InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Last Girlfriend ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

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

Disclaimer:Own Inu-chan I do not.
Own Itokuzu-pi(Sesshoumaru) I do not.
Own Miroku-san and Sango-san?
.......... -.- I don't and I wish I did.

Additional Disclaimer: I don't own author Valerie Frankel's book "The Girlfriend Curse", from which this story I've made a parody of(somewhat). So nobody sue me, or accuse me of plagiarism if you've read the book. I'm just altering some stuff, but the storyline remains indifferent all the same.

X) Oh yeah. The names of the characters, locations and events are plain fictitious.

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On her knees, Sango clipped a sakura branch to the size of a pencil. Her walkie-talkie squawked at her hip, so she pushed the talk-button.

"The Conde Nast people want azalea topiaries now, in the shape of hourglasses."

It was Rica--her boss at Georgia Designs, named after Georgia O'Keeffe, who painted flowers that looked like vulvas.

"I'm doing sakura blossoms." Sango replied.

Squawk. "They'll pay double for azalea topiaries by next week."

"But the waste." she sighed. Sakura branches had to die for this?

Squawk. "They must think money grows on trees." Rica was a woman who wasted nothing. Not a bud, not a blade of grass. "Aren't we lucky to know better?"

Sango didn't feel lucky. She felt alien. She glanced around at the people in the lobby at Conde Nast--at the perfectly turned-out, immaculately groomed staffers from Vogue and GQ--they could have been from another planet, where Botox was the food of life. All of the gleaming human hangers had demanding bosses, stretch mortgages, weekend functions, gym memberships, offices to report to every morning. Just like Rin and Kohaku. Like 90 percent of the Tokyo population at Sango's age.

Sango couldn't relate. She assiduously avoided those trappings. As full of scorn as she was for the nine-to-nine lifestyle, Sango envied the confidence and purpose of these women as they clicked by in their heels. They had an air of being exactly where they wanted to be, latte-carrying members of a liberties union Sango would never belong to. Or want to.

She resumed her work on the current arrays, making them beautiful even though tey'd be trashed just as the buds started to flower. Sango couldn't help drawing the comparison to the boyfriends who'd thrown her away just as she was hitting her prime, and then replacing her with redheaded hourglass-shaped topiaries.

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Back in her apartment after work, Sango's eyes and thoughts were drawn to the dossier on the night table. The pink pages were practically screaming, "Read me and weep!"

It'd been two days since Kagome Higurashi handed the hot sheets to Sango. She would read them tonight, by gum. Nothing would stop her. She'd face her fears, and her past.

But first, Sango stripped, redressed in running clothes. While lacing her Adidas shoes tight, she asked herself, "After two days of putting it off, what's one more hour?"

She left her apartment, and hit the ground running.

Or jogging, if one wanted to get technical about it. Sango's pace was in the eleven-to-twelve-minute mile range. She could do ten when she was desperate for a distraction, like right now(more pain, less brain). Her legs churned relentlessly as she tooled across Fuu Street towards the Akakawa Park.

A man ran up behind her. She could hear him breathing before she saw him. As he whizzed past her, she saw the blonde hair and the pinkish yet fair skin, and she knew immediately that the guy was an American, and he'd just zoomed by in his New York version of "eat my dust"(or "suck my soot"). Sango usually saw his people out on the street with her and the others, and one of their greatest characteristics was show-offism, when she and the other locals thought of running not a race, but a raison. No competition. No marathon. Just simple running with everybody else as some way to have both the fun and company. She was used to the smart-alecks, but today, she felt the blood-rush of disdain, and sent knives with her eyes into Speedy Yankee's ass.

Face red, knees aching and muscles crying, Sango pounded along the tulip path towards Chiharu Piers and the two-mile mark, looking across the Akakawa at the city on the other side. She started to loosen up, emotionally, too, as if logging miles justified her consumption of oxygen, as if physical exertion were the way to pay rent for being alive.

A female jogger ran toward her. She was huffing and puffing, way out of shape. They acknowledged each other as they ran by, not smiling exactly, just a half second of eye contact. Sango wondered if Huff Puff was freshly out of a relationship. She had a tendency to slack off on the thrice-weekly run when in the early stages of a new love. When the relationship ended, she'd be right back out here, burning off her sexual frustration, one step at a time. Sango appreciated the irony of it. She was in excellent shape when she had no one to admire her freakishly overdeveloped calf muscles. Sango admired them herself, standing with her back to a full-length mirror, on her tiptoes to make the muscles pop. She would think, I don't have love, but at least I have these.

