InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Temporal Sequence ❯ Chapter 10 ( Chapter 10 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Temporal Sequence

Chapter 10:

xxx

She devoured her lunch in record time and somehow managed to run down the shrine steps faster as ever, even with her bicycle sprawled awkwardly across her back. Upon reaching the bottom of those hellacious steps, she dropped the bike and leapt smoothly onto it while still running, hoping she wasn't too late, especially worried since her mother stalled her by forcing her to eat lunch before she could go.

Tsume was leaving today.

Tsume was a boy, of course, and Kagome thought it was possible that she loved him. At the ripe age of thirteen, Kagome was no stranger to crushes, but this particular one had lasted and thrived for a few years now. Tsume was in her class for as long as she could remember, and the cute boy he was when he had first caught her eye at age nine, was now a stunningly handsome teenager.

She peddled as fast as she could, hoping to make the mile trek down the road to his house in a fraction of the time it normally took. Tsume lived on the same street as her, but due to the historic shrine, the houses were significantly spaced, but nothing a bike and youthful legs couldn't handle. She needed to peddle faster.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were friends; such good friends in fact that Tsume had taught her little brother how to throw a baseball. Tsume was the catcher on the local little league team and he was a renowned slugger for his age. The subsequent arm bulk from endless batting practices didn't go unnoticed by Kagome. She wanted to ask him out for quite a while now, but being as young as they were, the teen dating-scene was a new thing that had just sprung up in the last year or so. She thought she wasn't pretty enough for someone like Tsume and so she never made the first move, nor was she supposed to—she was the girl after all. But watching all her friends obtain boyfriends had taken its toll on her ego. Boys had shown interest in her, but she wanted Tsume's attention. Five years of friendship had proven him a worthy candidate. There was even a time when she knew he was going to hug her, but then he didn't.

She figured he just didn't like her like that, which hurt. She would never have her `dream boy', though he continued to appear on the steps of her family's shrine like a taunting mirage. Sometimes he'd show up with baseball mitts or a movie or a cake that his mother had baked. One time, he showed up with flowers and a teddy bear when Kagome's mother took them to the school dance. He looked so handsome in his black slacks and blue oxford. They were eleven then, and last year he didn't take her to the annual school dance. She cried, thinking he found some other girl he'd rather take, but then he called and said it was because of a baseball game and apologized. Her hope escalated; at least he called.

A few weeks ago rumors sprung to life and spread like a fire, saying that Tsume had a crush on her. Her heart soared. Finally, he would ask her out and she'd have a boyfriend that she liked so much. She found him after school that day, like every other day, and they walked home together. She waited, smile unabashed, for him to ask her to be his. But, he didn't. They stopped in front of the shrine steps—those horrible, steep, never ending steps—and he looked at her with those beautiful honey-glazed eyes. He told her his family was moving away.

Her crush had succeeded in its namesake. Her heart was shattered.

They avoided each other like the plague since then, and now as her heart raced with accelerated propelling, she wished she hadn't reacted like she did. They had precious little time left and they squandered it. She was going to kiss him farewell, but she was so nervous. She wanted her first kiss to be with Tsume; it would be her goodbye to him and a fitting memory for the both of them.

She turned into the steep driveway that led to the blue two-story house and jumped off her bike in much the same manner as she mounted it. She ran as the bike fell haplessly to the ground, as though nothing had separated her feet from the ground in the first place.

She saw him instantly, sitting on the grass, brown-clad men carrying boxes to a yellow truck behind him. His eyes darted up from the grass and he stared dispassionately at her as she ran to him. She had hoped he'd run to meet her. That would have been romantic, but of course, he didn't.

She stopped in front of him panting, sweat forming at her hairline. She suddenly wished she hadn't hurried like she did since she obviously made it in plenty of time to see him off. Now she was sweaty and stinky, which was not a good thing when a first kiss was involved.

“Kagome?” He stood then, his height causing Kagome to reflexively look up.

“I-I,” she stuttered, cursing her malfunctioning body, “wanted to say goodbye.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, diverting his eyes to the movers.

“Sorry?”

“I haven't been a good friend since,” he drew a long breath, “since I told you I was moving.”

“Me neither.”

“You wanna take a walk?”

