Disclaimer: I own nothing InuYasha.
Author Note: A new story, again. I'm sorry guys. I'll try to keep up with this one, though. I did a short Sailor Moon fanfiction to get my writing heart back and I guess it worked. I quit my job, thanks to less than polite bosses that worked me through breaks, so I should have a decent amount of time to write considerable chapters. Reviews are what keep me going though, whether it's a compliment or criticism so please, I'm begging you, review?
The Broken Life
Chapter One
Trapped. I was in a web of security and there was no possible means of escape. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the world around me fade away, the people holding me back just vanishing. I knew I couldn't stay bundled up in this house forever and, surly, my parents couldn't believe that themselves. I was a teenage girl and I needed to live. Like the famous words from the song 'Seventeen Ain't So Sweet', Seventeen is just a test and I would recommend that you live with no regrets.
Right now, I was regretting my life. So long as I was pent-up in this safe haven I would never really live. I didn't want to die a bitter old woman like my mother; I wanted to have a life. What were they trying to protect me from with their lectures on safety and homeschooling from the finest teachers? My sunset hair was pulled back into a long French braid that trailed to the small of my back, just past my cinched in waist. I looked out at the empty land that lay before me, land that we owned, and I wanted to do something more.
"I will do something impressive before I die." I whispered, to myself and to nature. "I won't become another mannerly housewife that has been trained on all the etiquettes a brain can possibly be stuffed with. I won't act like some British lady from the nineteenth century. I'm an American teenager, and it's about time that I start living that way."
With my passion fueling my heart, pumping into my veins, I pulled up my thousands-of-dollars suitcase set. I began stuffing a few outfits and pairs of shoes in the one large suitcase, along with some personal hygiene belongings. I threw in everything that I thought I could possibly want, which included a credit card my parents had given me for purchases that involved state-of-the-art clothing stores. Only the finest for our family, of course.
I had a laptop but my parents were able to view every single search that I would make on it, so it was next to useless to me. I sighed as I emptied out a stash where I had kept a spare five hundred dollars, all in twenties, to make change more manageable and easier to count. I had been planning this break out for a while now and I wanted my money to be practical. Cashiers are going to start to wonder if a seventeen year old is flashing over hundreds.
I looked at myself in the mirror: idealistic heart-shaped face, full pink lips, thick long eyelashes, large turquoise eyes, pore-free skin. I scrunched up my cute little nose in disgust. I felt like I was some sort of baby doll that had been pieced together selectively and carefully. I felt just as much like a porcelain doll as I looked because one hit and I would have broken. To hear one person talk, my plan would have crashed to pieces and my adrenaline would have faded to fear.
In France, way back when, skin like mine was beautiful and desired. Woman would cake a corrosive material on their face that would eat away at their skin and leave large craters. In order to fix their horrified faces, they only added more acidic compound to their skin until it was eaten away to the bone. French were crazy about beauty. They snapped their ribs into place until the point where child birth wasn't an option and, all too often, beauty was the death of the French women. Killed by desire and temptation, by the need to appear attractive.
"Ayame, open up your door so we can go over your schedule; I've made a slight change and I want you to be aware." I heard my mother's careful tone ring from the other side of the door. She sounded very proper and very old school. I frowned, my lips curving downwards, as I kicked the suitcase in my walk-in closet with hatred. My plan would have gone through but I had to stop and ponder over myself!
"Coming mother!" I called out in my sweet voice, resisting the urge to curse and punch the mirror I had previously been staring into. I could look into a mirror all I wanted; it wasn't going to make it any easier to pick my soul – or my problems, for that matter – apart.
I opened my door to find my mother in a huffy room. Her cheeks were tinted pink with anger. "What on Earth did you feel the need to knock your door for, young lady? That lock is not to be used unless you're changing from your bath, changing your outfit, or being chased by somebody. None of these things have happened and if you lock your door like that again I will be forced to remove your lock, do you understand that?"
