InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Innocence Lost ( Chapter 82 )

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

Gin rolled over and opened her eyes, blinking in confusion as the bright light filtered through the window and hit her in the face.  Lifting her hand to shelter her eyes, she yawned and smiled, basking in the warmth of the naked body beside her; the one that made her feel safe, cherished . . .

"Morning, baby girl."

Gin's smile widened, and she propped herself on her elbow to look at Cain.  The sadness in the depths of his gaze, however, gave her pause, and all too quickly, reality crashed down on her.

One more day.

"Ouch," Cain winced, tweaking her nose with his index finger.  "I preferred the smile."

"Sorry," she mumbled, managing a reasonable facsimile of the desired expression.  "What do you want to do today?"

"You have class, don't you?"

She shrugged.  "I could miss one day.  It won't really matter."

"It does matter to you.  I think I can mange to stay out of trouble for a few hours."

"But it's your last day here . . . I want to spend it with you."

Cain sighed and hugged her.  "I'll be here when you get done.  Besides, the movers are coming this morning.  You don't want to be here when they do."

"But I—"

"Okay, okay . . . I don't want you here when they come."

"I won't fall apart," she whispered, leaning away to cup his cheeks in her hands.  "I promise I won't."

"Gin . . ."

"No, Cain.  I'm not a baby anymore, either."

"I know you're not.  I just . . . Just go to class, and we'll do something this afternoon . . . whatever you want.  Anything you want."

"Be careful what you promise me," she teased, forcing more bravado into her tone than she actually felt.  "I might hold you to it."

He chuckled as a sudden pensiveness entered his gaze, and he looked away, gathering his thoughts.  "After I take care of things back home, I could come visit . . . if you wanted me to."

For just a moment, her heart lurched as wild hope spun away from her, and Gin sat up, sheet pooling around her hips.  'No, no . . . once is too much . . . twice . . . I can't let him go twice . . . I can't . . .'

"Gin?" Cain said softly, sitting up much slower.  "Hey . . ."

"We'll see," she replied, swallowing the emotion that rose to choke her.  "Can't predict the future, can we?"

"Damn it . . . Don't you know?  If I could stay—"

She shook her head, dropping her forehead on her raised knees.  "I'll smile for you, if that's what you want.  Just don't say that, Cain, please."

He heaved a sigh moments before she felt him surrounding her, his cheek pressed against her shoulder, his arms wrapping over her legs, his hands covering hers.  "Okay.  I'm sorry."

"I've got to get dressed," she murmured, needing to get away; needing to escape the consuming pain that wouldn't go away.  "I'll be late if I don't hurry."

He held onto her for another moment then let his arms drop away.  "I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"I know."

Grabbing the sheet to cover herself, Cain stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"You're beautiful, you know.  You don't need to cover up."

Smiling just a little as her cheeks pinked under his gaze, she pulled the sheet around her and rolled off the bed.  "I'm onto your tricks, Zelig-sensei.  You're going to try to keep me home after all."

"Maybe," he agreed, his smile as thin as hers.  For a second, she worried that he was about to say something that she didn't really want to hear.  In the end, he shrugged and raised his eyebrows.  "Can't blame me for that, can you?"

Her smile faded as she frowned thoughtfully, and she cleared her throat before asking, "Are you sure you don't want me to stay home?"

Cain nodded.  "Yeah.  You'd better go before I change my mind."

She stared at him before turning away and hurrying to the bathroom.


Cain gazed around the empty apartment and tried to ignore the feeling that nothing was the way it was supposed to be.  Though the place still held all the furnishings that had been there when he'd acquired it, there was still an emptiness, a void that he couldn't credit.

Waiting for the building superintendent to come up and inspect the place so that Cain could hand over the keys, he'd already taken the carry-on bag he needed over to Gin's apartment.  There was nothing left to do but leave.

Staring at stark bare counters in the small kitchenette only to see the girl he knew so well teetering precariously on her tiptoes as she tried to wipe the back of the cupboard shelves . . . The lingering swell of her laughter seemed to echo in the silence.  The living room where he'd danced with her—so tiny and graceful, so beautiful in her innocence . . . Her tears, her smiles, everything about her . . . Beauty and light, gentleness and compassion . . . Gin was all those things, and he . . . What would he be without her?