“Yeah.”

They walked along the slow trafficked road and talked about everything. They reminisced about their classes and crazy teachers and gossiping peers. They remembered trips to the ice cream parlor and outings to malls with their shop-crazed mothers. They recalled barbecues and birthday parties and Friday night movies. Kagome told him how much she loved to watch him play ball and Tsume told her how much he loved to watch her make oden. Kagome told him she loved his sense of humor. Tsume told her he loved her sparkle. The moment was priceless, a picturesque memory in the making.

When they returned to his empty house, his mother called to him, telling him they'd be leaving soon. The movers had already left with the trucks. There was little time left and Kagome thought she would cry.

“I'm going to miss you, Kagome.”

“I'll miss you too.” A tear slipped and he wiped it away, the scene becoming much harder and fittingly dramatic.

“I hope we meet again. But I'll have my memories of you to keep me company. I'll remember you teasing your brother and drooling in your sleep. I'll remember you selecting a movie at the video store like it's a science and carefully constructing the perfect sundae.”

She laughed a bittersweet laugh. It was so honest and heartfelt and so sad because he would be gone. Even if they did meet again, they'd be all grown up and different—neither one present to witness or influence the changes.

“Who will walk me home after school?” she asked, more tears falling as the reality of it all begun to set its anchor.

He swept his hand under her eyes, taking on her tears, and brushed his other hand through her hair, all the while smiling. He took off his cap, his favorite cap, and placed it on her head, pushing down on the lid to secure it over her thick hair.

“Goodbye, Kagome. You've always been my best friend. I'll keep in touch, okay?”

She nodded, thinking he would hug her then. His body loomed close and he didn't move, like he was stilled in place by some unknown force. She looked into his eyes and had no idea what he was thinking. Then he moved—away from her, never looking back.

She wanted to run after him and turn him around with a firm pull of his shoulder. She would kiss him and hug him senseless, forever reminding him of what he meant to her despite her overwhelming shyness and floundering determination. What she really wanted was for him to kiss her, but that wasn't going to happen. The memory wouldn't be perfect without his lead. So she stilled, allowing her hesitation to succeed this time around.

“Goodbye, Tsume,” she whispered.

And so it was that she took a page from his book and did nothing.

xxx

That moment should have been perfect and it would have been had she kissed him, but the reality of the situation was that she wanted him to kiss her. He didn't, though, and she couldn't find the courage to do it herself. She even set the conditions for him, since it was only natural for the guy to make the first move, and Tsume definitely knew that—he wasn't dense by any means. The first kiss of a young girl's life is supposed to be special after all.

Officially, Tsume was way more responsible than she for ruining that moment. Just like Sesshoumaru was completely at fault for ruining their heartfelt moment.

She embraced him on impulse because she could see how much he was feeling in that moment and it touched her empathetic side, stirring her into action. And the bastard hugged her back only to stand abruptly, causing her face to plummet into the ground, telling her not to waste her sympathy on him. What the hell was that all about?

It must be her destiny, she decided, for every man that entered her life to ruin otherwise beautiful moments. Well, except Hojou, but then again, they never had anything remotely close to what she would call a `beautiful moment.' Tsume didn't kiss her or even hug her upon their final goodbye. Inuyasha was the first man to take the initiative to embrace her and then he wasted no time in pushing her down the well, while snagging her jewel shards, thusly eradicating any sentimentality that could have otherwise been derived from the situation. He hugged her again when Shippou allowed her to return, but anger that he had incited wouldn't allow for the moment to be special. Inuyasha was also her first kiss, no thanks to Tsume, but at least Inuyasha kissed her! On the upside, at least Tsume wouldn't have called her Kikyou after kissing her. If not for the fact that he didn't even know Kikyou, nor did she at the time, then for the simple fact that she was the only woman in his life—if you discount his mother of course.

But Inuyasha was definitely her first true love, whereas Tsume was more of a best friend crossing over into the potential love category, not to mention how young she was then. So maybe Inuyasha was the best fit for the famous, or rather infamous in her case, first kiss. This she knew since the incident at the god tree; Tsume never caused her such internal frays, as did Inuyasha. But Inuyasha was doomed to failure from the start. She never should've messed with a man who couldn't get over his ex, that was for sure.

