"The Other Wife"

by: E. Marie E-mail: Emw712@aol.com

Author's Note: June 4, 2003: Today, the author has nothing noteworthy to say. Here's the next chapter. Please, read and review...seriously. Even if it's a short review, even if all you can manage to type is a grossly misspelled adjective like "kewl" or "suk"-just let me know you're still reading. Remember that saying, "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"? Well, forget that. Throw it out the window. Let me know if you hate "The Other Wife". Let me know if you love "The Other Wife", let me know. Especially let me know if you neither love nor hate "The Other Wife", because, to me, mediocrity is a fate worse than death!!! Well, maybe not worse than death, but definitely not something I'm happy with....anyway....

DISCLAIMER: I wonder, why is it so important to write a disclaimer before every chapter? I mean, it is plainly obvious that I do not own Inuyasha; if I did, why would I be writing fan fiction? My fan fiction would be actual episodes...anyway, just for routine's sake, I don't own Inuyasha.

Chapter Five: Fate and Orange Juice
The next morning, the unbelievable happened: Lady Yura actually became ill. Her pasty skin glistened with the sweat of her fever; her hands swelled from the very heat of her body to the point where the flesh on her hands appeared to be on the verge of devouring her many, gaudy rings. From sunrise to sunset, I was anchored to Lady Yura's side, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth, answering her delirious cries, feeding her with my own hand. All the while, she criticized every aspect of my personality, figure, and disposition. Whether or not milady knew I was the one slaving over her is still questionable. Stranded by her side, unable to leave for a meal or even fresh air, I was completely and utterly miserable. Even if I had been granted my freedom, the sights of Monte Carlo would have been wasted on my teary eyes; the exotic cuisine would have tasted like nothing better than sawdust. I was a worthless human being, of no importance, completely and truly alone....
The hours I sat by Lady Yura's side, keeping watch over that horrible, suffering woman, I had time to search my memory deeply for everything I had gleaned form passing conversations, society columns, and milady's never-ending monologue of gossip about the upper class. Sitting the water basin in my lap and preparing a cold compress, the water running through my fingers reminded me of my time at the vista with Inuyasha...what had I said?
'The boats...we were talking about the boats...and I spoke of....'
I jumped from my chair, upsetting the water basin, arcs of water barely missing Lady Yura, leaving marks on the Persian rug of her plush room. Ringing for a maid to repair the damage, I stumbled down the corridor to my own, small room, where I collapsed on the bed, my body wrenching with sobs.
Drowning. I joked about my fear of drowning...
His wife...Lady Yura once told me that his wife...drowned....

After a sleepless night marked by sustained outbursts of tears and many turns pacing the bare floor of my room, I returned to Lady Yura's room for another day of maintaining the exhaustive bedside manner. Apparently milady was feeling much better; the moment I entered her chamber, she grabbed a book from her nightstand and, with all her feeble strength, hurled the volume in the general direction of my head.
"Irrefutable child, get out of this room! You are not fit for my sight! Look at you! Uncombed hair! Dark circles under those black eyes! Go, find some sustainment for yourself! GO!"
While my tired mind tried to contemplate what milady meant when she created the word "sustainment", my body made it as far as the corridor before I nearly collapsed from the demands of my empty stomach. While my heart was in pieces, I hadn't concerned myself with the 'unimportant things', like food. Grateful for Lady Yura's unintentional grant of reprieve, I felt no guilt in leaving her to the care of the able hotel staff while I took my breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Almost every table in the dining foyer was full, but luckily for me, I was spared having to seat at a table with strangers in my bedraggled condition, for a small corner table with a single chair remained free. The waiter attended to me rather swiftly, for my association with Lady Yura tied me quite fast to her infamous treatment of "lazy help". In a few moments, the poor lad returned with my orange juice; perhaps it was his over eagerness to appear efficient, perhaps it was my fatigue, but somehow, the large glass of sticky citrus was suddenly spreading itself across my table, seeping into the table cloth, and overrunning onto the marble floor.
A slew of waiters and hotel staff descended on the scene, scurrying to save the dignity of the waiter and repair the damage to the pristine table setting. The poor waiter escorted me away from the mess that had been my peaceful table in the corner; without another available table, it appeared as though my breakfast was becoming a disaster, like everything else in my life, when, another waiter approached us.
"Excusez moi, mademoiselle," he beckoned. "Another guest has offered you a seat at his table, while yours is being put to rights." With this, the waiter spun on his heel and led me without a word to the other side of the foyer. My hunger balanced my embarrassment, and I prepared to greet my hero when-
"Good morning, mademoiselle Kagome." Inuyasha greeted me, raising his glass to me in an informal salute. "Would you join me for breakfast?"