InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Stealing Heaven ❯ Hard Truths ( Chapter 30 )

Chapter Thirty

Hard Truths

Kagome shoved her coffee away, blue eyes rolling in anger and just a twinge of hurt. "Look," she muttered, her gaze darting back and forth between Sango and Miroku several times as they sat across the coffee shop booth from her, "I don't know what happened, okay? How many times do I have to say it?"

Sango reached across the table tentatively, gently patting her friend's hand. "Hey, no one's blaming you for . . . well, whatever happened, we're just worried about the professor and you're the only one with any kind of inside track."

The coffee shop was near-empty as it was, but even so they'd chosen a booth way in the back so their low-toned conversation wouldn't risk being overheard by any that might get the wrong impression about Kagome and Professor Taisho's relationship. Despite the measured, though notably small, amount of imaginary privacy this should have incurred, none of the three could stop from glancing around every few seconds, nor could they bring themselves to raise their voices above a loud whisper.

Likewise, none of the three needed to really speak on the underlying anxiety, to voice the reason for it, to know that the other two felt it as well. Somehow this turn of events had pulled a cloud over their heads, one that each of them was acutely, painfully aware of, making them feel as though they were involved in some sort of conspiracy to keep the demon's actions secret. It was almost as though they were helping him- a notion that, just a handful of weeks ago, Kagome questioned if it was really so terrible a thing, how could she not after he'd shown her different sides of himself entirely, never mind how reluctant she'd been to acknowledge them- causing them to all remind themselves that it wasn't that they were helping The Thief, but that they were protecting Professor Taisho.

It was an admittance that did little to cushion the blow, to take the edge off the painful knowledge that the only way to protect the professor was by helping the demon. It did nothing to ease the sour feeling turning in their stomachs at the idea of something horrible befalling Professor Taisho because of this . . . this thing they could not share with him.

Kagome hated to think it, but in a very strange way she was a little bit grateful for this. It was because Sango and Miroku could not miss the look on the professor's face just a few hours ago, couldn't un-see his confused and worried expression as he tried to connect his mystery wounds to the attack on Kouga and failed- not because he couldn't connect the two, but because he couldn't remember- that the burden of their parts in all this had grown. Now they understood a little more completely just how much torment she'd been put through over these long months since that night in the temple.

She felt like a terrible person for thinking that way, but she also knew that she was only human and that there was an undeniably stark difference between sympathizing with another person's plight and truly understanding what they were going through. She didn't feel better because they were finally sharing it with her, merely relieved that someone- anyone- could actually comprehend it, but that measure of relief seemed to make the whole situation a fraction easier for her to handle.

Not that she was thrilled about poor Kouga getting beaten up for what seemed like no reason, it was quite the opposite; she was sick with fear that it was somehow her fault. True that she couldn't imagine why the demon would attack Kouga- he had nothing to do with anything, aside from being host to Lyka for a few terrible hours, but there was no way the demon could know of that. And what purpose would it have served him to assault Kouga after the spirit was already gone?

In the uncomfortable, heavy-with-unspoken-thoughts silence that wrapped around their tiny corner of the world at this moment, Kagome was forced to remember, and by mental-reflex ponder, that feeling of being watched the evening prior. Who was to say it wasn't Nar Rah Ku lurking in some dark corner of the campus parking lot, spying her holding onto Kouga and most likely misinterpreting the scene? She'd had no reason to make the connection before, but now . . . ? He was aware of the professor's thoughts- a point she'd never forgotten. Perhaps the professor had seen them and The Thief had picked up on it? The demon had made it painfully clear from the beginning that he wouldn't stand for anything to endanger his source of sustenance.

Her stomach flopped and churned suddenly . . . it was the only avenue of possibility that made any sort of sense.

"Oh, gods," she mumbled, reaching for her coffee again with fingers that were trembling ever so slightly to take a quick sip before going on, "I think I know . . . . not 'what' happened, but at least the 'why' of it."

The couple exchanged a brief glance before, almost in unison, leaning a bit across the table to listen to Kagome's breathy, barely-audible words. After she explained what she'd felt, what logical conclusion she'd come to, they sat back, both clearly trying to form their own thoughts on the situation.

"It's still not your fault," Miroku said, after a moment of drumming his fingers against his chin, "and by letting yourself feel like it is, you're giving him power over you."

"I . . . I don't think . . ." Kagome's voice shook a bit, blue eyes going wide in a mix of fear and shame- Miroku sounded mad, and she'd never heard him mad before, but she couldn't understand what he was saying- how could she not feel at least a little responsible?

"Miroku, baby," Sango began, turning in her seat a little to face him, "we went over this, no one is blaming her. You don't need to say things that are going to make her feel worse in some weird, reverse-psych way to make her feel better."

Setting his jaw, he turned his gaze to meet his girlfriend's. "We aren't blaming her, but she is blaming herself. Don't you get it? That's why she stopped fighting him, that's why she gives into him, 'cause she thinks this- that everything to do with . . . with him- is her fault. She needs to hear this."