Then Sesshoumaru dismissed her beautifully symbolic hug as though it was nothing short of insignificant and ultimately unnecessary. He had called it a waste.

She was a bit peeved over eating dirt, compliments of Sesshoumaru, but she simply couldn't understand why hugs were so unimportant to them. An embrace was a simple action, but the intent behind it was so meaningful. It was a nice gesture to be physically reminded that someone cares and it was especially important if no one was there to physically remind you that you're loved.

Oh no. The cat's out of the bag now.

Anything and everything that had to do with physicality was violently thwarted from her mind unless it had to do with fighting demons. Kagome was well aware of the fact that she was very different from most people her age. She was a nineteen-year-old virgin whose short list of sexual experiences, if you could even call them that, constituted a brutal hug and a searing kiss—all of which, mind you, ended in terrible disappointment. Good god was she boring!

The last two years had been the worst of all. Not only were reminders all around her in modern-day Tokyo, but her first love was constantly around her, day and night, in the feudal area, furthering her frustration. She knew that promiscuity was bad, but she had come to discover that abstinence was equally as bad. Hormones demanded satisfaction and when left wanton, they'd frustrate the living hell out of you and make damn well sure that you'd lose control of your own body on occasion.

For instance, a few weeks ago she rented an English movie about political kidnappings. It was definitely a foreign concept and so she rented it out of intrigue. Well, the main character was hot in that rugged, `I-will-rut-your-brains-out' kind of way. He took a swim and she was flustered. As if that alone wasn't bad enough, later in the movie he, sporting a tight black tank top, muscled arms exposed, pushed the blonde woman against a wall and kissed the living hell out of her! It was so passionate and sexy in all the right ways that she found herself so hot that she was sweating. She was, may the gods forgive, wet. It was so embarrassing and from a freaking kiss! She was way too hard up for some physical contact with the opposite sex. She should have been appalled considering the over-sexed, over-masculine main character was going to save the blonde's husband out of all people, but she wasn't. Instead, she wished she was that blonde.

Speaking of which, why on earth were people expected to remain celibate until marriage anyhow? She supposed way back when it wasn't so bad because people married at age fourteen and even fifty years ago they seemed to marry no later than eighteen or nineteen. Now, most people didn't even get married until their late twenties and sometimes they didn't tie the knot until after thirty! She now believed that such ideals were virtually impossible to achieve by choice. It all went to show that hormones were a force that refused to be ignored. They were too damn powerful, overtaking your body even when your mind rebuked them. They left you powerless and at the mercy of their whims. It was simply unfair.

Like right now, her mind was screaming for these thoughts to stop, knowing what reactions they would subconsciously bring, but her body was already sent over the edge with want. Her skin felt tingly and her muscles ached with heated blood. Simply remembering that hot scene, from a movie no less, reminded her body of what it needed and was most definitely not getting.

This was bad; she felt like a silly, horny little schoolgirl. Perhaps that was the problem. Most people start satisfying these natural human desires at age sixteen or seventeen, but she was past that age and had yet to even indulge her body with heavy petting, let alone sexual intercourse. When did she become so desperate and needy? There was no telling when, but the repercussions of celibacy had certainly taken their toll and she hoped that she wouldn't end up doing something stupid.

And by stupid she meant something akin to what had happened to Ayumi. Ayumi was the oldest of her former high school posse and she was a pretty, kind girl, but she was always so absorbed in her studies that she never really paid much heed to her social life. When Ayumi turned eighteen, she started to panic. She thought she was the only virgin left in their class, though she didn't realize Kagome had the same problem. Apparently everyone assumed that Kagome had given it up to her ex-`violence-crazed' boyfriend, a.k.a. Inuyasha. That theory was accepted because they knew Inuyasha was older and secluded, and why else would such a low-life stick around with a giddy high school girl unless she was putting out? Kagome didn't have the energy or the know-how to put an end to that nonsense, so she simply let it die. If she had known what Ayumi would do, then maybe she would've opened her mouth.

