InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Last Girlfriend ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ 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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Sango Fuyuzuki, age thirty-two, could make a man come, but she couldn't make him stay. And she'd been complaining about her predicament to her only friend Rin Tachikawa, who would just shut up and listen to her friend, but refused to say anything on her behalf. Sango figured she might not have had a decent helpful piece of advice to offer to her long-time and one-and-only best friend that would've made perfect sense, or it was perhaps only because she couldn't share the same problems with her that she couldn't help at all, with the exception of the toning lotions and other body products she'd bring with her in case Sango switched to depressed mode with herself. And that made it quite clear to her that only the problematic would be able to fix themselves. She, herself, had to do something.

Unfortunately, she didn't have a clue herself.

Sango unlocked her apartment door and stepped into her bedroom, dropping her purse on the bed. Just then, the phone rang, and she grabbed the receiver.

"Moshi-moshi?" she inquired.

"Sango?"

She clicked the off button at once, a panicked expression on her face. She knew who that was. Her recent boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend Kouga. He had called out of the blue. Sango tried to give herself three seconds to scramble for a good opening line before he called back. Something breezy, and casual. But all she could come up with was, "You bastard, you ruined my life."

She was surprised that the usual Pavlovian pretraumatic stress syndrome symptoms that usually took over her body at times like this--tight chest, shaky hands, constricted breathing, skin flush to a capillary-popping red--haven't kicked in yet. She felt eerily calm, actually, now that the wait was over. Then the phone rang again. She took a deep breath. And picked up the receiver once more.

"Moshi-moshi?" she asked, exhaling sexily.

"Sango, it's Kouga. Something's wrong with your phone. I got cut off. And you sound nasal."

"Kouga! What a surprise. How long has it been? A month?" she asked with relish.

"Over three, actually."

"That long?" she asked, as if marveling the flight of time.

The morning of the breakup, he'd promised to call her that night. She never called him, not once, which was a show of strength that would fill her with dignity until the day she died. She had buckled a few times, sending him artfully terse and transparently neutral just-checking-in e-mails. Kouga would respond a day later, a week later, with a few sentences--no capitalization or punctuation--if at all. Lazy, lying bastard. Sango should tell him to go fuck himself. She should make herself proud.

"I need to see you. Tonight." he continued over the phone.

It was eight on a Thursday in April, unseasonably hot for springtime in Tokyo.

"Where's the fire?" she asked, having a pretty good idea where.

"I've been thinking about you constantly." he answered. "I have things to say, face-to-face. I can't go another night without seeing you."

Sango couldn't be anymore willing than to agree to his request of meeting one another after for so long, but she knew she had to be stiff, to test how much he wanted her back. She had to be ruthless, and play hard-to-get.

"Can't."

"You have plans?" he asked.

"No."

"Early day tomorrow?"

"No."

"Making a show of strength that will fill you with dignity until the day you die?" he asked all too-knowingly.

He sure knows me that well now. Sango thought to herself.

Kouga had paused, and then he said shortly, "I hope you and your dignity will be very happy together. I'll let you go..."

That was it? No more pleading, spilling blood while screaming her name and tearing his shirt?

"Giving up so easily? You've got a lot to learn about groveling."

"Please see me." he seemed urgent now. "I'm begging. I'm supplicating...wait, I need to find the thesaurus."

"Meet me at Eiko no Taku in twenty minutes." she said. "And don't be late."

She'd wait long enough for him already.

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Eiko no Taku was a bistro in the corner storefront of Sango's building on Momoiro Street. The restaurant had six tables and a tiny bar. Once featured in one magazine as the smallest three-star restaurant in Tokyo, Eiko no Taku was, if not an A-list destination, a B plus. Sango had never eaten there. They didn't take reservations, and it was impossible to get a table before five o'clock. But the bar--cramped, poorly stocked--usually had a vacancy. Sango had spent many cocktail hours at that bar, with a friend or a novel.

With a glance in her mirror at her new bangs, which she hated, Sango ran downstairs to the bistro. She wanted to get one drink in her before Kouga showed up. She needed to calm her nerves. The bar was in the rear of the bistro. She had to squeeze between tables, apologizing the diners as she jostled their chairs. She sat on a vacant stool, draping her jean jacket on the one to her left.