Where had he failed?  Why couldn't she see?

The knock on the door startled him.  Cain sighed and swung around to admit the building superintendent.  The squat man bowed and quickly looked around.  He didn't seem to find anything out of the ordinary, and he left as soon as Cain handed over the keys.  Sparing another moment to glance around one last time, Cain followed the man into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

"You go back to America now?" the superintendent asked as he checked the locks on the door.

"Yes," Cain answered dully.  "Tomorrow."

The superintendent looked a little confused.  "You want to stay here one night more?"

"No, thanks," he replied with a shrug.  "I'm staying with a friend tonight."

"Good luck, Zelig-san," the little man said with another bow.

Cain inclined his head and watched him hurry away.  It all felt so wrong; so very, very wrong.  Without thinking, Cain pulled the plane tickets from his pocket—the ones he's bought for Gin.  'Just give me one last chance,' he thought as he stared at them.  'Let me convince her . . .'

'Tell her you need her, Cain.  Tell her the truth.'

Cain shook his head as he stowed the tickets away once more.  It wasn't his place to tell her, was it?  How could he tell her that when he'd made one too many promises?  If Gin didn't want him; if she wouldn't have him . . . was it time, then?  Could that really, truly be all there was meant to be?


Gin wiped her eyes and reached for a tissue as Cain held up the remote control and stopped the movie.  "You're the only girl I've ever met who cries during Disney movies," he grumbled.

"I can't help it," she complained, dabbing at her eyes and sniffling.  "It was just such a sweet ending."

"Stitch was a menace," Cain countered.

Gin shook her head and sat up.  "He was not!  He was just misunderstood!  All he really wanted was a family."

"Okay, fine, he wasn't a menace," Cain relented as he rolled his eyes.

She peeked up at the clock.  It was nearly midnight.

"I'm going to go change," she said as she uncurled her legs and stood.

He got up to take the movie out of the player and nodded.

Heart hammering against her ribcage, Gin hurried into her bedroom and quietly closed the door.  'It's now or never, isn't it?  Kami . . . how do I do this?'

Drawing a deep breath, she slipped her dress off her shoulders, letting it slide down her body to pool around her feet.  She took her time, shaking out the garment and hanging it in the closet.  Slowly brushing her hair as she stood before the mirror hanging over the bureau, she bit her lip, tried to quell the butterflies rolling through her stomach.

The times she'd shared with Cain seemed to tumble around in her head.  The first time, standing before the mirror in his room, and he'd wanted her to see what he saw; wanted her to know what he knew.  "Gin . . . you're . . . beautiful; do you see?"

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.  'Beautiful . . .?'

'That's right, doll; it's all about beauty: beauty and light and Cain . . . give him this, Gin.  Give him the one thing you have left to give, and in the end you'll have your memories, and maybe in this, you can set Cain free . . .'

"Give him this . . ." she whispered as a single tear slipped down her cheek.  "Give him this . . ."

Setting her brush down, she lit the white pillar candles arranged on the dresser and night stand, turning off the light overhead before she crawled onto the bed.  Curling her legs under her, she straightened her back, shook her head to feel her hair cascading down over her, and she waited.


Cain scowled at the closed door and raised his knuckles to knock.

"Come in," Gin called quietly.  He turned the handle and stepped into the room, stopping short when he looked up, saw her sitting in the middle of the bed, hair falling around her like the whisper of a dream in the warm light of the burning candles.  Back straight and chin held high, the dusting of a flush the only testament to her discomfort, she gazed at him with those sad, sad eyes, and Cain felt as though he were tumbling.  Breasts rising with her every breath, she didn't even try to smile.  He wasn't sure if she was to be his death or his salvation.  He wasn't sure if it even mattered.

"G-Gin?" he said, his voice rasping, harsh.  "What . . .?"