Ayumi went club-crazy, trying to find the perfect guy before college came around where she might succumb to a drunken one-night-stand, thus ruining that magical `first time,' kind of like that over-rated first kiss. Every weekend, after homework of course, she would go out hoping to snag a boyfriend. Being Ayumi, she figured guys her own age wouldn't be into a smart girl like her, so she went after the older, more sophisticated man. She gave into the first one that told her she was beautiful. She never heard from him again. Kagome didn't want to end up like that. Kagome wasn't naïve enough to think that her first time would be some mind-blowing experience. The sex itself would probably be horrible and awkward, so what really mattered was the person. It should be someone you love or at least care for on a profound level. Knowing that her first time was shared with someone like that would make it special.

But the body was a fickle thing that made powerful demands. Demands that someone like the ever-willful Ayumi couldn't ignore and so Kagome feared that she too might prove inadequate to ward off her body's calling.

She was hot now, too hot and so a cold dip in the river was a must. As she stood, uncomfortably, thanks to a vivid imagination's embodiment in her panties, she felt his presence. She scrambled for her bag and immediately lit a match, and a few more thereafter for good measure. Kagome's `horn-dog' issues had followed her into this era, which happened to be accompanied by a fine-tuned, but terribly unwanted nose, courtesy of Inuyasha. Apparently arousal, like all natural bodily functions, came with a strong scent not lost to those of the canine persuasion. She recalled one otherwise beautiful evening where she, unwillingly of course, partook in a graphic dream. She woke to a sniffing Inuyasha, nose glued to her stomach while asking her the most dreadful questions. But the funny part was that he had absolutely no idea what that smell was! Even when he smelt it again and again, he still remained blissfully clueless—partly due to a rather embarrassed Kagome that refused to have her privacy invaded. Though she speculated that Miroku had some leads.

But there stood Sesshoumaru, a comfortable distance away and unfortunately, if not ironically, sniffing the air as though it was the most curious thing he had come across in years, which may in fact be true. However, something in the back of her mind told her that Sesshoumaru might not be as wonderfully ignorant as his noisy half-brother, hence the match trick, which she had thought of quite some time ago to thwart Inuyasha's sharp nose and humiliating questions. Apparently, Inuyasha was unfamiliar with that particular scent, which only exasperated her. Inuyasha had obviously remained celibate as had she, considering Kikyou was his only former love interest and as far as she could tell the relationship never made it that far, but how on earth did he deal with these…these feelings? He had been around much longer than she and yet he seemed far detached from his more primal urges. It was exasperating, therefore, in the sense that something must be wrong with her, or maybe not when taking into account observations from her own era. Maybe there was something wrong with Inuyasha.

But Sesshoumaru was a different story. Did he even have sexual urges? He was male after all; but then again, his brother was an avid example of abstinence. She felt confident that Sesshoumaru probably had sex on the mind every now and then, but was perfectly capable of controlling deviant thoughts of any kind, which could be inferred from his overall demeanor that screamed control freak. He seemed experienced though, which made her, much to her own horror, pretty damn sure he knew a thing or two about arousal.

She rummaged through her bag a bit, intending to act as though he wasn't there so that maybe any comments on his part would be abandoned. At the very least, ignoring him might buy her some time to get over her initial embarrassment at having been caught in such a state. She figured anything her mother would disapprove of was something she shouldn't be thinking about, and she was sure her mother would most definitely dislike this train of thought. To make matters worse, Sesshoumaru had the ability to decipher the raunchiness consuming her mind and hence it was doubly worse for thinking of such things. Strike one—mother wouldn't like it; strike two—she got caught. The proverbial strike three would've occurred had her mother been the one to catch her.

“What are you doing?”

It had been so long since he first arrived onto the crime scene that she had nearly forgotten he was there. And what did he mean exactly? Could he tell?

“Huh?” was her brilliant response.

He looked as stoic as ever, though that strange far-away look in his eyes struck an awkward chord on her nerves, making her suspect that he knew what was going on.

“You lit those `matches' of yours and seemed to have failed at producing a fire. Do you always act so purposelessly?”

Sometimes he was too calculating. “Oh, yeah, I must have lost my train of thought.” That was a good cover-up…

He narrowed his eyes quite perceptively, which was unlike him. Was that a sign? It was an obvious deviance from normally expected Sesshoumaru behavior. Maybe he wanted her to know that he knew what she didn't want him to know. Oh no, this circular line of thinking was fruitless and only served to make her realize that she was being just a wee bit paranoid.

