InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The House of Mirth ❯ The Last Straw ( Chapter 1 )

The House of Mirth

By: RedHerring

 

Chapter One: The Last Straw

 

The Bastard finally did it. He beat Shippou. I have no idea how it happened, or how long he was like this, but the kit's tiny body was black and blue when I got home. I feel so useless. I wasn't there to protect him; I had to go to school.

 

The kit was sick today, and he had to stay home from the day care I usually bring him to on my way to school. I was worried, but not as worried as I should have been. I left him with the creep that calls himself my guardian, and now he can barely breathe. I think one of his ribs is broken. There is blood still pouring out of his nose, and his eyes are swollen shut.

 

I had not wanted to miss the test. Tests are very important. Tests get me good grades, and good grades get me a spot in a good college. Once I move out, Shippou will come with me, and we will leave behind that bastard and his boozed-up fits of rage. It was okay when he was only beating me, because I could handle it. As much as I want to get away from him, Shippou needs food, clothes, a place to sleep, an education, trips to the doctor, friends, and a normal life. He's lost so much already and I can't deny him any of the things he needs.

 

The Bastard finally did it, but this is insane. This is beyond cruelty, and I won't stand for it. Screw him, screw this place, and screw this life. We are leaving.

 

I have been saving up any money I can get my hands on. Money I earned working at Shippou's daycare, mostly. I have several thousand dollars in my room under some floorboards. I would love to leave right now, but the dirty bastard is home. He's probably passed out in front of the television. I can hear it from the other end of the apartment.

 

I tread quietly to the bathroom and pick up the first aid kit. The Bastard has no use for it, but I have used it too many times to count. As I walk by the living room, I peer in to see what The Bastard is doing. He's engrossed in a youkai boxing show, and he laughs as one opponent looses an eye to a snapping turtle youkai's lightning-fast attack. I sneer and quietly sneak back down the hall to my room. The sick bastard takes pleasure in other people's pain.

 

The room is so quiet when I enter it that I fear that Shippou has stopped breathing. What would I do then? How do you get a child breathing again with a broken rib? I dash over to his still form, the blood rushing in my ears. Closer to him I can see the very slight rise and fall of his chest and hear the tiny puffs of air. I sigh in relief and take a moment to calm down. The first rule of a sick room is to be calm. You should not have any strong emotions. You need to be calm and focused on your task to do a good job.

 

The first thing I do is dissolve some aspirin in a tablespoon of water. Kneeling by the bed, I cradle his head in my hand and spoon the liquid into the back of his throat. That should help with the pain and prevent a fever. I can't do anything for his bloody nose except clean his face. His nose isn't broken, but it is bad enough that he'll have raccoon eyes for a few hours. I have some special balm to put on bruises that makes them feel cool and relieves the throbbing. Tsuyo, Shippou's daycare lady, gave it to me when I came into work sporting a bruise in a rather delicate area. The stupid muscle-head pushed me in front of a pick-up truck when I was looking the other way. It wasn't going very fast, but it still caught me pretty hard down my back and tailbone.

 

I can remember how scared I was. The blood welled up in my throat, and a jarring pain shot through my entire body. Tsuyo was furious, and the only reason she didn't call the police was because I almost begged her not to.

 

I smear the cooling balm on Shippou's face and arms. I try not to be careful, but some movement is unavoidable and it causes him to whimper tiredly. Tears leak out of his eyes, but he remains unconscious. His ribs are the hardest part. I have no idea on how to set them, and no idea how to make them heal right. I do not want them to heal in a position where they might dig into an organ. He is not coughing up blood, though, so I guess it will be okay to just leave it for the day or two it will take to heal, but as soon as he can be moved, we are out of here. I will not let him be beaten by that bastard.

 

A cold cloth over his eyes will hopefully bring down the swelling, but there's nothing more I can do for him now. I prop him up against a pillow and cover him with the red blanket on my bed, trying to make him as comfortable as possible; I'm just furious, and worried, and guilty about letting him get hurt. Even moving him around doesn't bring him into consciousness, and I have to bite back a shout of anger. Shippou needs sleep to recover; it's good he is not awake.

 

Now the only thing to do is face The Bastard and try to keep him from noticing Shippou. I quietly make my way to the kitchen and take out some food. It is almost five, so I need to start making dinner. I can hear him laughing again as I cut up the peppers.