Kagome could feel the warm irritation building in her eyes, could feel the lump threatening to clog in her throat. "I'm sitting right here," she muttered, knowing that everything Miroku was saying was probably true.

He pulled in a lungful of air, letting it out as a heavy sigh before turning to face Kagome again. "I know this whole . . . fucked up mess of a thing has been really hard for you, but you need to hear me on this: you did nothing to bring this on yourself. There was, and is as of yet, nothing you could do about the professor's situation with the demon. You're making the whole thing harder on yourself by fabricating connections that place you at fault for that thing getting out."

"I'm . . . I'm not doing that," she grumbled, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of their gazes. "And however I do feel is perfectly natural for someone in these circumstances."

Sango could only sit mutely by, unsure of what to say as Miroku continued laying out painful truths before an unwilling Kagome. "I have to say this, okay? I don't think you understand the danger in the way your subconscious is working. You're becoming like one of those abused housewives-"

"What?"

He simply went on as though Kagome hadn't just had a tiny, angry, teary-eyed outburst. "Those women who excuse their husbands' behavior until they start thinking they somehow deserve to get hit, that they've brought it on themselves. They accept it and thoughts of getting out, of putting a stop to the situation, give way to compliance. They get settled in that strange comfort-zone of not knowing there's another way to live; like they can't remember what it was like to have a healthy, normal way of life." He shook his head, speaking the next words through lightly clenched teeth, "You need to get that fear of that thing that's hiding inside the professor back into the forefront of you mind because those women who've given into that kind of thinking, that kind of . . . unaware willingness . . . some of them have lost their lives to it."

Kagome felt both oddly detached from herself- she could feel the furrowing of her brow, the tears finally breaking free to spill down her cheeks, but it was distant, like remembering a sensation from a dream- and yet somehow completely in the moment. Even though it wasn't like that- she knew it wasn't like that . . . at least not the way Miroku was seeing it, so black and white with no gray spaces anywhere- she couldn't help but feel struck by the weight of his words. She didn't know where this was coming from, but from the way Sango was looking at him, from the way her breath thundered just a little as it escaped her lips, Kagome could guess that there were things about Miroku's past she'd rather not know.

Before she could stop herself, though, Kagome was pulling her bag into her lap to fish out some change to cover her still half-full cup of coffee. "No," she murmured simply, slapping the money down onto the table top before slinging her backpack over her shoulder and sliding out of the booth. "I won't . . . I won't be like that. I'm going to stop him, you'll see!"

Rather than heading back to the dorms, Kagome made a beeline for the nearest bus stop. She was going to go home and get her rarely used, wreck of a car. Wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks, she dug her cellphone out of her bag and dialed Myoga.

The old man answered after the first ring, but she was speaking into the phone before he could say a word. "We can start those lessons, now, like right now since Lyka's been dealt with, right?"

It was silent for a moment before Myoga replied. "You sound determined. Good, we're going to need that. Yes, we can start now, I'll make preparations."

* * *

It was only after Kagome had disappeared beyond the vantage point of the coffee shop's large windows that Sango spoke. "I understand wanting to protect Kagome, I do, too . . . but this wasn't about your mother."

Miroku nodded slowly, lowering his gaze to the bit of laminate he was picking off of the table top with his fingernails. "I know, but . . . I can't help but see it. I see the basic pathology there, I can see that if it continues that's how she's going to end up and I can't let that go."

"I've never seen you get like that before, baby," she murmured, reaching over to settle her hand over his, stopping his fidgeting.

His eyes drifted closed for a long moment as he replied, "That's because I didn't know what was actually going on. Even when you guys first told me the truth, I couldn't really contextualize it, but after he singled out Kouga like that last night . . . .If I'd known sooner what that thing was capable of, of what it could do to her- hell, to the both of them . . . . You can bet your pretty little ass I'd have said something sooner."

Cracking a sad smile, she inched her way across the seat to rest her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder. "I know you had to say those things, I just hate seeing her look like that."

He let out another heavy sigh, dropping his chin gently down on top of Sango's head. "I don't like it either, but . . . if it takes me making her hate me for the rest of her life to light a fire under her ass about this, so be it. She might not be happy about it- hell, I think I just made her feel gods damned miserable- but at least she's going to get herself free of him."

* * *

A handful of weeks passed, during which nothing seemed to change on the surface. Beneath it all, however, Kagome was beginning to feel more confident about her situation. She'd finally caved and brought her crappy car to school, and every three days she rushed out of her final class and dove in behind the wheel to go to Myoga's.

It had begun with coaxed projections- Kagome's soul leaving her body by the behest of a meditative rite the old man was performing- but slowly, she was learning to do it on her own. She understood of the cord that connected her soul to her physical body, which gave her security, gave her the knowledge that she would always find her way back. Myoga made it clear that only a severe trauma could disrupt the cord, but if she continued her training, she would still be able to return to her body. It helped that feelings of panic or the thought of needing to return snapped one back to the physical plane almost instantly.

