Warning: there'll be yaoi, although there will not be hentai acts. Sorry guys. However, it has hard images.

Warning: violence, lots and lots and lots of anguish.

Warning: pathetic English from a learner. I've only been studying English for a year and a half, so please be nice and tell me all my mistakes, so I can correct them. And yes, I know a lot of phrases don't make sense at all, so, please, review the authoress and she will correct everything!

This is only the first part, is a song fic, so I don't own Inuyasha (I own, however, Sesshomaru, Kouga, Miroku and a couple more, I can dream, can't I?) or the song, which is "Rest in peace" I don't know whose song it is, a friend made me listen to it and I liked it, so I'm sorry for not being able to say more.

KOHAKU

My body does not want its rest, my mind does not want to leave its thoughts, my heart does not want to leave its beating. I keep breathing. And it's your entire fault. Your fault, you bastard.

All of this is your fault.

All of it.

And I hate you. I hate you so much that it's hard to breathe sometimes. I hate you like no human heart ever has, except from yours, perhaps. But not only you, no, I despise myself too. I despise myself so much that I would take my life if I weren't such a coward.

But all is your fault, you manipulative demon.

My memories run one after another in my mind, disturbing, retorted; an unfocused nightmare without end. But it has a beginning. You. You are my beginning. And you'll be, someday, my end.

All started when you killed me to satiate your insatiable thirst of pain and suffering. You are so pathetic when you do that to calm your 'nervousness'.

"I died

So many years ago"

You killed me. Me. My family, my friends. My innocence. My town. What my town symbolized.

And why?

Because you are a sick bastard that isn't worth living.

Because you were bored. Because you enjoy other's pain, it feeds your corrupted and black soul.

However, you decided to keep me. Although I was a child of only eleven years old, and I was already dead. Although I was nothing more than a peon at your hands.

"You can make me feel

Like it isn't so"

Disgraceful. You returned me to life. And, today, my life is tours. Tough I'm free, I'm yours. Contradiction? No, because it's you, yours is the fault and mine is the same.

You brought me to life, you make me feel alive. You make me feel. You make me have feeling. Live. Cry.

My body is dead. I'm dead. However, my body grows, needs food, feels tired, it develops, acts, runs, jumps. It attacks. It kills. So, my body lives. But I'm dead.

And you are so determined for my body to continue living. Baka youkai.

And you don't realize that I want to die. I wonder why you don't let me die, why you are so keen on keeping me, why you look out for me, why you remain with me after a mission, when I'm at… I was going to say 'at home'. How estrange. You destroyed my home, and now the place that was my prison, I call it my home.

"And why you come to be with me

I think I finally know

mmm-mmm"

And you keep going to me. You ask me things. You try to speak with me. But I don't answer. I'm so silent, or perhaps not, but you will never know.

You smile at me.

You smile maniacally, you smile almost all the time, you almost smile even when you are frustrated. I hate and I love your smile.

Sometimes is that characteristically yours smirk. That one which only screams that you have a sick mind, you are perturbed, you are planning something that goes against all moral, dignity and conscience. That smile of yours of self-efficiency, and that tells that you are aware of your own power and superiority.

That other smile you have, malicious, when you are plotting something especially deathly. And that last smile, a real and sincere smile, rare, estrange, lost in an ocean of repugnant facial expressions. A small, simple smile, only a light curvature of your lips in an elegant line, showing the being you once were, but you killed.

That smile you only show to me.

I recognize that I feel strange when I see it. My body trembles, my heart accelerates, because I don't know what to think. With that smile you seem almost human, almost worth of respect, of compassion, of friendship, of love. That smile which disarms me completely, for being so unexpected, the strangeness it ensues, but it seems so natural in you, mainly when you add that oh so intense gaze of yours. Your glare, injected in blood and passion. So full of passion.

And your eyes.

Those eyes.

I felt nauseous of myself, but mainly I'm afraid of me, when I thought about your eyes and your lips.

I hate you, but I need your almost-human smile.

I remember the first time I saw it. It's sure you do too. It was four years and a half ago. I tried to kill you, I almost achieve my goal, but then you smiled at me.

Now that I think about it, I'm the only one who has tried to murder you so directly, the only one to almost do it, and I'm still breathing. Cursed manipulative bastard. Torturer. I wanted to slay you; I wanted to erase us from the world, together. To finish at least with my misery and your evilness, and the suffering inflicted on me by your evilness, and both feelings were supposed to end together, to vanish and to dissolve in the memory of those that, at one time, crossed paths with us, and to be lost in the intricate turns of History. But no, you, as always, you have to stay here.

And you smiled at me and you caressed my face.

And I felt ashamed.

And you diverted your gaze ashamed of that weakness.

And I hate you. I hate you because I needed you. I wanted to die with you then, don't you see? And you impeded it. I should have died with you, sealing our fates. But no. it seems that that exact day my world changed completely. And yours mutated, transformed to accommodate to mine, to the world we share today. The same world.

My eyes changed its color that day, and I buried a poisoned dagger inside your body. How is it possible that you allow my pitiful existence when I tried to murder you while you were comforting me?

Because you were holding me in your arms when I stabbed you with that dagger.

That day everything changed. You changed. But, most of all, I changed. Or perhaps it was you who changed and I was only capable to see you from a different pint of view.

Nowadays, you don't control me, but you do.