 

He stays entranced with the television while I cook. It is quickly done, but he won't come in until his show has ended. He'll beat me for interrupting, but then he will beat me for doing something else wrong.

 

My fingers clench, and I grit my teeth angrily at the fruitless situation.

 

He walks in and sneers at me briefly before sitting at his seat. His plate is piled high with food and the pan is sitting in the center of the table. I stand by the fridge, like I'm supposed to. Like a servant waiting on the master of the house. He does not even look at me as he sits down and sourly eats his food. I stand stiffly, waiting for the complaint that will earn me a beating.

 

“Shithead,” he snaps. I look at him, keeping my face bland. My shoulders tense, waiting for the threats and violence. He glares at me and throws his fork down noisily. The chair is pushed back violently as he gets to his feet. What will it be this time? The chicken is too salty? There are too many onions? There are no red peppers? These reasons may seem strange, and no cause for a beating, but they have all been used against me before.

 

“Answer me when I talk to you, dipshit,” he growls.

 

“Yes sir?” I reply blandly. Never talk back, never show emotion, never react, and never make any unnecessary sound.

 

“The fucking food is cold you ash hole,” he slurs angrily. I do nothing but glare at the wall in front of me. I want to lash out, to do something to get back at him for beating a helpless child, but I can do nothing. I cannot draw any more attention to myself or to Shippou. Not until he's better and we can leave.

 

My silence seems to anger him more. He grabs my shirt and slams me into the fridge. He grinds my nose into the hard plastic and I hear him fumble with his belt.

 

“You lazy fucking retard, are you too stupid to put the damn food into a fucking dish first?” he taunts as he pushes my face harder and harder into the fridge.

 

“I betta not hear one shound outta you, unlessh you want the fucking brat to die,” he hisses. I hate him. I hate him with such a passion that it nearly blinds me sometimes. His threats against Shippou keep me still and quiet. I'm not stupid; I know I can't be with the kit all the time. It would be too easy for him to hurt Shippou while I am away. Like today. I would have left long before, but until now he only threatened to hurt Shippou. So I stayed and took the beatings so Shippou could have the things he needed.

 

It makes the beatings easier to bear -- this reason I can put to the senseless violence. I know that I'm protecting someone. That is one of the most valuable things I have in my life. And living so long with The Bastard, I know that I deserve this punishment. Why else would he hate me so much...?

 

I hear him unbuckle that huge rodeo buckle that he always wears and slither the leather belt out of his pants. My muscles tense as I hear him wrap the end around his hand.

 

“Dammit, not the buckle! You promised!” I shout.

 

“You're a damn piece of hanyou trash, so shut up! You've brought this on yourshelf,” he growls out. Then the blows come; slapping my back, cutting into my shoulders, bruising my head. Anywhere and everywhere he can see gets hit with that cursed belt buckle. He still pushes my face into the fridge so I can barely breathe. I stay completely still, and every time I feel that giant, heavy, buckle hit my back, I recite a silent mantra. I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve it....

 

I have no idea how long it goes on. It's happened so many times, that I stopped caring long ago. I try not to flinch, but the sharp edge hits my ear, drawing blood.

 

Eventually he gets bored and his temper wears out, but not before the skin of my back is raw. My nose all but broken and I can feel the blood trickling down my scalp and neck from my numerous head wounds. He throws down the belt in disgust and goes back to his cold supper.

 

I stand there, trying to keep my breathing even and unaffected. I will not move until he is gone. I will not run from the room like a coward and give him the satisfaction of knowing that he managed to fuck me over - in more ways than one. It kills my pride to bow down and submit before his sadistic temper. If I ever made him mad enough, though, he would go after Shippou, and the only way to stop him would be to kill him. Even if I had enough money to hire a lawyer and get off the hook with self defense, Shippou would be separated from me by child services. I'm still a minor for Christ's sake!

 

That's why I never defended myself, after I realized I could fight back. That's why I remained unresponsive and allowed the beatings to continue.

 

Now The Bastard gets up. He leaves everything where it is, knowing I will clean it up. As he passes, I get a kick to the back of my knees that forces them to collapse. His knee rams the side of my head, toppling my balance and sending my face into the fridge again. Then he's out the door and on his way back to the television where a bottle of whiskey and a six pack of beer await him, while I struggle to stop the room from spinning.