The bartender was new. The bartender was always new. This month's model was, most definitely, a model. Lean and young, he had a chiseled chin, speckled with stubble, and perfectly chunky bangs.

"How do you get your bangs to behave? Hours of private training? Is there a school for bangs I should know about?"

The bartender nodded, as if he didn't speak her language. "What can I get you?"

No accent, nor sense of humor.

"Whiskey sour."

"Out of sour mix." he replied just as blandly.

"White Russian?" she asked.

"Out of milk."

"Vodka martini?"

"Out of olives."

"I'll take it."

"As you wish."

Sango found that oddly comforting. Receiving her cocktail, she checked her watch. Five minutes more. She sipped and examined the couples at dinner. The tables were set up for two. According to most, Eiko no Taku was "an ideal date destination". Six couples had come for a night of romantic food and romantic ambience. A married couple in the corner, their rings visible, talked loudly about an upcoming vacation. Another couple held hands across the table, gazing intently at each other as if they were in a cult of two. Sango picked up her martini glass and drank her vodka.

They will do it tonight, she thought.

Ordinarily, a happy couple as such, in the shameless adoration of new love, would have been too painful for her to behold. But tonight, Sango surveyed them with hope.

I will do it tonight.

Forget caution. What was the point of denying herself? If Kouga was sufficiently contrite, if he'd learned his lesson, meaculpaed and beat his chest, why shouldn't she bring him upstairs? Let him demonstrate his contrition by giving her a two-hour tongue bath?

Sango crossed her legs, eyes drifting from the moonie couple and settling on another pair. On the surface, they seemed made for each other. Same stylishness, quotient, age, and ethnic background. Same size head. But the stiff-backed tension and fidgety handling of forks told the very short story of their relationship: a first date that would not lead to a second. Sango and Kouga had had both the glassy-eyed attraction of the moonies at table two as well as the superficial compatibility of the couple at table three. They'd practically lived together for a year. With centuries of time-honored tradition at her back, Sango wanted to take their relationship forward. To get married, have kids, talk excitedly in restaurants about upcoming vacations, like the couple at table one.

She unfurled her vision of their future on New Year's Day, the morning after their boozy crawl through bars toasting to 2005 and each other. Despite the simplicity(and the banality) of the idea, Kouga was shocked by her suggestion, as if he'd asked him to commit murder for her, not commit to marriage with her. If that was what she truly wanted, he wouldn't stand in her way. She'd stood in his, begging him not to desert her on New Year's Day. Kouga waited until the crack of dawn on January 2.

His call tonight could only mean one thing. He'd changed his mind about marriage. Otherwise, why bother meeting at all?

"Another round?" asked the bartender. "Same thing, or something different this time?"

Sango was stumped for an answer.

Just then, the door opened, street noise filtering into the room. Sango turned and saw Kouga Sueyoshi framed in the doorway. He looked the same. Tall, confident, sloppy yet wolfish smile. Her months of loneliness, self-blame and anger were instantly forgotten. Sango smiled as he made his way to her, each polished "forgive me" as he squeezed between the tables seemed directed at her, not the diners. When he finally got to the bar, he put both arms around her waist and lifted her off of her stool in an embrace that emptied her lungs.

"You look gorgeous." he said to her.

She was still wearing her jeans and T-shirt from work. Not exactly the height of glamour. But Kouga had always admired her low-key style. Little did he know that she had agonized over her jeans choices, her T-shirts cost 4480 yen apiece, her skin tone was achieved with three types of foundation and she was forever laboring to add volume in her straight, dark-brown hair.

"I like the bangs." he added.

Sango smiled. "I like the suit."

It was black, three-button, absolutely brand-new.

"Picked it out myself." he gave her his trademark wolfish grin.

"I'd like to see it on the floor of my bedroom." she winked seductively.

At once, the wolf-grin vanished from his face, and he cleared his throat before asking, "Can we have a drink first? Catch up?"

He'd been in such a hurry to talk. Now he was stalling?

He must be nervous. she thought. A glass of confidence ought to take care of that.

He ordered a martini, and another for her.

"You must be working a lot." he said.

Spring. Her busiest time of the year.

"I'm doing the atrium of the Conde Nast building."

