'd give her.  Still she had to try, didn't she?  She owed it to herself because not knowing was so much worse.  "Are you still alive because you want to be . . . or because you have to be?"

He looked surprised by her question.  It seemed to take the wind out of him, and he slouched back more heavily against the window frame.  Shoulders slouching, head shaking slowly as a sort of bewilderment dissolved into the anger that she dreaded, Cain's chin lifted slowly as his eyes darkened into a cold glower, and somehow Gin didn't think it was directed at her, at all . . . "That's the stupidest question I've ever heard," he growled, claws digging into the window sill.  Gin flinched.  "You think I want to die?  You think I get up every morning, and tell myself that I've only got however many years left?"

"No," she whispered, blinking fast to hold back the rising tears.  "No . . ."

"Good, because that'd be completely asinine!"

"I shouldn't have asked," she mumbled.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he suddenly shook his head.  "That's the thing," he went on in a quieter tone though his eyes were still blazing when he looked at her again.  "For a long time, that's exactly how it was."

"And now?"

The anger that had ignited behind his gaze dulled as an encompassing sense of melancholy surfaced.  "Now?" he echoed then sighed.  "See, I met someone, and, uh . . . She reminded me that there were still things in this world that were truly beautiful.  Thing is, as much as I'd love to tell . . . her, I can't because I made a promise to Isabelle.  I can't go back on it."

Gin stumbled toward the sofa and sank down, unable to meet Cain's gaze.  "Your word . . ."

"Yeah . . . My word."

"And Isabelle?  Would she . . . Would she have wanted you to . . . follow her?"

Cain sighed again.  "It's not that simple; not for me.  I wish it were."

"I don't understand," she said as outrage surged through her—sudden, hot, aching, livid.  "I don't understand how someone—anyone—could be that selfish!  If you were my mate, I'd want you to live, and—"

His voice was gentle, resigned and sad.  His anger was gone, replaced with a sense of inevitability, a hopelessness that Gin couldn't understand.  "She never asked me to die for her, Gin.  She never asked that of me."

Gin rocked back and forth, wrapping her arms around her stomach as bile rose thick in her throat to choke her.  "No, I don't suppose she did," she said quietly.

Cain pushed himself away from the window, wandered over to Gin only to sink down on his knees beside her.  "There are parts of it that you don't understand . . . Things I don't want you to have to try to understand . . . It was never that easy, and there never really was a choice."

"But I . . ."

He smiled sadly, the expression lost somewhere between his lips and eyes, as though his eyes didn't realize that his lips were trying to lie to her.  "So you know now.  If you ask me to go, I will, and if you ask me to stay away from you, I'll do that, too."

She shook her head.  "Cain?"

He winced.  "I don't want to hurt you, baby girl.  You know that, right?"

She didn't answer, staring at her hands clasped in tight fists in her lap.  It was unfair, so unfair.  She wanted to scream, to cry, to hit something.  She couldn't even make a sound.

Cain cleared his throat, smoothed back her bangs, and kissed her forehead.  "Gin, I . . . I've got to go."

He stood up and moved away.  She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't stop the tears that blurred her vision.  "Cain, wait!" she rasped as she stumbled to her feet and turned around.

The apartment was empty.  Cain had slipped away.


"All right, Dr. Sleepyhead.  Sit up."

Kichiro did a double take at the huge tray that Bellaniece carried into the room.  Heaping with sandwiches that all appeared to be different, the mingled scent of the various meats weren't entirely welcomed by Kichiro's still-weakened stomach.

"Damn, Belle-chan.  I'm not that hungry," he grumbled, spotting a lone peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich atop the heap.  He tried not to wrinkle his nose.  

"I forgot to ask you what kind you wanted, so I made a variety for you to choose from.  This one's mine, though," she said as she set the tray down and grabbed the peanut butter sandwich.  "Might I suggest you eat the grilled cheese first?  It'll get cold if you don't, and cold grilled cheese . . . isn't so good."

Kichiro dropped the sandwich he was holding after sniffing it.  It smelled much too close to the nasty-gross hot dogs she'd fed him at the amusement park.  There was no way he was touching that, thank you very much.

She sat on the floor beside the bed and picked up her book in one hand, holding her peanut butter sandwich in the other.

"Grilled cheese?" he asked dubiously, picking up the only hot sandwich on the tray.  Toasted brown and crispy, he scowled at the seemingly-innocent sandwich, wrinkling his nose as he registered the grease on his fingers.  "It's greasy," he commented, careful to keep the plaintive tone out of his voice.

"It's because I buttered the bread to toast it.  Anyway, just try it, will you?  You might like it."

He didn't want to.  He doubted he'd like it, at all.  American food was far too sweet, and what wasn't sweet tended to be greasier than he could stomach.  The sandwich was probably another in a line of foods he'd rather not eat . . .