"Yes, mother, I'm sorry. I just wanted a little bit of privacy; you know, a moment alone to reflect on some thoughts." I responded politely. My mother didn't seem to understand, yet I was sure the woman had to have thoughts of some kind. She wasn't a robot was she? Had all those years of proper programming formed her into something inhuman? "About my studies, of course."
This, she seemed to understand. "Of course, dear, just don't let it happen again. Now, you will rise at 4:30 in order to prepare yourself to be all washed up for breakfast, at 5:00. I'm expecting your hair to be dry and for you to look presentable. I had Monica set you out something suitable for the day, of course." Monica was my nanny and a lot more understanding than anybody else around here. "Next you will participate in all of your classes for the day. Later, I was thinking about taking a trip. There's an elegant restaurant that we've made reservations on. Study up on your French, Italian, and Spanish, my dear."
"Horosho, ya." I replied, which is Russian for 'Okay, I will'.
My mother smiled proudly and patted my hand. "That's my girl, you're French is sounding better than ever." However, if she knew anything about French, she would be able to point out that it sounds nothing like the Russian language I just spoke. That's what she gets when she's trying to force multiple languages in my head – English, Spanish, French, Italian, German, and Russian. Although I kept excellent tabs on each language, and was capable of holding a flowing conversation, my mother couldn't tell the difference.
"Dankeschön." Was my German response of 'thank you'(A/N: Sorry, my father has an obsession with saying thank you in German, it's my dad's heritage with a little Native American, and has his heart set on returning for vacation there sometime). She gave me a weak look, her face faltering for a moment, just long enough for me to see the clear confusion streaking across it. I was have tempted to say 'stupid woman' in Spanish, so she could actually figure out what I was saying, considering it wasn't far from English.
"Right… well, I'm going to retire to bed now and you should do the same. English response if you have anything else to say, your foreign language is beginning to give me a headache." She replied before turning to leave. We exchanged our goodnights and she left me alone, once again finally. She thought my languages were giving her a headache? I had to memorize all those rules, all those words, and be able to place them in a quick-paced dialogue that made perfect sense.
I dropped onto my large bed and stared at the ceiling. I turned my head towards my balcony again and secretly wondered what it would be like on the other side of that large gate blocking me. I wondered what it would be like, to be a free teenager and have an actual spirit, being able to make your own decisions and start intellectual debates… I wondered what it would be like, to kiss a boy. Would it be as special as in the romantic novels and stories? Of course, I hoped it was not like the Romantic period – with dark and, from a psychological point of view, non-humanistic supports – but the lovey dovey sappy stuff that appeared in all those so-called 'Chick Flicks'.
Was there anybody out there who felt as lost and hopeless as me? I had never met anybody out of my own perimeters, which meant everybody I had ever seen was basically chosen by my strict parents. The only boys I had talked to were family members and Hiten, a son of my parent's friends. Where would the life I was leading take me to, other than another fancy house and miserable life? Did anybody feel as cold and distant as I did?
Koga
"Sorry I'm late, Ma, you know how Miroku and InuYasha keep me out." I said with a broad grin on my tanned face. Blaming it on my friends was useless, since it was my own responsibility to be home at a certain time, but my mom smiled at me and accepted the lame and overused excuse nonetheless. "Something smells good, what are we having tonight?"
"Just some hamburgers and canned corn, since the money supply is running low this month." My mother frowned. The money supply was always running low, though, and I didn't need her to tell me that. All I could do was pray I could get more hours if I begged badly enough. I was a good little waiter at the restaurant I worked, Mystic, and I held a side job at a nearby bar, Faze. I was the best there at mixing up various drinks, which I had committed to memory.
It was just my mother and I in our two bedroom apartment. The place wasn't unbearably small but it wasn't that comfortable of a size, either. The building was one of those shady places that you'd try to walk as far away from as possible. The complex itself was intimidating but drug dealers and partiers made the situation even worse. The landlords didn't seem to give a fair care about the place, either.
"Well I'm sure it'll taste amazing." I cheered her up quickly. She was just like me, personality wise. We really were two of a kind. We were always optimistic on the outside but, both of us knew, we were breaking apart on the inside. We didn't speak about the painful parts of life, didn't feel the need to put the sore subject on the surface, but we couldn't deny it. "I'm going to go get cleaned up a little; I have work in an hour so I'll need to eat quick."