Sango being an interior landscape designer, it was also a fancy way to say "indoor gardener".

"Bird of Paradise?" Kouga asked.

"Kami, no." she cringed. "All lilies, all the time. Next week, sakura branches. How about you?"

"Can't complain." he said, chin out. Kouga was a talent agent at CAA for animals. "Doing a licensing deal for the winner of the Hanagata Dog Show."

"A poodle?" she asked. Wild guess.

"Mastiff." he corrected her. "Takuya from Sekigahara. Oversized tartan collars, doggie coats and scarves."

The bartender brought their olive-free drinks. Sango sipped quickly. Two minutes had been about enough catching up for her. She was ready to put the misery of the winter behind her.

Kouga must have sensed her impatience.

"I want to apologize for the way I treated you when we broke up." he dove in. "It's been bothering me for a while. I never wanted to hurt you."

"I never wanted you to hurt me either." she responded.

He smiled feebly, sincerity now coming over his features. "I was an idiot, Sango. You were devoted, loving, and supportive. Everything I could have asked for, and more. But you blindsided me with the marriage talk. I was hungover. I couldn't make decisions in that condition. You looked at me like you would hate me if I said no. I couldn't give you the answer you wanted, and it didn't seem fair to string you along."

She nodded vigorously. "I told Rin that your dumping me was an act of sacrificial love."

"And what did she say?"

"She cursed your name and spat on the sidewalk." she smiled sympathetically.

"Oh." though he grinned, he seemed disturbed by that.

"You were saying how you broke up with me for my own good." she prompted. "How, at the time, marriage was a repellent..."

"Right." he paused to drain his glass. "Marriage was a repellent then. But now, the idea of sharing a life, making a legal partnership, having children, teaching them values and growing together as a family seems like a grand idea. Otherwise, what are we doing? Killing time? Making money? For what? What's it all about, Sango? I'm not asking you to answer that. But I've been asking myself about this stuff from the moment we broke up. I really missed you that first month."

"Just the first month?" she asked.

For Sango, the earliest days weren't too horrific. She'd been through breakups before. Every woman in her thirties in Tokyo had one or two dozen relationships that, in hindsight, were thought of as learning experiences. But as the weeks without Kouga piled up, the loneliness grabbed Sango by the neck. The empty apartment, the zero messages on voice mail, the sexual frustration stretched taut, pushing her dangerously close to the excruciating snap of fortitude, the deadly fusing of insecurity and bitterness. Any woman who'd had her share of learning experience can attest, the insecure/bitterness combo could suck the sould right out of you.

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me." Kouga continued.

She put her hand on his knee, eyes damp.

"Do go on." she urged him.

"You showed me everything I know about how to be caring and supportive. It took a while for me to get it. But I have. For the first time, I'm ready to take the next step."

"And the next step is?" she asked with bated breath. Could it be what she was thinking?

"Marriage, of course." he was beaming. His wolfish smile returned to his face like melted butter.

Sango's heart began to beat hard against her chest as she ogled at him with a mixture of awe, surprise, and undescribable joy.

"I can't believe this is happening...!" she breathed. She could almost feel the butterflies in her stomach.

"You've got magical transformative powers, Sango." he went on, his hands clasping hers. "I couldn't see it up close. I had to get distance." "Forest, trees, I understand completely!" Sango said to him, the happiness evident in her face. "You are so fucking hot!"

She got off her stool and reached for him, lips ready to make up. To her surprise, he held her back and said, "There's someone I want you to meet."

"Someone...okay." she said. Was he referring to the shrink who'd helped him see the light? "I'll meet anyone you want."

"I mean now." he told her.

"Now, as in now?" she asked, baffled.

"I'll be right back."

He rose and maneuvered his way around the tables, dashing out of the restaurant.

What the hell was going on? she wondered, rightfully confused and a bit annoyed that he'd bring another person into the privacy of their reunion. This was a party for two, and Sango had no idea who else Kouga would want to invite.

Sango watched the door, still confused.

"Is your friend coming back?" the bartender asked her.

"I think so." it wasn't possible that he'd run out on her again, was it?

"He owes me for the drinks."

Reaching into her pants pocket, Sango found a thousand-yen bill and put it on the bar. "Did you hear all that?"

