Author's Note: Requested by and written for Lexaii, thank you for being so awesome all the time!
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha. I do not profit from this story.
This story takes place between Chapter 11: Nothing and You and Chapter 14: Her and Time. It is Kagome's "After", from the story You and I.
After
The Us!Verse
Kagome cries. She doesn't know when she'll stop, doesn't know when this empty feeling is ever going to leave her. It breaks her in two, tears her up inside. What was she thinking? Why did she do this in the first place?
She needs help. She needs it.
Inuyasha walked out of that door five minutes ago and Kagome is still there, broken. How did she get here?
There are too many questions and not enough answers. Kagome sits up and takes three deep breaths. They don't help but that's not important.
It's the fact that she's trying.
She dresses.
Sango Houko is brilliant, beautiful and completely unaware. She's exactly the kind of woman that Kagome didn't expect when the administrator of the help centre said a therapist would come in. It's pro bono work or something to that effect. Kagome doesn't understand the details, doesn't know why anyone would go out of their way to help people like her.
Sango shakes her hand like Kagome's not just a prostitute, like she's not worth about the same as the dirt stuck between the treads of her running shoes. And that's what she's wearing – running shoes.
Don't therapists make a lot?
"Your parents left you?"
Kagome nods, feeling her throat tighten. This is the fifth time she's almost burst out crying because she's never, ever, felt so vulnerable before. So exposed.
No one knew about how her family literally left her at some doorstep, promising to come back only to…not. Maybe they forgot. Maybe it was hard to remember things like your own children.
Sango doesn't write anything down. In fact, she doesn't touch the notepad that's on the desk to the therapist's left. "They were terrible people, Kagome. You're not worthless. It was their fault."
It doesn't feel that way.
By the third session, Kagome feels better. Not much, but she doesn't dread meetings, doesn't force away tears that threaten to come. Sango hands her Kleenex, listens to her with compassion. She's always diligent – and she always says the same thing.
"You're not worthless."
"What makes you say that every time?" Kagome asks, feeling frustrated and angry. Sometimes she wonders if Sango is blind. Maybe deaf.
"I know worthless," Sango whispers. "Kagome, you survived. You were handed with shit and you dealt with it. You never hurt anyone, or belittled anyone, killed anyone. You care. That makes you worth everything."
"I don't know love." Kagome hears the words, flinches, but doesn't want to take them back. So many sessions and she's starting to learn.
Sango leans forward. "Why do you say that?"
She pauses. Thinks. "Who have I had to love?" Kagome asks. "Isn't sex supposed to represent it, that bond or love or passion for someone? Because what I did wasn't that." Never.
"It doesn't always, you're right. Sex can merely be physical," Sango says gently. "But why don't you think you know love?"
"There may have been a chance for me. Before." Kagome breathes. "I threw it away."
This wasn't working. It couldn't be because her mind was yelling and her heart was breaking.
This wasn't real.
But Kagome sits there on the cold asphalt. Terrified.
It had gotten bad. Of course it had. She couldn't really believe getting therapy would be the fix. It wasn't. The money ran dry.
And she didn't make it.
Her throat hurts. It's been awhile. Her bottom lip bleeds – her own nervous doing.
When she sees Sango, she breaks down right then and there. Sobbing. Wrecked.
And instead of handing her Kleenex, Sango sits besides her and holds her while she cries.
She was on the streets a total of two nights since then, and never more. She didn't think about those nights. Refused to.
She has to move on.
Sango's helping. Miroku – a friend of hers – knows some people who may provide opportunities. She doesn't hold her breath, but a small part of her prays. And dreams. And wishes so goddamn much it hurts.
The precious little money she has left is budgeted to extremes. She eats virtually nothing. She remains at the shelter, never asking for more. She fights everyday.
Kagome will die before she goes back to the streets.
It isn't big, or climatic, or anything of that sort. Kagome merely can't move, frozen and unwilling to make a sound.
She heard wrong.
It wasn't real.
But Sango stares at her with big magenta eyes. Miroku smiles at her encouragingly, hand out. It's a deal he's making. A good one. One where only she can benefit and he just gets pride from the work he's done.
Kagome doesn't think it's enough – it would never be enough.
The job is part-time with the chances for full later on. If she proves herself. If she tries.
This is everything to her.
It takes her two years. She finally does it.
Sango hugs her tightly, cheering. It's unprofessional but Kagome knows their professional relationship is turning into more. Miroku ruffles her hair like a child. Kagome can't complain.
It's incredibly small. The bed actually drops down from the wall to provide more space, but there's a desk and a chair and a tiny area with a fridge.
It's all hers.
With an address she has chances. She has opportunities and grants and money that she can get because she now has an address to fill in on the forms.
She has hope.
Kagome works everyday and enjoys it. Her manager notices, always encouraging her. It gives Kagome the chance to move on with her life. The chance to be something more than she ever was.
It's terrifying as much as it's thrilling. She's never exceeded at something. Never put her heart into something.
There's only one regret in her life. Sango slowly helped her deal with her past, embracing it and realizing her struggles were not for nothing. She was a survivor. She did what she had to.
Inuyasha was her only what if. Her only regret.
And then he walks in.
Feedback is, as always, much appreciated.