Bellaniece peeked over her shoulder, watching him with a curious frown on her face.  He intercepted her gaze and stifled a sigh as he lifted the sandwich to his mouth.  'This . . . isn't that bad,' he marveled as he slowly chewed the bite.  In fact, he rather liked it . . .

"You look surprised," she commented as she watched him.

"This . . . is decent," he allowed as he bit into the sandwich again.  "What are you looking at?"

She shook her head at his perceived lack of manners.  "My photo album."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep."

He shifted his position so he could peer over her shoulder.  "Is that your mother?"

Bellaniece nodded.  "Yeah.  She was really something, wasn't she?"

Kichiro grinned as he stared at the picture.  It was easy to see that Bellaniece was her daughter.  The woman on paper looked just like the girl sitting on the floor.  Her hair and eyes were lighter, but there was certainly no mistaking her.  Even Bellaniece's nose was a carbon copy of her mother.  Dressed in a classic ballerina's tutu and elegantly posed, she had obviously passed her quiet elegance on to her daughter.  "She was a dancer?"

"And an actress.  Daddy doesn't talk about her, but he saved articles . . . She was a budding Broadway star when he met her.  She was playing the lead in Les Miserables.  That's all he's ever said, really . . ."

"She doesn't look like your father's type."

Bellaniece frowned.  "What do you mean?"

Kichiro shrugged. "Better than he deserves."

She smacked him lightly with the back of her hand, turning the page as she slowly shook her head.  "My daddy's a great youkai."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, princess."

She fell silent as she stared at the pictures, taking her time as she paused now and again to touch a photograph, and he had to wonder just what she was thinking.

"Seems a little weird," he finally commented, polishing off the last of his sandwich and pushing the tray of untouched food away.

"What does?"

"Your father isn't in any of the pictures with her."

"Not so weird.  He probably took them."

"Even then . . ."

Bellaniece shrugged.  "There's only one picture I've seen of them together.  I forgot it in Japan."

"Oh, now that's cute," he remarked as he smiled just a little, pointing at the picture at the top of the next page.  It had to be Bellaniece, he assumed.  The tiny infant with the full head of bronze hair caught up at the top in a tiny pink satin bow lay on a lacy white blanket in an ornately carved wooden crib.  She couldn't have been more than a couple weeks old, but the sapphire blue eyes were ones Kichiro would never forget.

"Of course it is," she said lightly.  "I was already a princess, you know."

"Absolutely," he agreed.  "You look it."

She giggled softly and pointed at another picture.  "That's me on my first Christmas.  Daddy says I had just learned how to sit up by myself.  You can see it there, can't you?  I was born sexy, right?"

Kichiro chuckled.  "Sexiest pup, ever."

Bellaniece turned the page.  "I was three here," she said as she shifted the album so he could better see it.  Sitting on a rock in an impossibly frilly pink dress with her hair in ponytails tied in wide lace, she looked like one of the porcelain dolls that InuYasha bought for Gin every year.  Cheeks delicately touched with the barest hint of pink that matched the slightly darker shade of her Cupid's bow mouth, the girl in the picture was solemn, almost glowing.  He wondered if that was a picture effect or if Bellaniece really was as much of an angel as she seemed.  "I was working on my sultry pout," she teased.

Kichiro flicked her earlobe.  She ducked her head and giggled louder.  "Here I was at five: my first day of kindergarten.  That's the last time I cried in front of Daddy.  I was so scared that the other children wouldn't like me."

"You?  Afraid?  I can't see it."

She shrugged.  "I got over that soon enough.  I met Moose and Squirrel . . . and Kelly . . ."

"Oh, now, that's sexy," he said as he flicked a claw at a school picture of a gap-toothed Bellaniece.

Bellaniece laughed and wrinkled her nose at him.  "It was dumb luck," she told him.  "I lost my tooth like an hour before these were taken.  My tooth had come in by the next morning, of course, but not in time to save the pictures.  Daddy actually smiled when he saw it."

"You father liked to dress you like a doll, didn't he?"

Bellaniece sighed.  "Sure.  Maybe he thought that he needed to since I was a girl.  Who knows?  I always had the prettiest dresses, and tons of hair ribbons . . . You know, he never forgot to fix my hair in the morning, even if he overslept.  Not once . . ."

He winced, sensing her sadness, wishing he were able to take away her pain when she thought about the past, or was it the future?  "Yeah, he seems like he was a decent enough father," he allowed, "even if I still don't like him."

She shot him a quelling glance.  He made a face.  "Look at this one," she said, pointing out another picture.  "How hot am I?"

He smiled, pushing her hair back so he could stretch out on his stomach with his chin on her shoulder.  "Very," he answered, ignoring the image as he gazed at her, instead.

