Abandoned, an inuyasha fanfic

A/N: I know, I know, I should be posting the next chapter of Blood of the Innocent, but I just sat down and wrote this instead. I've never written something like this before, so it might be… odd.

Beta Read by: Banana Rum

I'm awake again. I look around me. Good, they're asleep. Ignorant fools.

It's good they haven't noticed. I've been doing it for a month now. I rarely sleep. I do it at night. I love the adrenaline rush, although I'm awake until dawn.

I climb out of my sleeping bag. It has stains. I should clean it.

I walk a good distance away, and look under a knotted old bush. I breathe a sigh of relief. It's still there, from when I left it before going to sleep.

I pull it out. It glints in the moonlight. It has evidence of blood stains.

My arm is extended in front of me. I push the knife down into my skin, and the bright blood gushes out. It doesn't hurt. I watch with satisfaction.

The knife is slipped into my pajamas. I walk back and lay down. The stars are bright, even through the canopy of branches.

My heart's beating so fast. It drums against my chest. I'm breathing quickly. But that's normal. It makes me happy.

We're walking down yet another road. A man is laying in the middle, injured. No one asks why. As we walk by, my companions stare at me.

Why should I help him? He's not important. I want to scream. But I don't.

He looks up, pain clouding his vision. I notice the arrows in his back. He collapses. He's dead.

My friends talk about "proper burials" and "family." So what? Those arrows look sharp. Perfect.

As they argue a couple feet away, looking towards the mountains, I discreetly jerk an arrow out and put it in my backpack. Just in case.

He's staring at me again. He seems concerned. Ha. He could care less what happens to me.

I shrug it off and lay down to sleep. I'm not tired. Go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep, I silently tell everyone.

Finally. I get up and retrieve the arrow. Half of it has broken; luckily I have the razor-sharp tip.

She's nearby. She walks to me. Go away. You can have him. Go.

She yanks the arrow out of my hands. I protest. It's mine. You can't have it.

She's talking to me. What are you saying? I want to scream, to yell, to kill. But I can't.

She smiles, cruelly, and the arrow disintegrates. Not fair. It's mine.

Suddenly she's gone. I fall, my face pressed into the dirt. I have no strength.

And he's lifting me up, and scolding me gently. And I let him carry me back, but there's no feeling like before. Only numbness.

I'm tired now.

We're walking and I'm falling asleep standing up. No one notices.

I'm swaying, and there's blood. Is it mine?

No, it can't be. It's never happened in the middle of the day.

Who's blood is it?

They're gone. There's blackness, a cool, unfeeling void of dark. Can I stay here?

My eyes are open, and he's there again. Shaking me, talking urgently. I try to swat him away. I want to go back to the blackness.

He won't let me go. I'm hoisted onto my feet, stumbling after him. He's not even helping me. I protest. He looks annoyed.

It's become a routine. The knife slides in, slides out. Easy. No pain. Just relief.

Tonight there's sharpness. The blood burbles, hissing. Mocking me.

Ow! Ow!. It hurts. A lot. End please end please.

I clutch my arm, and the blood seeps through my fingers. I scream.

He's here, yelling at me. He sounds angry. What did I do?

What's he saying? Hate? Me? Pathetic. What?

We're back with them. They too are looking strange. Do they care?

They're avoiding me.

I'm near them, but feel a mile away. No one talks.

My arm is covered with thick bandages. I put them on myself. No one offered to help me.

When his brother abruptly comes, demanding his sword again, it's almost a relief to see them battle.

So strong…

The ground is pock-marked with holes made by their swords. One falls, the other strikes, both in a terrible dance that's almost mesmerizing.

I dimly realize that everyone else has somehow made their way to the side of the dirt road, their eyes looking everywhere but at me.

I don't care. I don't need them…

I need someone else.

Would he help me? No. My arm is bleeding again. It hurts.

Maybe he'll die and leave me alone. Or the other will. And I'll still be alone.