A tiny dog on a leash ran alongside an older man on rollerblades. As he rolled by, his eyes locked on the movement under Sango's sports bra. Fact is, no amount of Lycra in the world would keep her size 36Bs in place. She had bounce. And often, nipple burn. Sango fixed band-aids over her nipples for long runs. Sango flashed back to her longest run, two summers ago, on vacation with Kisho in the tiny town of Sapporo, Hokkaido. She'd gone thirteen miles, a half marathon. It took two-and-a-half hours. All that chaffing caused the band of her sports bra to cut horizontal, long gashes on the underside of her breasts. When she'd limped back to the B&B, she found him on a hammock under a pine tree, a beer resting on his belly.

"Was it the thrill of victory, or the agony of defeat?" he'd asked her.

Sango answered, "The agony of victory."

Along with the sports bra injury, her legs were shot. She was sunburned and dehydrated.

Kisho, who avoided exercise like employment, replied, "You need to figure out what you're running from, Sango."

"I'm not running from anything." Sango had told him. "I think of it as "What am I running toward"?"

He took a slug of beer. "Toward the hospital for emergency knee surgery."

How he loved his own jokes, Sango remembered, though not quite that fondly, as she trudged up to the field house at the Chiharu Piers and turned around for the return portion of the run. The way back was always easier. She made that her mantra as she ran back home. Back to the dossier. Back to the men of her past, so that she might have a future.

Daisuke Ishida
Married: March 1998
Wife: Madoka Kagayami, vice president of development at Viacom
Children: Tohru(aka Toh-chan), eighteen months
Address/phone: 322 Nishi 19th Street; 0378783254CW
Profession: Seiyuu of Pochi the Lemming, Tama the Weasel and P-chan the Sloth for anime series Coincaptor Sakuya on NHK

Sango looked up from the pages of the dossier. "A lemming, a weasel, and a sloth. Perfect for Daisuke."

She sat at her kitchen table, freshly showered, with a towel twisted in her hair, the dossier of exes open before her. She read on.

Reason for breaking up with Sango(verbatim): "When we first started dating, I fell in love with Sango instantly. Her kindness and generosity were irresistible. But she brought out the worst in me. For one thing, she drank too much. I had to keep up with her Consuming so much alcohol gave me unsettling psychological symptoms. I blamed myself for everything--bad weather, the stock market crash, dishes in the sink, my failure as an actor and a man. I had crying jags about a delayed pizza delivery. It was pathetic."

Sango looked up from the dossier for the second time, a skeptical frown lining her face. "He had to keep up with me?"

For every sip of wine she had, he'd thrown back two shots of tequila. She'd never spent as much time in bars before or since her relationship with him.

And the dishes in the sink were his fault.

When did you realize the relationship was over?(verbatim): "After six months, Sango started acting strangely. She'd clean the apartment, pay all the bills. She wore lingerie constantly, and developed a candle fetish. She gave me daily blow jobs; all of it, she said, to make me happy. But the more she did for me, the unhappier I felt. I sank into helplessness and depression. I think my mental paralysis made her feel superior. She was a classic enabler. Sango made it easy for me to be a failure. If I hadn't ended the relationship, she would have ruined me. I didn't want to break up, I had to. And I was miserable about it. I cried for a week after."

So he told Kagome about the hummers, Sango thought, vaguely embarassed.

Every morning, before she left for work, she brought Daisuke a cup of coffee and gave him head. And still he dumped her! Apparently, that was why he dumped her. She hadn't realized that daily blow jobs were the cause of their undoing. Daisuke had clearly had some therapy since she'd known him(to wit, "mental paralysis", "enabler"), but not nearly enough.

Soggy bastard. Good riddance.

She flipped to another page in the dossier.

Hiroya Kanzaki
Married: November 2000
Wife: Satsuki Michiharu, a ballerina for the ABT
Children: Tomoko, three; Ai, one
Address/phone: 85 Aki Street; 2125552453JV

Mere blocks away, thought Sango.

A jolt of her nerves up her spine, she imagined running into him on Momoiro Street, how awful that would be. He'd say, "You haven't changed a bit," while he stood there with his neat little family. Maybe that wasn't such a flattering line after all. Maybe it was just flat.

Profession: Collage artist, on retainer with the Tsukime Gallery, Higashi 57th Street
Reason for breaking up with Sango: "Sango and I fell in love almost instantly. We had incredible passion. But Sango did not stimulate me intellectually. She didn't understand my art, nor my obsession with it. As a man, I'm driven to make my mark on the world. My art is the way I can leave a trace of my existence behind when I die. Sango didn't care about that, didn't understand me. She tried. Probably harder than most women would have bothered to. But taking her to art shows was like escorting a kindergartner to Henry V. And having to explain everything robbed me of enriching experiences. She just didn't get art. Very frustrating."

