STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY

AN: Maybe it's a oneshot; maybe there's more to this: I won't make any promises. Whatever this is, it was unexpected and didn't fit in with anything I'm working on. It felt like fanfiction. It felt like Kaoru and Kenshin all over again. It felt like something I wanted to bring to the table – a.k.a this site – because so many of you have been so supportive and there have been requests and I couldn't help myself. I know this isn't 180º ST&T, but I hope there's something worth appreciating here, all the same.

Unapologetic

by Anna Iram

Chapter 1: Inescapable

Am I where I'm supposed to be? I don't really know. But I keep staring at the doorknob, thinking if I could only turn it, if I could put the key in the lock and just walk out, run out, leave the gate swinging open behind me while I make my great escape, then maybe I'll have it all figured out.

Except, once reality sinks in, all running away means is that I'm in my pajamas, legs bare, not a dime in my wallet, out in the cold, in the dark with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. I figure that's what happens when you decide to leave your life behind; there's no thereafter worth speaking of if the road leads to standing barefoot under a streetlamp, I guess. Doesn't exactly sound like living the dream, does it?

So, no doubt the imagined getaway begs the question: why do I want to not be here? Why do I want to smell the night on my skin? Why do I want to feel cool gravel beneath my bare feet? Actually, that's three questions. Apparently, my dilemma might just be of the threefold variety. Not that that explains anything.

The truth: I'm not happy. I get it, no one is ever happy for long – it comes and goes like the tide and that's all there is to it, it's the freaking natural flow or something – but if I can't remember the last time I smiled a genuine smile, then I'm thinking that's at the very least cause for concern. In other words, I'm starting to worry.

Do I need help? Should I go see an analyst to talk out my anxiousness? It has crossed my mind, the thought of telling a stranger that I worry about my emotional health. There's a problem and I would very much like to fix it. The thing is, I'm not the source of my own distress and unless I win the lottery I can't quite master the situation. Money is my nemesis, not the depression I refuse to sink into. Personally, I wish money was a friend of mine, as opposed to trouble. Now that guy, he just will not leave me to my own devices. No sir-ee, trouble always has my back.

"Kaoru, was that your ex-boyfriend driving you home? Isn't he married now? What were you doing out with him at this ungodly hour?"

See what I mean? My roommate is right to ask me all of the above, because she's a good friend with a good heart and a good head on her shoulders. Too bad I don't have one single good answer for her. Boy, am I glad she's the one being all inquisitive and tetchy at 4 AM and not my dad! Because I cannot tell a lie and… guess what, everyone? I just made a mistake, enjoyed it and, if I can have it my way, I'll enjoy making it all over again. I'm not as good a girl as I used to be, apparently.

"Well, are you or aren't you going to share with the class?" Misao asks, her hands on her hips, her big green eyes scanning me for at-the-ready deceitfulness like airport security searching for hidden weapons. "Just what did you do, Kamiya Kaoru?"

Funny, that's the exact phrasing I kept using on the ride over. Of course, it was just my conscience nagging me; there was never an actual vocalization of the words, not up until just now, not until she dared to speak them aloud. Part of me is glad she's brave enough for the both of us, my darling best friend. Part of me wishes against all hope that she hadn't waited up for me. She's not going to like it. Hell, I don't like it. I don't want to say it, don't want to think it, don't want to believe it…but I kind of like that I did it. I kind of don't like myself very much right now, for obvious reasons.

"Kaoru…"

"I slept with him. I slept with Kenshin."

Okay, now I want to throw up. Now my latest bank statement is not my only problem. I said it and I can't take the words back. I did it – did him, if we're going for blunt here – and I can't really undo it – undo him – can I? Then again, I've always had three major unsolvable predicaments circling me and one of them has always, since as far back as I can remember, had a name. I moaned that name several times tonight – this morning? – and I definitely wasn't supposed to. It felt good – great, wonderful, amazing – though. It always did in the past, so no surprise there.

"No, honey, don't cry. It's okay, we'll figure this out, I promise."

Oh, jeez, I'm crying? I'm standing in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing my silly Tinkerbell oversized tee and boxer shorts, bawling my little heart out. Come to think of it, Tinkerbell kind of looks like a slut. Do I look that way to Misao now too, I wonder? Am I slut now? Is this who I'm supposed to be, the girl that gets around with another woman's man? Was this my fate all along? Am I, in life, where I'm supposed to be? Whatever the answer, this moment, this breakdown it hardly seems fair. And yet, I welcome it because, if I can't cry over this, if no part of me can accept that there's something wrong with this picture, then I'm toast; forget the shrink, bring in the nice men with the white coat, stick me in a padded room and toss away the key already.

"I didn't know you were still in love with him. You… you do love him, don't you?"

No, Misao, you're right to hesitate; I fucked him 'just cuz'. Great, now she's made me cry harder. No, scratch that, the flood's on me, I was being sarcastic and I though the wrong thing. I wish it were that easy, that I had gone to bed with him because we had both felt like it at the time and nothing more. But it's not and it's so damn obvious that I do, that I always have, that I probably, to my immense misfortune, always fucking will. Loving Kenshin Himura is surely the worst fate that can befall any woman – I'm speaking on behalf of his wife and myself here. His wife… God, his wife!

I need to sit down. I need a drink. Or, better yet, I need a time machine. But, screw it, I don't want to take it back! I don't want to smell the lonely night on my skin; I want to smell like him. I want to wake up in a few hours and breathe in the scent that will never cling to my bed sheets – who cares, though? It's in my hair and clogging my every pore and that's all that matters right now, all that soothes me.

"…Am I having a nightmare?"

"No, Kaoru, not even close. I'm sorry."

When did I sit down? I think Misao sat me down. I see she's making tea. I really do believe she's sorry. I'm not, though, not entirely. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt; it just means I'm a bad person and I deserve it. At this point, I deserve every curveball that comes my way. Hopefully, one will hit me so hard it'll knock some sense back into me.

"Do you… Do you want to talk about it?" she asks me. She's tiptoeing around me and it sucks.

"No," I hear myself reply. My voice sounds strange. Broken, I believe, is the word I'm looking for. "I want to go to sleep, that's all."

"That sounds like a good idea. You should get some rest."

Well, on the upside, I've stopped with the crying. On the flip side, Misao is being so unlike herself – calm, composed and laconic are adjectives I would have never in a million years used to describe her if this incident had not occurred – she's making me nauseous again. This time, I don't think I can hold it in. This time, I do run, just not out of the house, not out into the empty street like I had fantasized as soon as she confronted me when I came in through the back door. This time, I'm headed for the bathroom, I'm gripping onto the toilet bowl and I'm losing my dinner, my lunch, my breakfast. I'm losing myself, but I can't seem to regret it. Any of it. I refuse to apologize for loving him, even if it kills me. Incidentally, I'm pretty sure it will.

AN#2: Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review.