That was the part Kagome was still trying to grasp- simply not panicking, because every time she snapped back into her body too soon, the lesson was over. Myoga never let her project more than once in any given session for fear that she would wear herself out, making successive lessons only longer and more arduous for her.

The professor's wounds healed, and he seemed to be ignoring that anything unusual had gone on at all, but then she'd come to expect that of him- anything that didn't make complete sense was tossed to the wayside by him. They continued to give one another only passing acknowledgements- though those quick, shared glances held volumes more meaning when no one else was paying attention.

She settled back into a slightly strained friendship with Miroku, though neither of them- nor Sango- brought up that painful lecture he'd given her in the coffee shop that afternoon. She wouldn't bother to ask Sango about it, either, even when they were alone in their dorm room. If Miroku ever deemed it her business, he'd tell her himself.

Even her encounters with Nah Rah Ku seemed . . . dulled, and stilted somehow. Twice he'd come to her since the night of the attack on Kouga and, unlike his previous visits, he'd barely said a word to her, only taking what he needed of her and vanishing again. In a way, she thought that was easier . . . that if he'd stuck to that sort of quick, repetitive routine from the beginning her emotions would never have become confused.

Instead he'd made her think he was capable of actual feelings. Though, as much as she disliked it, part of her still did think him capable of such, but she knew that that didn't matter. His feelings were not as important as the professor's . . . well, as anything pertaining to the professor. The longer he went on treating her like she was nothing more than a meal, the easier it was to commit herself to the notion that he was nothing more than some beast hiding in a human frame.

Kagome was roused from a light, dreamless slumber by the ringing of a cell phone. For a moment, it caused her to think that she was dreaming, because it didn't sound like her phone, or Sango's. . . . . It did, however, sound like Miroku's. She realized dully that it must've bounced out and away when Miroku had dropped his bag earlier while stopping by to take Sango to dinner.

Pulling her head sluggishly up from her desk- it was barely nine, so it wasn't much of a wonder that Sango hadn't returned yet- she waited, listening for another chime. There it went again, and she slid off of her computer chair to the floor, pressing her cheek against the floor to peer under the dresser. She could see the reflected light of the glowing face panel.

Frowning sleepily, she reached in and snatched it, pulling the phone out. She was prepared to simply set it down on Sango's night table when she glimpsed the name of the incoming call. Taisho, S.

It was already at the fourth ring and she knew that after two more the voicemail would kick in. The thought of answering it, of hearing his voice so unexpectedly, set off butterflies in her stomach and made her heart flop sideways for a moment. Shaking her head at herself- how did he always manage to make her feel like a grade school girl having her first crush- she finally flipped the phone open and set it against her ear.

"Professor?"

There was a long moment of silence before she heard his voice, beautifully deep and a bit gravelly, as always, but now clearly confused. " . . . Higurashi? I . . . I thought I dialled . . . wait . . . ."

He also sounded uncharacteristically dazed as he let his words trail off. "Miroku dropped his phone when he came to pick up Sango," she answered quickly. "Are you okay? You, um . . . you don't sound like yourself."

On his end of the line, Taisho Sesshomaru was pursing his lips- which had lost feeling some time ago- as he peered into another mysteriously empty glass on the bar counter before him. He could have sworn there was a new serving of plum wine in it just a second ago . . . . And he certainly hadn't expected to hear Higurashi Kagome's voice when he'd been calling to ask his assistant to play designated driver. Really, this only happened once a year, did the boy have to have forgotten?

It had been a pleasant surprise to be speaking with her instead, but still . . . surveying the bottle the bartender had left out, allowing him to see he'd finished it all on his own, this could prove embarrassing.

Smacking his lips together, he finally decided to bite the bullet. "That would be because I'm drunk, Higurashi."

Kagome nearly dropped the phone. "You . . . you're . . ." she couldn't seem to wrap her head around it.

"Rotten stinking drunk," he supplied the words for her, and sounded oddly cheerful about it. "I was calling because- wait, wait- Miroku, right I was calling Miroku for a ride home, but I can call a taxi." His voice got distant suddenly and Kagome could picture him pulling the phone away from his face to look at it, "I think I have the number of a car service in here, somewhere."

"Okay- Okay," she raised her voice so he could hear her even with the distance, "you just tell me where you are and I will come get you."

Sesshomaru frowned at his phone before placing it against his ear once more; shaking his finger at it as though the young woman one the other end of the line could see the gesture. "Now, Higurashi, that doesn't sound like a good idea."

"Yeah," she said quickly, snatching up her keys and grabbing her purse before heading toward the door, "normally I'd agree with you, but you sound so bad that you probably wouldn't have gotten Miroku's number right if it wasn't in your speed dial . . . well, that and good ideas aren't my forte. Now stop being stubborn and just tell me where you are."

Amber eyes rolled as he gave in and relayed to her the location of the bar. He really couldn't ever win an argument with Higurashi Kagome, could he?

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