"What?"

"He said he wanted to get married, and then ran out."

The bartender shrugged. "Do you want another martini?"

Sango turned to look at him with exasperation. "You are the worst bartender in Tokyo. You're supposed to eavesdrop on people's conversations and then, if asked, be ready to offer intelligent and insightful advice."

"Do you want another drink or not?"

The woman sighed. "I'm good, thanks."

Kouga reentered the bar. And he was tugging a woman by the wrist. She was in her mid-thirties, wearing a skirt suit plucked off the racks of Strawberry's. Tan hose, white shoes, chunky gold jewelry. Her hair was a flaming red tied back in a ponytail, just as Kouga had done with his own jet-black hair. Her make-up was also overdone. She looked cheap.

They pushed their way to the bar. Kouga smiled. "Sango, this is Ayame Hashimoto."

Sango greeted her warmly, looking to Kouga for further explanation.

Ayame looked her up and down like a scanner, and said, "So you're the woman who transformed Kouga."

"I am?" she asked, pointing to herself.

Kouga and Ayame laughed merrily at her confusion.

"You're the one who made him want to get married!" Ayame told her happily.

Kouga turned blissful, icy-blue eyes to Sango, explaining, "I met Ayame two months ago at a trade show."

He turned towards the redhead at his side, flashing her a moonie smile. Ayame returned it, kissed him on the cheek, then wiped away the smear of orange-red lipstick with her thumb.

"We've been inseparable ever since." she added. "We're going to be married in June. But I insisted that before we plan the wedding, Kouga had to thank you for what you've done."

He looked at his former girlfriend with much gratitude. "Arigatou, Sango."

"You're welcome?" it sounded more like a question rather than a proper response as she stared at them both. Her heart had resumed its normal pace, and the butterflies died in her stomach, leaving her feeling empty. And unloved.

"Don't be so modest, Sango-chan!" Ayame told her, not noticing the look on the other woman's face. "Kouga said that if it weren't for you, he'd never have been ready to take the next step."

"I am ready, Ayame." he whispered huskily to her.

"Oh, baby." she smiled slyly at him in return.

And then they kissed, open mouths and drool combined.

Sango dearly wished their next step was off a cliff. Mustering her dignity(for which she'd be proud of until her dying day), she muttered, "I think I'm going to be sick."

She gathered her jacket and bag and stood to flee. Ayame's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"I was hoping you would arrange the bouquets at my wedding. Kouga says you're a gifted florist."

"I'm not a florist." Sango told her, clearly irritated. "I'm an interior landscape designer."

"But you can do bouquets?"

"I'm on an extended vacation." she said quickly, and flatly.

"You just said you were working at Conde Nast." said Kouga.

Sango had had enough. She refused to make bouquets of bellflowers, roses and orchids, which were an insult to her pride if she was ever requested to do so. "When my schedule clears, I'm going out of town. For weeks. Maybe months. I'm going to the Bahamas. The thing is," she added, taking a breath to calm herself down, "I won the lottery."

Ayame clapped her hands in excitement. "Congratulations!"

"Doumo." Sango's tone was now curt, and apparently, she wanted this conversation to end now.

"I'm glad Kouga cleared the books with you." said Ayame proudly.

"If only he'd swept the ashes." Sango gave him a mournful look.

Ayame blinked. "Swept the ashes?"

"If only he'd slept with me one more time."

Ayame's thin lips, despite the amount of lipstick, formed a red-rimmed O.

Kouga laughed nervously and said quickly, "She's kidding, honey. I told you, Sango has a bizarre sense of humor!"

The future Mrs. Kouga Sueyoshi patted Sango on the shoulder and sang, "Good luck with the rest of your life!"

Then she happily herded Kouga out of the restaurant, leaving the lonely woman to watch after their retreating backs, an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, her face now a mask of forlornness.

The bartender put a fresh martini in front of her. "On the house."

"You might have a future in bartending after all."

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Moshi-moshi - Hello; used for answering the phone

Arigatou - Thank you

Doumo - Another equivalent of saying "Thank you"; part of the phrase "Doumo arigatou", which is used to show courtesy

A/N:Well, what did you think? Does it appeal to your liking? Please R&R!