“Perhaps your actions are then more oblivious than purposeless.”

He proceeded to sit and Kagome was thankful that her initial embarrassment had morphed into a smidgen of fury.

“Excuse me?”

“I do realize you are hard of hearing, but I do feel I was quite clear.”

He was antagonizing her, again. The sadistic bastard was having fun at her expense. She opened her mouth to retort, but he beat her to the punch.

“Perhaps I wasn't clear enough. Your actions still remained purposeless despite your oblivion.”

“Listen here, you arrogant jerk!” she yelled, hoping the `inconsiderate' volume of her voice would piss him off. “I don't know who you think you are, but you're one to talk Mr. Daydreamer! You're constantly out of it and so please don't mind me if I take the same vacation from reality once in a while!”

He was frowning, with his eyes. “What were you doing before I arrived?”

She froze, not expecting him to be so direct. “W-what do you mean?”

He sighed. “The atmosphere is…different…somehow. You are hiding something.” Sharp eyes turned on her, boring into her pupils and delving into her mind as though searching for something—a sign that she was lying. Just like Inuyasha, but harsher—harder to evade…

“I was just thinking,” she said, dropping her gaze, avoiding his eyes.

He was quiet for a while as she stood there; faintly realizing the sun was setting. How long had she been standing there and how long had he been gone in the first place? She could swear it was morning when she jumped into the well.

“I have realized for some time now that I am old, very old,” he said softly, his smooth inflections and rich tones lulling her into a daze as she listened. “Much of my life is a blur and I know it is as such since many of my days have been dull and spent doing nothing of significance. What else could be expected from such an expansive amount of time? But that fact serves to fuel a creative curiosity within me since not much of interest comes along regularly.”

Where was he going with this? She subconsciously leaned toward him as she sunk to the ground, absorbed by his words since they were few and far between.

“You, however, have proven to be quite a curiosity.”

Was that a compliment? She didn't know, he said it so matter-of-factly. Then he threw an object at her feet, her eyes slowly transferring the visual data to her brain, which processed the information with lethargic dread.

She gulped, preparing herself for the possibilities to come.

x x x

xxx

He ran—he had been doing a lot of that lately. Kazuma was infuriating, but that personality flaw didn't discount the fact that the demon knew what he was talking about. He had been training so hard and his rapidly accelerating skills had made him confident, a little too confident. He felt ready to spar, but his uncle disagreed. How could Kazuma, who had been personally training him, have so little faith in his abilities? It made him angry and all the more fervent about proving his capabilities. He demanded a sparring partner and Kazuma obliged, then asking him if he wanted one to go easy on him. Sesshoumaru, of course, said no, for such a thing would be dishonorable and an inaccurate assessment of his strength.

So then the unexpected happened—Kazuma named himself as his opponent. He was humiliated and beaten until he was bloodied and unconscious. When he woke, he was chained in the dungeon, feet and hands bound. Kazuma returned some time later and whipped him. He asked his uncle why and his reply was so true that he felt sickened with his own stupidity. His uncle was always so serious and so his answer was the expected catchall of his responses—a lesson. This lesson being what could occur were he to take on an enemy he was not prepared to fight. Kazuma was apparently an advocate of the `hands-on' teaching approach.

When he was allowed to heal, Kazuma informed him that his training would consist of nothing but conditioning for the following week since he insisted on disregarding his teacher's advice. Sesshoumaru was furious and did the only thing he could—he ran, away from his problems and away from his uncle—if only for a little while.

He embraced the darkness and raced the wind, until he relented to a stream's lullaby in the deep of the forest—or at least what he assumed to be the heart of the forest.

He smelt her before he saw or heard her, which was not unusual of his species. Her scent was foreign, but he knew it to be human. It reminded him of frostbitten berries—earthy and real. He found he liked it. His eyes continued to trace the glistening reflections of moonlight on the water's surface, changing ever so subtly with lazy ripples.

He heard her stop nearby, a gasp of surprise floating to his ears, much like the way he perceived the light moving across the pool before him. He looked at her then from over his shoulder, taken aback by the sight.