True, she thought.

But who would "get" why a piece of canvas pelted with raw egg and coffee grinds with the word "soap" smeared in lipstick in the corner was worth 560000 yen? Or why a plastic sculpture of a penis with a big smiley face and false eyelashes was considered "genius" by Art Forum magazine?

She and Hiroya did have volcanic sex. He could go for hours, flipping her around the bed like a pancake. And he was loud. Moaning and grunting with each thrust like a sweaty tennis player.

When did you know the relationship was over?: "After about six months, Sango attempted to paint in oils, a still life of a sakura tree. It was ghastly. She wanted to discuss her progress. Get tips from me on style. I was torn between honesty and compassion. I lied to her. Told her it was brilliant. I hated myself for lying, and realized that a life with Sango would always be about compromise. In turn, I started to find her every word repulsive. I had to end it. I still found her attractive. Breaking up was a sacrifice. But she no longer inspired me. Except, you know, when having sex."

Attractive yet repulsive. Maybe Sango should have that engraved on her tombstone. He'd wanted a relationship to inspire him to greatness, and she'd wanted an inspiring, great relationship. She could see why they were doomed. Sango remembered, in the weeks after that breakup, smashing her sakura tree painting. That had felt good. Why hadn't Sango picked up on Hiroya's conceit? Maybe the warning bells were drowned out by the grunts and moans, screaming his own name when he came.

Prick bastard. Good riddance.

She turned the page.

Haru Eikichi
Married: August 2002
Wife: Natsumi Hatsuharu, stay-home mom
Children: Mo-chan, two, twins Ga-chan and Ko-chan, one

He'd named his kids Mo-chan, Ga-chan and Ko-chan. This Natsumi must be either the most acquiescent woman on the planet, or she was severely impaired, thought Sango.

Address/phone: 543 Goten Street, Sendai; 7185558512SE
Profession: Owner of Little Peanuts Clothing Store, 543 Goten Street, Sendai

He worked and lived in the same building, the wife at home with three babies. Sango smiled to herself. When Haru had ended it, he said he wanted to see the world, not be tied down.

Reason for breaking up with Sango: "I loved Sango, even when I ended it. But I had to do it. She turned me into a freak. I developed a one-track mind. I used to be a contractor, and I'd pound nails and think of Sango. I'd use the power drill, and think of Sango. I'd polish wood and think of Sango. I guess it's fair to say that our relationship was sexually based."

She scoffed at that. It might have been for Haru. Sango considered him the worst lover of the bunch. He fucked with the imagination of a hammer--a ball-peen hammer. He continued:

"Sango was my first long-term girlfriend, and she taught me some stuff. It was so exciting. I started thinking about sex 24/7. She turned me into a walking hard-on. I had an erection twenty hours a day."

So this was her error? Granted, she could see how a perpetual erection might be painful. And embarassing. Especially on a job site, with the other guys, pounding nails, power drilling, etc.

When did you know the relationship was over?: "After about six months, I started fantasizing about every woman I saw. Making comments to women who walked by on the street. "Nice ass." "Shake your tits." "Suck my cock." I'd grab myself. I got really turned on when a woman would look at me with contempt. I started stalking girls on the subway. I'd follow them around the platform, stand too close to them on the train. I knew it was bad. I disgusted myself. And I blamed Sango. She brought out the worst in me. I had to get away from her. I started thinking about moving to Nagoya. But then I realized I could just break up with her instead. Three months of celibacy got my head on straight. And then I was fixed-up with my wife, who only has sex with me once a week, on Saturday night. It's much better this way."

Sango closed the dossier. She'd had no idea that Haru was a stalker pervert.

Twisted bastard. Riddance, better than good.

Okay, she analyzed. Some common themes. 1)They all fell quickly, 2)Six months had been the turning point, 3)The act of kindness, generosity and interest brought out the worst in them--or they blamed her for it, regardless if she was really to blame, and 4)Each was better off without her.

Sango thought of Kagome's explanation, that after they'd broken up with her, the guilt set in(blaming her for their own problems, she assumed), and the rebuilding of each man's romantic aspirations upon the foundation of Sango's own model of kindness, generosity and interest.

How did that work? She had to know. Having read their words, Sango did not want to speak to Hiroya again, and definitely not Haru. She might unleash his public masturbator tendencies. How had she missed that he was a freak? And then Sango came to common theme 5): She hadn't realized that Hiroya was a prick, that Haru was a fornicating sicko, or that Daisuke was a loser. She hadn't been paying much attention at all, had she? And yet, she'd given these men years of her life.