Mom nodded and thoughtfully flipped the cooked burger patties, just to double check them. I rounded the corner into the small living room before turning and walking into my room. I made my bed and grabbed some clothes for work (blue jeans and a white button down that I rolled up at the sleeves), taking them to the shower. Dumping the heap of clothes at my feet I turned on the hot water and began to steam up the bathroom upon the single knob turn. My muscles were tense as I stepped in but my body got used to the scorching hot liquid and the muscles relaxed. When I emerged from behind the curtains, fifteen minutes later, my skin was pink.
I dried myself and hair, dressed, and styled my hair into the small faux hawk it typically was in. At the table, mom was waiting patiently for me to join her; our plates were already set out. I smiled and took my seat next to her. I dropped my eyes and joined hands with her. My voice spoke up, as it did everyday when I'd sit down to eat with my mother. "Thank you God for blessing us with this wonderful meal and good health. Amen."
Mom repeated the 'amen' quietly and we started to devour the food before us. As usual, we made small talk in between bites. Even though I was rushing there was always time to speak and keep each other updated on facts and events in our lives. "So, how's Faze been doing lately? I assume that business is still booming, with the college and everything."
"The place is always packed but I like being able to see all those people. I guess I'm a people-watcher, like you." I teased. "How's work at the salon?"
"Not enough business to keep me happy. I feel like it's a waste of hours, me working with not enough pay but too afraid to leave in case a surprise customer might walk in." Mom sighed and pushed around the corn on her plate. I felt bad. She was in love with cosmetics but her environment was cutting her back from thriving. The only place that would hire somebody with a less than perfectly proper ways was where she worked now, and it barely got business. My mother was too social to just cut hair without saying anything. She always wanted to get to know people, hear their stories.
"There's somebody out there who has it worse than you, though." I pointed out before scooping a mouthful of corn in. I shoveled a couple more bites as my mom silently thought about that little fact and sighed sadly. She didn't look like she had much of an appetite. She hadn't been eating well enough lately and it slightly frightened me. I didn't want to see my mom waste away in a depression she'd never voice aloud. I stood up and rinsed my plate off, placing it in the sink.
"I just wish I had it better, either way. Things haven't seemed to be looking up lately. I mean, usually there's this period where things start to get a little bit better but everybody must have migrated to another place. The entire place might be closing down, soon, if things don't start to look up. All of the girls are scared." Mom mumbled, sorrowfully.
"Everything will be alright, Ma." I walked over and gently rubbed her shoulders for a second. "Things will start to look up eventually. I have to get to work, though, so make sure you take care of yourself. Try to do something to keep your mind off of the salon for me, will you? Love you."
"I love you too, Koga. Be careful." Mom replied and I smiled before kissing the top of her head, which was starting to pick up more gray hairs than ever. By now, she would have had it died… yet she hadn't. Any other time she would have had her hair colored a month ago. Now she was sitting in a chair with gray hairs and a blank stare.
I tried to shake it off, ignore it, as I went out the door and down the hallway, only to go down several flimsy staircases in dim lighting. Once I was out on the streets, I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept my senses sharp. When you're innocently walking, you never know when you might have to pull out some MMA (mixed martial arts) moves so you always have to be alert, be prepared.
"Koga, wait up!" I heard a voice call and I turned to see my friend Miroku jogging towards me. He worked at the bar, too, and was dressed in the same attire as me. His black hair was flying into his eyes. Miroku used to have this little ponytail at the nape of his neck until InuYasha and I dared him to cut it. Ever since, he's never wanted it back – which was, by the way, a good decision; it might have been the best choice he's ever made – and he stayed as is.
"Hurry up before you make me late and I hope you know I'm not going to wait up for you if you see a pretty little girl that you decide to hit on." I warned with a stern voice and Mirkou nodded approving my words and heeding my warning.
"Fair, fair." He nodded.