And you keep coming to me.

To an exterminator of demons.

And you are a demon. And one of the worst. Specially wicked, mercilessly, dangerous, deathly. Unworthy of being able to infuse respect and dread.

But I don't want to kill you, although it is my duty, my honour and my right, and I don't want to, I don't have the right, I don't have enough honour left in me.

But you haven't it either.

You're scared

Ashamed of what you feel

And you can't tell the ones you love

You know they couldn't deal

I know, I know you search for my company when you're alone. I'm not stupid. I know you prefer me to stay in the room which is facing the garden. You sit in the border, studying the place, concocting a plan till the minimum detail, you damn perfectionist, or simply rejoicing in other's disgraces, while I sit somewhere in the wide room. I read, studying the great number of books you have procured me in your pillages.

You know how to keep me quiet and distract my thoughts from poisons and daggers aimed at you. You give me a book. You give me paper to write in- sometimes you tell me something, sometimes you explain me poems, history, poisons, fighting techniques. You teach me. And you know I'll be quiet, I'll listen to you in silence, attentive to your smooth and grave voice. It is perhaps that you are more proud if your 'pet' can quote Kamo no Chomei while he is beheading a youkai?

Is that?

Your slave has to be perfect?

Is that the reason because you won't let me heal on my own?

Is that the reason for what you don't let me show scars?

Is it?

Each time I return wounded, you do it.

I know. I have received many, uncountable, infinite wounds, beats, scratches, burnings, cuts, along my years at your service. And, however, nothing alters the perfection of my skin. You take charge of that. You don't send any of those youkai imps you have, no, you o it personally, and I can feel the uncomfortable gazes of certain other slaves. I sense their gazes of disgust, jealousy and repulsion for being distinguished with this dubious 'honour': be cured by your own hands.

When I arrive, soaked in dirt, blood, poison and sweat, you carry me to the annexed room. There you strip me, carefully avoiding seeing me nude, you wash my wounds with gentleness, trying to not harming me. It seem that you don't want me to think that you are a sick mind, avid for the sight of a naked and male young body, although my body is not very desirable. It seem that you think that I'm impure to look at.

Ah, I forgot. I am.

You cure my wounds. One of the youkais you consumed, or perhaps several, I don't mind the number, had healing powers. So you treat me, you make sure that any of the cuts leave a permanent scar. You restack my bones, erase the poison and the acid from my sanguine torrent. Wit h the gentleness of somebody concerned, almost like a lover.

You let me sleep. You remain by my side, in vigil, with the treat of a relapse. But you don't fear them, I think you remain by my side because you are capable of noticing that veiled desire in me.

That really frightens me. That you can feel the desire. But, most of all, that it exists.

Sometimes, when you can't heal me entirely, and you have to relay in my own capacities of healing, and I awaken, there's something in your eyes: relief. You are relieved that I'll live, that I will remain here.

But, of course, you can't let anybody to know that you care for me, for a weakling, a human that has already died twice. Your own catamite.

And, thanks to you, you dirty and despicable being, I keep on living and breathing, although I don't desire it.

And you keep the rest of the youkai lords of my weaknesses, assuring that I'm mortal, that I never fail, that I am quick and effective, and that it is the reason for why you have not rid of me yet. You challenge them to find any proof on my body of my supposed failures. Nothing will be found. My skin is perfect, I'm healthy.

I'm a young man of 1.90 meters, black hair, slender but fit figure, due to many years of fighting, I'm healthy. I have killed two tai-youkais.

So the rest of lords accept your version and think I am your servant.

Dreamers. Tough, in a certain way, it's true. That is your power. I can't kill you. I have opportunities, but I don't do it.

Whisper in a dead man's ear

It doesn't make it real…

…That's great

And you refuse it. You refuse that those spark of worry exist behind your eyes. You deny that I'm free, tough I am. It's unreal. My life is… unreal. I'm dead. Twice. Dead. And my life is so weird. I'm with you, the man who reduced me to what I am now. And I can't hate you. But I do. I wish to hate you, but I don't desire it at the same time. I yearn for you to suffer the same horror that I am through everyday, all because of you. Bunt I don't.

I'm so confused. This is unreal. The only thing real in my life is the pain. The suffering that bounds me to a life, to an existence I should not be living, I don't want to live, but you are so stubborn to let me die.

Your plans for the future bore me. You say I can't escape, but I can. No matter how many times you deny it, no matter how much you try, you know that our life is not real. Because I'm a dead exterminator, you are a dead and revived human, desecrating himself with demon blood. And this is false, but it's true, tangible. I am here, reading. And you are over there, looking at me reading, with an undecipherable look in your eyes, you sickening pervert. In spite of everything, I let you to look at me. I know you usually plan something when you gaze so intently. You are searching for a weakness in my mind. You don't catch anything, I don't let you. However, I will say that I have one: it torments me day and night, one that plague my mind: I'm alive, and I'm with you. And I'm yours and I'm not at the same time.

And I hate you, but I don't.

And you despise me, you hate me, but you take care of me. You protect me, you cure me and you listen to what I say. You give me caprices I never asked for. Manipulative bastard. You have introduced yourself in my brain and you will never let me in peace.

You have inserted yourself in my soul.

Leave me.

End of the first chapter. Thank for reading, and please give me your opinion. Flames are allowed, by the way.

Davinci