Disclaimer: InuYasha is the property of Rumiko Takahashi. I have nothing.


I'm Not Coming Back


Chapter Four: The Dark Side of the Road


...I hope you find the person who makes you happy. God knows it wasn't me.

InuYasha finished reading the letter for what must have been the ten thousandth time since he had first read it over six years ago. He didn't need to read it to know what it said, but seeing her handwriting…

He could almost hear her voice.

He carefully folded the worn sheet of paper; the edges and creases frayed and thin, reinforced with yellowing strips of cellophane tape. He slipped it back into the small drawer of his nightstand. It was the one reminder of her that he allowed himself to keep. It was the only one he felt he deserved.

As he returned the letter to the drawer he saw a white business card emblazoned with the name and number of a therapist. Yet another one of his mom's little suggestions. It was at least the fifth different doctor she had not-so-subtly recommended. He had actually went and talked with one of them, although he would never admit that to anyone, least of all his mother.

He hadn't liked the guy. He didn't need yet another person, let alone a stranger, telling him that it 'wasn't his fault'. He would never be convinced of that. Not entirely his fault? Perhaps. A portion of the blame went to the stranger who was too busy texting his girlfriend to notice the red light. Although, InuYasha couldn't help but feel even more guilty placing blame on a dead teenager. Some of the blame could also be put on fate, or God, or coincidence. Just being where they were, when they were. The wrong place at the wrong time.

But there was no doubt in his mind that the vast majority of the blame rested solely on his own head.

He was driving. He insisted she go with him. He knew that she never wore a seatbelt, and it concerned him, but he never once voiced those concerns. He never felt a strong need to until the day he awoke in an overturned car, and opened his eyes to find the seat next to him empty.

The therapist he had seen had suggested that he might be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. "Survivor guilt", is what he had called it. Survivor... InuYasha hated the term. It made it sound as if it were something to be proud of, when he most definitely knew better than that. Being a survivor didn't always mean a person was strong, sometimes it just meant they simply weren't quite as weak as someone else. Or perhaps they were just luckier…

"Keh!" InuYasha tossed the offending card back into the drawer and slammed it shut. What was the point? He wasn't hurting anyone but himself, and he had actually grown quite comfortable with the pain. It was such a large part of him now, he wasn't even sure what would remain if it were gone.

Perhaps he would altogether cease to exist. The notion wasn't entirely unappealing.