Bellaniece caught his eye and blushed.  "I meant that picture," she pointed out.

"I know you did," he agreed.  "What are the odds I can get another of those sandwiches?  The cheese one?"

She grinned.  "You like those?"

He nodded, careful not to dig his chin into her.  "I can tolerate them."

She giggled softly, clearing her throat as she suddenly seemed very, very shy.  "Can you?"

His smile widened.  "Sure."


Cain rubbed his temples furiously and stalked around the empty apartment.  He'd done the right thing, hadn't he?  Letting Gin go . . . She never had been his, to start with.  Hearing her questions, seeing her upset, and knowing there wasn't a damn thing he could promise her that would make her feel any better . . . He'd do anything to see her smile again, but he couldn't make her promises that he wouldn't be able to keep.

'Do you think that this will make a difference?  Do you really think that it'll matter at all?'

'Yeah, I do . . . Gin needs to be surrounded by laughter and love.  She needs to be cherished and protected, and she needs to have someone who can do that without worrying about keeping his word.'

'You could be the one to do that if you really wanted to . . .'

He shook his head.  'I can't.  I'd be lying to her, and . . . I won't do that to her.'

'Either way you're going to hurt someone.  Staying away from her will drive you insane.  She's hurting enough already.  Do you really have to add to that?  Maybe . . . maybe it's not as bad as it seems, you know?  You never really did make any sort of promise to Isabelle . . .'

'I know what I promised,' he growled.  'I know what happened, and I know what I have to do.  It doesn't really matter, how I feel about Gin.  Isabelle . . . I killed her.  No one made me do it.  I was stupid, and I was reckless, and Isabelle paid for my mistakes, didn't she?'

'Isabelle was as much to blame for all that happened as you were.  Don't flatter yourself into thinking that you've cornered the market on stupidity.'

'I still gave my word.  I can't go back on it now.  As for Gin . . . She's better off without me.'

The soft knock on the door drew him out of his recriminating thoughts.  He knew who it was before he answered it.  Hesitating with his hand on the door handle, he tried to tell himself that he shouldn't let her in; that she would be better off without him.

"Cain, please . . ." her broken murmur penetrated the door.  Her sadness, her quiet entreaty . . . it was more than he could bear.

Gin threw herself into his arms as he yanked the door open.  A blur of movement, a wave of softness and light, she hugged him fiercely, burying her face against his chest as she whimpered, babbled, sobbed.  Her heart raced painfully, and he didn't know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of.  Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close, cursed his weakness when it came to her, and tried to tell himself that it wouldn't really matter; that he'd protect her, even from himself.

"Y-You can't l-leave," she stuttered, tightening her arms around him.  "You c-can't . . ."

"Gin . . ."

"No," she half-growled, half-sobbed.  "You're my f-friend, and friends don't l-leave."

He sighed and scooped her up, carrying her over to the sofa where he sat down and cradled her in his lap.  "I'll stay," he assured her.  "Don't cry, okay?  I hate it when you cry . . ."

She choked back her tears and nodded, leaning in closer, letting the beat of his heart soothe her.  "I'm sorry," she muttered, tangling her fingers in his hair.  "Sometimes I think too m-much, and sometimes . . . I get a little st-stupid."

"You're not stupid.  I don't think you are.  Don't apologize.  It's not your fault."

"It's just . . . You l-looked so h-happy with her, and—"

"And that wouldn't bring her back to life.  Even if it did, you know, don't you?  I don't expect you to be her. I wouldn't want you to be, anyway."

"R-Really?"

Cain smiled a little sadly, held Gin just a little closer, kissed the top of her head as she snuggled against him.  "Really."

That seemed like it was enough for her.  Her sigh was stunted and rough, but the tension eased out of her body, and for a moment, Cain wondered if she'd fallen asleep.

"Cain?"

"Hmm?"

"When your youkai chose her, what did it say to you?"

He frowned and leaned to the side, pushing Gin's bangs out of her face so he could see her eyes.  She was sober, sad, but she tried to smile for him.  He shook his head as her smile faded.  "Say to me? About Isabelle?"

She nodded.

He had to stop and think about that.  He couldn't rightfully remember his youkai voice saying much of anything.  The occasional snide comment or two . . . Quiet warnings that maybe he was rushing into things a little too fast . . .

"It didn't," he answered.

Gin sat up.  "It had to," she said slowly, a puzzled scowl marring her brow.  "At least, that's what I've been told.  Your youkai will tell you when you've found your mate—the one you're meant to be with . . . so, yours had to say something, right?"

"If it did, I don't remember," he replied, shifting uncomfortably as Gin's frown deepened.  "It doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"I think it does," Gin said quietly.  "How did you know that she was the one?"