 

I cannot stop a sigh of relief after hearing the TV turn on. I wipe the blood off my face with my sleeve, and moving as fast as I can, I scarf some of the food that's left. I do a half-assed job of cleaning the kitchen; it's less than immaculate, but it's good enough. When I'm done I load some leftover food into a bowl for Shippou.

 

Before I go back to him I stop by the bathroom. I pull off my shirt carefully and examine the damage. The skin of my back is red and raw, and there are some bruises already starting to form; long stripes criss-cross all over in some insane pattern. I try to clean off the blood as well as I can, then pull back my hair in an elastic tie. I can do nothing about the bloody shirt. If Shippou is awake, will he notice if I just keep my front turned to him?

 

Shippou should not have to see the result of The Bastard's violence. I try so hard to keep my injuries out of his sight and smell, but a part of me, the selfish illogical part, wants to show him every bruise and get his sympathy. I want him to be proud that he has a protector.

 

I hate that I let this happen! This is too much for him, and he's not ready for it. I don't want him to grow up to be a worthless, abused freak like I am!

 

I failed to protect him today....

 

I hurry down the hall and open the door to my room. He's awake and staring at the ceiling. His eyes flicker towards me and barely register my presence as I enter before he returns his gaze to the ceiling.

 

“Hey,” I say and kneel down next to the bed. I see he has been crying.

 

“Hi,” he croaks out.

 

“I've got some food for you,” I say, tilting the bowl so he can see it. “Eat some, and then I can put some more stuff on those bruises.”

 

“I heard what happened,” he says abruptly. My face falls -- not that I was smiling to begin with.

 

“Shippou,” I sigh, “It's not your fault, you know.”

 

“Yes it is. Everything's my fault. Mom died because of me, Stepdad hits you because of me.”

 

“No, Shippou. Whatever he told you isn't true. Nothing is your fault. It never was your fault, and you had absolutely nothing to do with your mom's death.” I can see he still does not believe me. It will take a while to convince him, but he decides to drop it.

 

“Here, eat some food. It'll help get your strength up,” I say. He complies and slowly raises himself to rest against my pillow. I take the fork and bit by bit, feed him half the bowl. A piece of chicken, some peppers; he doesn't like the onions so I munch on some while he chews. When he can't eat any more I set the bowl on the floor and take out the balm again.

 

“Shippou, you need to tell me what happened,” I say. He looks at me, then drops his eyes to his shirt and starts to fiddle with the buttons. “Shippou, tell me.”

 

“I-I was in here. You told me to rest and drink a lot of water, so I only went to the kitchen when Stepdad went to the bathroom. My nose was runny and I was sniffling a lot.” He pauses. “Then he came in and said that the sniffing was annoying him, and then he hit me...”

 

“I'm sorry Shippou,” I say as I spread goop on his chest lightly. “I wasn't there to protect you and I should have been. It won't happen again,” I promise.

 

“How do you know? What about tomorrow? What if I get sick again?”

 

“Shippou, I promise that he'll never lay a hand on you ever again,” I say vehemently. He lays there with his eyes closed for a while and then looks up and nods, a small smile coming to his face. I button his shirt back up and fix the covers. It's 8:30 and Shippou is getting tired again. He cracks a yawn and sniffs.

 

“Can I have Myoga?” he asks me. I nod and tuck the stuffed flea in with him. He snuggles his face into it and closes his eyes.

 

I gingerly settle down on the floor to do homework. My shirt is now somewhat stiff with the dried blood, and the fabric irritates every inch of my back.

 

Shippou's breath starts to even off, and as he goes to sleep I mutter, “Night, squirt.”

 

He grunts sleepily, “G'night Inuyasha.”

 

AN: Ironic that it's Inuyasha who's all serious over tests, ne? Bet you thought it was Kagome all this time; and you get a virtual cookie if you guessed Inuyasha. He might be a bit out of character, but I don't care. I plan for this to be a long story, but I don't know when I'll finish, or how long it will be. No promises on updating - I've learned my lesson. The plot is undergoing some revisions. Also, the rest of the chapters I have up are not edited. Those will be corrected.

I would like to give a huge thank you to HieiWannabe and Xue1, my Betas, (HieiWannabe for chapters 1-5, and Xue1 helped me out with this first chapter) for editing my work. ^__^

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or any related characters.