Maybe, just maybe…

I run out between them, and right before my eyes close, right after both swords pierce me from either side, I see his face. It's not remorseful at all.

Is this death?

I'm upon a sea of stars, twinkling lights tangling in my hair and clothes.

I laugh, and it carries far away, the echoes reverberating back to me.

I see people, and there are two doorways. Some go in one, and some go in the other.

Which will I take? I prepare to go, but a force holds me back. I sway precariously over the gaping doorways.

After minutes, or days, or months, the force jerks me back, and my eyes are open. He's looking at me. Bastard. Disturbing me from my slumber.

Why? I'm confused. Wasn't I dead?

My body aches. Can I sleep forever and ever?

His mouth forms a word. It looks like Come. Should I?

I have no choice. He picks me up, roughly, and there's no pain. But I want pain. I want death.

We're somewhere else now.

Is this where he lives?

Is it stone or wood or something else?

No matter. He's above me. What's he doing?

His claws are digging into my sides. Wh-what?

I close my eyes against his glare aimed at me, almost pitying. I can feel his hot breath tickling my face.

His fang is drawing blood from my lip, and his tongue forces my mouth open. I lean in and place my hands about his neck.

My eyes snap open, and my hands constrict around his throat. Die. Die. Die.

He snarls, feral and menacing, his claws digging deeper. They tear my shirt down the middle, the cloth falling to the side.

I'm alone.

My mind is sharper than it's been in months. I can think clearly. I will kill you. You deserve to rot in hell.

My fingernails are scraping uselessly against him, fighting to be free. I thrash on the ground.

He's looking at me. Almost as if he wants me. His eyes are crimson, crazy.

Now I know they're no escape.

And I faint in his arms.

Wake up. Wake up. Time to play.

I'm awake. But I don't want to 'play.'

He's sitting near the door, ever watchful. He stands, and lifts me up, smashing his mouth against mine again.

I cry out, twisting helplessly. He growls, placing one knee on my bare stomach, and his arms pin down my own.

Blood dribbles out of the corner of my mouth, and his coarse tongue licks it off. I shiver. I'm scared.

Why is he doing this?

I ask him, or try to. I can't seem to form words. He grins, and says something. I think he's saying that he – or me?- is alone, and someone is… lonely?

I pity him. He's pathetic. He can't even find a demon mate.

Why do I pity him? He's a damned fool. He's raping me.

And yet…

I do.

His body presses into mine, his silver hair spilling into my face.

I know why I can't talk. He's somehow taken my tongue. Eaten it? Maybe. I don't remember that.

He speaks to me, words of comfort and rage. When he come 'home', he's either happy or angry. When he's angry, I stay out of his way, but he still finds me. Makes love to me.

I don't try to resist. I know it's futile. Sometimes, I even welcome it. He runs his hand over my legs, and my breasts, and I caress his muscular chest.

Other times I shrink away, and watch him as he fucks me, and I wince from pain.

I can't run away. He would know, and would find me. So I stay and hide in the cobwebs of my dreams.

I wonder why this happened. I want to cut again, but there are no sharp objects. I weep. I laugh. I do everything but avoid my hopes.

He's home now. He's peaceful. He sits across from me, on the hard ground I've worked hard to keep clean, even with no cleaning supplies. He looks sad, tired, worn.

I place my hand on his shoulder, and tears fall. I sob into him, and he doesn't move, letting me cry my heart out.

Now I'm tired. Do you want to sleep with me?

He nods, once.

I've grown to love him, in an odd fashion. I can feel the baby growing inside me. I don't know what I'll do when it comes. I wonder if I'll ever see my family again.

Ha. Why am I even thinking this? Of course not.

He calls me.

Kagome.

Is that my name? I haven't heard you say it before. I haven't heard it for a long time. I want to ask you.

And I go to him. And I, for the first time since he took me, dream.

A/N: Hmm, ending didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it to. Maybe I'll rewrite it someday. Until then…

Please review.