"I thought about it all day," she replied, her voice soft, gentle, sad.  "The last couple days, really.  You told me once that all I had to do was ask, right?  So I'm asking . . ." Smiling—an expression that he'd never seen on her face before though he had seen it in the past, on another face at another time . . . and he saw it sometimes in his nightmares.  It was the same smile Isabelle had given him, wasn't it?  The same one she'd used on him just before she had asked him to save Bellaniece . . . Gin knew what she was about to ask, and yet . . .

Cain shook his head.  "What are you asking of me?"

She closed her eyes just for a moment, and when she opened her eyes, they were bright with unshed tears.  "I want you to make love to me, Cain."

His heart stopped for a painful second, the surge of need vying for the call for sanity, the last semblance of reason holding fast despite the power of her request.  "Gin, that's . . . It's huge."

"It doesn't have to be."

The expression on his face must have given voice to his unspoken reluctance.  "That's a lie."

She sighed and shook her head, her smile shifting into an encouraging plea.  "I know," she whispered.  "It's safe, they say, with the condoms.  Nothing permanent, you know?  Just for tonight?"

"Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?"

Gin nodded, biting her lip as she held out her hand to him.  "I'm asking you to be my teacher.  I'm asking you . . . just one night."

He could see it in her eyes.  She had no idea, did she, what she really was asking of him.  A misplaced sense of discovery?  Something she just had to see—to experience—for herself?  And then what?  Would there be anything come sunrise besides a sense of damnation and the complete ruin of everything he thought he believed?

And still she sat there with tears in her eyes, begging him for whatever comfort he could offer her just one last time.  What kind of woman was she?  What had she become?  He hadn't seen it coming, had he?

The innocence in her face as she lied so sweetly to her uncle on the telephone in Chicago, lied about their relationship . . . lied about everything . . .

"I told you.  I didn't feel so good.  It must have been the flu."  Gin blinked innocently at him as she lifted the glass to her lips again.  Her tone had been convincing enough.  Had he been talking to her over the telephone, he might have believed her.  The flicker of guilt in her gaze, though . . . He hadn't missed that, and he slowly shook his head . . .

Or maybe . . . maybe he had seen it and had ignored just what it would mean.

Staring at her, he shook his head, denying them both as he struggled to save her.  The last pure thing—the image of her—would remain his mind forever.  Etched with the vindictiveness of bittersweet longing, outlined by the hands of a faltering thing: something that was never quite meant to be, the picture of her wavered precariously as his vision faltered.

One shimmering tear welled up, spilled over, coursed down her cheek as she tried to smile.

It was that one tear that damned him; that one tear that carried him forward, brought him to his knees as he knelt before her on the bed, as he reached for her.  She rose up to meet him, her lips opening to him as her hands sank into his hair, loosening the ponytail as the strands spilled over his back, over her arms.

Her body burned against him.  She raked at his shirt, yanking hard enough to send buttons spraying the room, the soft clatter echoing amidst the fall of labored breathing, amidst the sound of Cain's soul falling apart.  She leaned against him until he fell back, sat up long enough to jerk his pants off.  Her desperation was a palpable thing; fear of losing him?  That he might change his mind?  Something goaded her, lent her courage when she should otherwise have faltered.  The hunger in her touch, in her kiss . . . it burned him.  Straddling his hips, she leaned down, kissed him almost clumsily as she trembled in his arms.

He tried to soothe her as best he could, stroking her arms, her sides, seeking to calm her.  She gripped his shoulders, whimpered softly.  'Afraid,' he thought in absent distraction.  Afraid of what the morning would bring . . .

'All she wants is just tonight . . . just one night before she sends me away . . .'

The rush of passion surged through him; hot, angry, ugly, emotion that roiled was more than he could stand.  Rolling over, dragging her under him, she gasped as he sat up, and the panic in her gaze drew a growl from him.  Reaching over onto her nightstand to retrieve one of the condoms she'd arranged in a strange sort of tableaux, he ripped the tiny packet open, glared down at her as he carefully rolled it on.  "This is what you want, Gin?  Just this?  Nothing more?"

Her breathing rasped in his ears, the sound of her pulse thundered through him.  "Nothing more," she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek.  "Please, Cain . . ."