The moonlight captured the soft curves of her human face and her eyes sparkled darkly in the dim light. She appeared to him a creature of myth, something so extraordinary that it was well worth the time to inspect. She was exceptionally beautiful for a mortal and her humanity made her exotic to his young eyes. He had never before seen a human he considered lovely, nor had he seen many humans for that matter, and he silently wondered if the dark was playing tricks on his eyes, but then again his eyes were sharp even on the blackest of nights.

“I-I'm sorry,” she whispered, clearly as captivated as he. Her voice was soft and sweet with youth and he found he liked her voice as much as her scent.

“What for?” He wanted to hear her speak again.

“For disturbing you.” He could sense her fear building. She must have realized what he was.

“You have not.” He liked her scent better when she was curious and unafraid.

“Oh.” She made move to leave.

“Why are you alone in the forest?” He stalled her and her fear spiked.

“I-I was lost.”

“Have you found your way?”

“Do,” she began, her voice slightly shaking, “do you mean me harm?”

Her trepidation was intense and he began to wonder about her all the more. “What do you think of me?” He was curious as to how she would answer such a cryptic question.

“That is a moot question. I don't even know you.”

“True enough. So, have you found your way?” Her turned fully to her then and noticed her subconsciously step back.

“W-why do you want to know?” She took another step back.

“Because the nearest human village is in the opposite direction. You humans have a very poor sense of direction, do you not?”

“I-I suppose.”

She stuttered again. Her fear was overdone and he found that it displeased him. He had had enough of being displeased as of late.

“Why do you fear me?”

She didn't hesitate to respond. “I know what those marks on your face mean. A powerful demon king rules his kind near my village. I know how easily you could kill me.”

“But I have not killed you, nor made any indication that I would.”

“That doesn't mean you don't like to play with your prey first.” She gulped and stepped back again.

“I am not the demon king you speak of,” he said slowly, his eyes penetrating hers, pinning her to the spot.

“But you are a demon.”

“Yes.”

“And that is why I'm afraid.”

“How does it feel to live in fear?” he asked dangerously low, his feet moving toward her on their own accord. She stiffened as he stalked.

“Not good,” she said, her eyes tearing as she looked to the ground, slowly closing those hauntingly dark eyes. He stopped directly in front of her, so close he could feel her breath on his chest. Her eyes tightened as she resigned herself to his will; her silent submission delightfully pleasing to him—it was respectful acknowledgement of his position over her. He lifted her hand and her face lowered even more. He turned it over in his own, so small, so delicate. He ran his claw gently across her open palm, blood beading lightly at the surface.

“Such frailty,” he whispered and her eyes cracked open, half-mast, daring a look at him from under thick lashes. “Curious.”

He brought her upturned hand to his lips and drug his tongue across the smooth skin, sealing the minute breakage almost instantly. She stared at him this time, head upright and eyes wide.

“I am Sesshoumaru, son of the demon king you spoke of.” He lowered her hand and pulled her along a short distance in the direction from which she came, slowly releasing her fingers, allowing the digits to drag lazily along his own. He slid into place ahead of her and stopped when he realized she wasn't following. “Come. I will take you to your village.”

“Why?”

He looked at her again from over his shoulder, his eyes still wishing to take in the rare beauty behind him. “Because a creature of such frailty and fear should not wander aimlessly through the woods in the heart of the night. Do not worry. I will ensure your safety.”

With words of freely offered protection, her fear melted away, all remnants of its former presence erased with the passing scents of grass and wood.

“My name,” she began uneasily, “my name is Hitomi.”

“Hitomi,” he repeated with ease, allowing the syllables to burn into his memory.

He led the human girl to her village and watched as she walked the rest of the way, until satisfied that she had returned safely. With curiosity firmly set, Sesshoumaru returned home to sleep his last night of mortal oblivion, for he was about to embark on a journey into the world of humanity, which would later prove to be one of the most encompassing woes of his existence.

xxx

He realized soon after Kagome had embraced him that he didn't like to be touched. The gesture was innocent and friendly, but the position was intimate, making him uncomfortable. His father had rarely touched him and when he did it felt superficial at best. When his uncle had touched him it was to induce bodily harm, for training purposes of course. He hated his uncle's treatment of him, but had to admit, reluctantly of course, that Kazuma's methods were quite effective.