It was all so very depressing. Sango remembered one of Rin's little pick-me-ups: When feeling blue, call someone bluer.

The idea was that his or her depression will make one feel superior. Exactly what Daisuke had accused her of doing. She never thought she'd felt that way before. But she might as well see if it worked.

Sango flipped through the dossier, and found his number.

She dialed. One ring, two. And then, "Moshi-moshi?"

"Daisuke?" she began. "It's Sango Fuyuzuki."

"Kami, Sango. Sango!" he exclaimed upon hearing her name. "I'm so glad you called! I hoped you would! I'm so touched to hear from you! I can't tell you...the emotions...!"

And then the big pussy started blubbering. Sango held the phone away from her ear. She couldn't stand to listen. He might have gotten himself a wife and a job, but he still didn't have a grip.

"I can make a man cry in four words."

He sniffed. "I'm sorry, Sango. I've had these feelings about you for so long, and I've never gotten to express them. The release is...too much..."

Kami, not again!

New blast of sobbing. Sango hoped she hadn't seemed as pathetic when she cried to Kagome. Kagome had taken pity on her. She should do the same for Daisuke. She really should. Raising the receiver to her ear again, she spoke to him in a firm tone.

"Daisuke. Pull yourself together. We broke up a million years ago. Before sliced bread, and flush toilets. When dinosaurs ruled the Earth!"

"I can't remember the last time I cried like this!" he told her between hiccups.

"It was probably the last time we saw each other."

"Hey, you're right!" he realized. "I guess hearing your voice was like pulling a trigger."

On the gun she wished were pointed at her head. Sango decided suddenly that maybe she didn't need to have this conversation after all. She would go back to blissful ignorance.

"Listen. I'm glad we finally reconnected." she told him. "I've got a kettle on. The buzzer just rang. My bathtub is running over."

"Don't hang up!" he cried at once, pleading. "Give me ten minutes!"

Sango sighed. "I gave you a year."

"And what did I give you?"

That made her pause to think. What had he given her?

Daisuke continued. "I'll tell you what I gave you: nothing. I used you up and threw you aside. And the whole time, I was conscious of what a bastard I was being." he sounded sincere about it.

"I was about to say that we had fun together." she told him. Many of their bar nights had been howlers.

"Yeah, we did have fun." he agreed. "We were young and stupid. And in love. We were fun. But we never fit. You must have known. You acted like you did. The morning blow jobs, doing my dishes, even cleaning up my puke."

"I did those things out of love." she said and frowned. Had she really cleaned up his puke?

Daisuke disagreed. "You did them out of desperation. To keep our relationship going, even when we were obviously wrong for each other. It was all wrenching for me."

"If the blow jobs were painful, your orgasms must have been excruciating."

He paused, but he didn't laugh. "I'm trying to explain myself, Sango. Breaking up with you was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I want you to know, I need you to know, that I did it for you."

Echoes of Kouga Sueyoshi.

Sango shook her head. "I don't get it."

She took care of him for a year, was his personal maid, cheerleader, and hand-holder. He ended it without warning, no net, and Sango was supposed to be grateful?

He went on. "You never would have ended it, so I had to. You probably would have catered to me for the rest of your life. I could have let you, but the guilt got to me. I wouldn't have cleaned up your puke, Sango. I was a jerk. Now, with the baby, I change shitty diapers. I get puked on. And I love it. I can see the appeal of taking care of someone else, the way you took care of me. I didn't deserve you, Sango. We both knew it. But you wanted to get married so badly that you would have married me. You didn't really want me? How could you have? After we brok up, I vowed to make myself worthy. And then I met Madoka. Her influence turned me into the woman I didn't want to marry."

"You mean me?" Sango asked.

"That's right." he answered, now soothened by their talk. "I became selfless."

"Selfless?"

"Giving," he added, "instead of taking."

"And now...your life is perfect." she guessed.

He nodded in certainty over the phone. "Pretty much."

"So your advice to me," she went on, "is to become a lesbian, because my giving, selfless style plays well with the ladies."

"You understand!" he replied.

"Thanks for the insight."

"Don't thank me." he told her.

"I take it back."

"A burden has been lifted." he said to her. "I am at peace."

Sango agreed. "Me too."

"Truly?" he asked. "Have I really helped you?"

Thinking about it, she answered, "More than you know."

She hung up, genuinely at peace, and resolved. The conversation with Daisuke had shown her the light. Sango wouldn't date or be dumped by another Daisuke or Hiroya or Haru or Kouga. She wouldn't be selfless and giving and more than these men deserved.

Daisuke had said it explicitly: "We didn't fit."

Tokyo men would never fit. And Sango was finished with them.

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