Cain sighed and gently set Gin aside before striding over to the kitchen for a bottle of water.  Deliberately taking his time as he broke the seal and drained half of it, he leaned against the counter and shrugged.  Gin was sitting on her knees, hands folded patiently in her lap.  She stared at him in that entirely too-direct way of hers.  Cain crossed his ankles and slowly shook his head.  "It's hard to explain," he grumbled.  "It's not like my youkai voice yelled at me or anything.  In fact, I don't recall it saying much at all . . . at least, nothing important.  Even then, I didn't really know what I was supposed to be listening for."

"You didn't know?  Your parents didn't explain that to you?"

Cain sucked down the rest of his water and chucked the empty bottle toward the trash can.  "My parents died when I was just a pup—barely a pup, actually . . ."

"I'm sorry . . ."

He waved off her concern with a derisive smile as he wandered back over to the sofa.  Gin tugged her thin silk robe down to cover the top of her thighs.  Cain tried to ignore her blatant state of undress as he sat down beside her and held out his hand.

She scampered to him, nestling herself in the crook of his arm against his shoulder.  "Do you remember them?  Your parents?"

Cain sighed.  "Yeah, a little . . . sort of.  I remember smells and feelings more than I remember them, I suppose.  Mother always smelled like grass in the summer sun.  Father . . . Father smelled like the wind."

"When did they die?"

"I must have been about five," he mused.  Unable to recall exactly what had happened, the only thing Cain remembered was the smell of smoke, the burning forest; of sounds like thunder that echoed through the charred trees . . . "We lived outside Boston in the middle of a dense forest.  I guess it might have had something to do with the unrest between the British and the colonies.  The timing was about right.  I was too young to understand, I think.  I just remember Father's howl—the dog-youkai cry of mourning.  The next thing I knew, we were boarding a ship that took us to Japan, and Father left me with Sesshoumaru.  I never saw him again."

" Sesshoumaru-oji-san didn't tell you all this stuff?"

Cain wrinkled his nose.  "Sesshoumaru taught me about responsibility and honor, how to fight, and how to take care of business.  My training didn't cover affairs of the heart.  I suppose he thought I'd figure all that out by myself."

"How long were you with him?"

"About thirty years.  When I came back to colonies, the American Revolution had just started.  The day I dismissed the man who was interim tai-youkai in my absence was the day the Declaration of Independence was signed: July 4, 1776."

"That's a long time."

"Yeah, it is."

"Do you remember anything else about your parents?"

Cain smiled and shifted to bring his legs up onto the sofa.  Gin stretched out in the narrow space between him and the back of the furniture, leaning up on her elbow to stare into his eyes.  Tracing from forehead to tip of her nose with his index finger, he relaxed a tad bit more when she finally grinned, too.  "I remember Mother's laughter.  I remember . . . It used to make Father smile."

"That's a good memory," she decided, but frowned as she shook her head and bit her lips thoughtfully.

"What are you thinking about?" he finally asked when she didn't seem like she was going to answer.

"Nothing," she lied.

"Uh huh . . . You suck at lying."

She sighed.  "It's not a lie . . . not really . . ."

"Then tell me . . . Can't you?"

Gin looked like she wasn't quite sure if she could or should voice whatever she was thinking.  Cain brushed her heavy fringe of silvery bangs out of her eyes.  She leaned toward his hand like she couldn't stand the idea of losing his touch.  "I know you can't make any promises to me, and I'm not asking you to.  I just . . . I want to make you laugh, and . . . and I want to be here with you, so long as you'll let me."

"It'd be better for you to leave right now and not to look back . . . You know that, right?"

She scowled as a hint of pink flooded into her cheeks, and she shrugged.  "Maybe.  Probably . . . Mama told me a long time ago: sometimes you just have to do what your heart tells you is right, you know?"

"And being here . . . This is what your heart tells you?"

Gin nodded.  "Yeah."

He didn't know what to say to that.  Well, that wasn't exactly true.  A million thoughts filtered through his mind, but there wasn't a single one he dared to voice aloud.  Gin was more precious to him than anyone else had ever been, and the thought of losing her . . . He swallowed hard and sighed as she lay back down, idly toying with his ponytail.  Cain held her tight and tried not to think about the day he'd have to say goodbye to her.  "You know, Gin," he began, mostly to distract himself from his own bleak thoughts.  "I was thinking . . ."

"Oh?" she mumbled, voice thickening with sleepiness.

"I could paint you next weekend . . . I promised you that, didn't I?"

"You did," she agreed.  "Okay."

"You ready for bed?"

"I should go back to my apartment and get dressed," she mused though she didn't sound like she was at all interested in doing what she's suggested.

"You can wear one of my shirts, if you want," he offered.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"I don't mind."

She smiled and yawned.  "O-Okay.  It's been a long day."

"Yeah," he answered as he drew a deep breath, "it has."