When Hitomi had touched him flames singed his skin only to heat his blood, deepening his searing want. Desire was a disgusting thing, for it implied a degree of desperation in that he could not obtain what he wanted. It made him feel a smidgen of powerlessness, which could have been eradicated had he not valued honor the way he did. The powerful can force their will upon others and so want would be a deceased thing indeed. He could have forced Hitomi to do as he wished, but that would have been a dishonorable deed that one such as he could not lower himself to do.

He could not yet remember everything, but he knew that Kazuma despised his budding relationship with a mortal and even warned him of the repercussions. He did not listen and Hitomi broke his heart. She could never come to terms with his claws.

A brief image of white kimonos and tipped sake flasks came to mind, but vanished as a ghost of a hand gently grasped his shoulder. He immediately looked behind him and saw nothing. A vivid memory that felt so real, perhaps it was because that particular memory was very important to him.

He laid back on the grass, willing the fleeting memory to return so he may clamp it down and examine it to the fullest. He had come to realize that despite his desire for some semblance of seclusion throughout much of his life, it still remained true that people made his memories.

His father's turning back and booming voice. He remembered his father brandishing a magical blade with swift proficiency. His uncle's menacing glares and wise words. He remembered his uncle giving him his first birthday present, bequeathed with a rare smile. Hitomi's bashful smile and haunting eyes. He remembered kissing her under the stars, with promises of celestial grandeur.

People were the things memories were made of.

He shifted uncomfortably on the grass; finally realizing something hard was pressing into his back. He sat up and pulled the object from under him. It was a book, the one he had taken from Kagome to alleviate his boredom. He was nearly finished with it, which was odd. He remembered countless times he sat at a desk with a book, flickering candlelight splayed out on old, polished wood. He recalled reclining against a tree in an open field, reading one of the endless volumes his uncle had required of him. Kazuma left no venue open and made sure that Sesshoumaru was educated in all facets of life.

But never had it taken him so long to read a book. The language was Japanese, but it was different, almost like a foreign dialect. The concepts were new to him and almost difficult for him to grasp. He knew currency was vital to life, but this book put a whole new spin on economics and how it intertwined with everyday life. It felt foreign, too foreign, to the point where it felt unnatural.

He flipped the flimsy cover open and turned the first page that happened to be blank. He wondered who the author was and if the name was Japanese since everything about the book felt foreign. It wasn't and he then wondered how Kagome could get a hold of something like this. The name was very foreign and when taking into account the strange dialect of the words and the otherworldly print and diagrams, not to mention the overall structure of the book, Sesshoumaru became suspicious.

He turned another page and scanned over the tiny, seemingly useless and long-winded print. He froze with widened eyes, repeating the words over and over in his head.

He wondered what copyright meant and felt confident that he'd never seen such a thing in a book before. That was the year the book was printed, was it not? His eyes scourged the text, making sure he was right. He felt confident in his interpretation considering several other similar dates were listed off as previous editions of the same text. 1999, 2001 and 2003, making this one the fourth edition as the title page stated. His mind nearly caved in on itself as he scurried about for the year as he knew it. He had been alive so long that the years didn't stand out as single entities, but rather as decades and centuries. Though he didn't know the exact year, or century for that matter, he knew that this book was incredibly out of place. Perhaps because it was foreign, but that deduction seemed lacking and ultimately incorrect. This book felt far removed from this time…

Why did it take him so long to uncover this? Her clothes, her mannerisms, her strange little gadgets and smelly concoctions all stowed away in that obnoxiously big yellow bag—things far too advanced to be from this world. He knew she was from this world, though, especially since her `home' was easily accessible, and so it left the undeniable conclusion that Kagome came from the future of this world, where advanced knowledge led to advanced products, hence the conveniences to which she was accustomed. Why didn't he notice this sooner? Well, he really didn't know her that well and the words in the book had captivated him and challenged his understanding, so it was reasonable that he overlooked these clues. But really, was it possible? Did Kagome come from the future? If so, how did she achieve such a monumental task?

Again, a green-misted memory tugged at the black subconscious of his mind, but he was too muddled to decipher its presence or paramount meaning. But, he did know one thing—the curiosity named Kagome was not a new one.

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