Closing his eyes against the pleading in her eyes, he grabbed her wrists in his hands, slamming them down over her head, pinning her against the bed as he plunged into her.  She screamed, and for a moment, he thought he'd hurt her.  Her body constricted around his, pulsed around him as she arched off the bed, as she fought against his hold, as she lifted her hips against his.  Skin flushed, mouth slack, eyes squeezed closed as she twitched and jerked, her orgasm was intense, harsh.  The intense burn of flesh meeting flesh was as grotesque as it was beautiful, the wash of need feeding upon darker sensation as brutality became desire; necessity became desperation.  Somewhere in the middle was the blurry image on the bed, the silvery hair, the golden eyes.

She cried out time and again, her body ravaged by the unrelenting torrent of sensation.  Sweaty skin on damp sheets, pausing only long enough to change condoms or to reposition her, he took her again and again, gave her what she wanted, reveled in the feel of her body, even if it was only for the night.  Reason, sanity fell away leaving only the ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance.  Shadows moved across the room, the faltering light of the candles flickering then sputtering away.  With every thrust, every motion, Cain could feel another piece of his soul dying.  By the time the sun rose, he wouldn't have anything left at all . . .

She collapsed in his arms, exhausted, just as the clock struck the hour.  Four in the morning, it said.  Cain gathered Gin close, felt her ragged breath fan over his skin.  Sparing just a moment to hold her, to kiss her forehead, he swallowed hard, gently pushed her aside, before standing up and striding out of the room.

In the sanctity of the shower, Cain closed his eyes, tilted his head back, letting water flow over him, washing away the lingering traces of the broken dream, drowning the last fragile hope in the flood.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there.  He still had his eyes closed when he heard the rustle of the curtain being drawn.  Tiny hands rubbed his back, lathered his skin with the lightly scented soap.  "Thought you could use some help," Gin murmured as Cain slowly turned to face her.

"Why, Gin?" he asked, staring into her eyes, daring her to lie to him.

"I wanted it," she replied simply.  "I wanted you."

"Get on the plane with me."

She sighed and tried to smile.  "You . . . you amaze me, Cain.  I just wanted to tell you that."

"Gin—"

"There.  You're all clean.  There's still some cake left in the kitchen, if you want it."

Shaking his head incredulously, Cain threw the curtain aside and climbed out of the shower.  Stopping long enough to drape a towel around his hips, he stomped out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom.  Jerking his pants back on before lighting a cigarette, Cain shoved the window open with a grunt, feeling the cool late September air hit his dampened skin as he shivered slightly.

Horrifyingly beautiful, the last gasp of a dying rose . . .

He heard Gin shuffle into the room, heard her slip back onto the bed.  "Will you lie down with me?  For a little while?"

Cain didn't answer right away, slowly drawing off his cigarette and exhaling slowly.  The smoke blew out the window, disappearing into the night sky as though it had never been there at all.  Snuffing out the butt in an odd tin ashtray she'd dug up somewhere, he turned away from the window and crossed his arms over his chest.  She was curled up on her side, hair fanning out around her like a silvery wisp of a cloud.  Her eyes glowed in the darkness, and she leaned up on her elbow as he stared at her.

"Thank you," she whispered into the silence.

Cain cleared his throat and sat down on the edge of the bed.  "Yeah."

"No . . . I mean it.  I . . ."

He stretched out beside her, pulled her into his arms with a sigh.  "Go to sleep, baby girl.  It's late."

"Will you . . . still be here when I wake up?"

He didn't answer.  He didn't really know.  His plane was leaving at eight, which meant that he had to be at the airport by seven, at latest.

"Then I'll just stay awake with you."

She slipped her arms around him, fingers tangling in his hair.  Something about the gesture seemed to quell the anger that simmered just below the surface.  The encompassing fear that he was losing so much more than just a friend choked him, and he tightened his arms around her until she gasped for breath.  Adjusting his hold as she squirmed closer, Cain closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in the scent of her, tried to commit to memory just how perfectly her tiny body molded to his.  It couldn't be the end, could it?  Just this, and nothing more?

Staring at the darkened window, he knew that his heart would remain here with her.  Somewhere between the chimes of the clock, the girl slipped away from him, her sleep blissful, deep as the remnants of his fragile peace—the one Gin had given him—shattered into a million pieces.