Hey there,
I hope you like this new chapter; I really didn't know how I was going to go on from the last chapter, especially after everything that happened. It's been a complicated journey, this little beloved piece of mine, and I am certainly interested to see how it's going to play out. Don't forget to respond, I love everyone's feedback…it really convinces me that I'm doing something good here and that I should continue. This piece is very dear to me, so thank you for the positive reinforcement.
Hope you read and enjoy,
--MC
P.S. I dedicate this chapter to everyone who was with me from the beginning, who have supported me all throughout my writing and who have prompted me to become not only a better writer but a better person. You know who you are, but no one else does…
Rachel
Julia
Girltype
Sesshyangel
Striking Falcon
Gabby
Brooke
Thank you for everything you have given me—words cannot describe it.
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7/18/03
1:27 p.m.
I think that the movies are ruined by the actors. I believe that the actors ruin the whole movie experience. It is one thing when you see Johnny somebody in the movies and he plays this guy who is perfect—he is sweet and caring and he loves Anna somebody so much but he can't get her because she is blind to him being the perfect guy and all the females in the audience just gasp and melt and wish Johnny somebody would come to love them too. However, then it just ruins this image, this wonderful image that Johnny and Anna get together and everything is wonderful when you see Johnny in a magazine and its NOT Anna he is with, it is some other girl and on top of it, nice, innocent, sweet Johnny was caught sleeping with a fourteen year old girl he drugged up after some wild after party for the movie. And you see that Anna not only is not oblivious but she is actually some blonde-haired model for some expensive brand and in production she and Johnny actually truly hated each other and couldn't even be considered acquaintances on the other side of the camera even though they confessed their undying love to each other on the screen. Doesn't it ever bother you, as you watch a movie that the main actor has confessed his love to ten other women, raped some man in another movie, killed his mother and also went insane? I mean, honestly, what do you think? I know that I like to think when a movie is over that the people in it carry on their lives happily (I mean, not ALL life is happy, but I guess they are pretty happy even though I am sure they fight sometimes—why don't people have movies about THAT—you know, when someone is actually together and then they fight but more or less they are happy—do they not do that because its incredibly boring?) but they carry on their lives and everything is great in their land of wonderful. But then, when you think about it THAT way…does that mean that there are about twenty John Cusacks out there with about ten other women who he is happily living out life with? I mean, you have to think about these things and the consequences you bring to the lives of the other characters you have been when you continue to be in movies. I mean, honestly, the woman you are marrying in this movie could have killed her husband, stalked some man, shot a dog and fell in love numerous times before you. I don't know if I could handle that—knowing that this person has been USED…they have BEEN AROUND THE BLOCK and how do we know what they are going to do this time? I mean, THINK about it. REALLY. When you think about it like that, it kind of taints the movies when there goes John Cusack (no offense John, you're cool, but you were the first name that came to my head) without Susie Nobody from Dome eleven and there goes the whole movie experience. Honestly, I don't know who could ruin something for me more than some actor being what they aren't in the movies! I mean, has anyone ever THOUGHT that actors are perhaps the murderers and all that nonsense—all those serial killers out there—and we don't catch them because they are too rich and TOO GOOD OF ACTORS to be caught? I mean, they PLAY characters like that in movies, who is to say that they aren't really capable of that in real life? I mean, THINK ABOUT IT. JUST THINK ABOUT IT. Does anyone ever take this into account when they go to the movies? Why aren't more people worried about this intense state of insanity that actors are in all their lives? How can we TRUST them when we don't know if they are ACTING with us or not? Come on now, has no one EVER thought of this? The possibility that the actors all get together and commit the major crimes behind our backs and blame it on other harmless people who are just fucked up because they were jedi-mind-tricked by the actors themselves? I mean, it is a VIABLE theory on what really goes on in the acting world. WHY is there more crime in America? BECAUSE there are more movie stars that are known nationally and internationally! We have an outrageous amount of actors all with INSIDER connections that we can't even dream about. And that is probably just the tip of the iceberg. I will just bet that it's really the actors who have been eating all that non-dolphin friendly tuna!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How DARE they disrupt the natural order of marine life! It's a travesty, honestly. Come on here people. Wake up to see the truth. Actors are going to take over the world. You just wait. It might already be in motion at this very moment. Just you wait and see, 'enry 'iggins and you'll get what you deserve.
But…when you think about it isn't that all that life is…just a bunch of people acting to be something they aren't? I mean, to be completely cynical about life, isn't that what we are—extraordinary actors in the grand movie of life? Just a bunch of people unaware of the consequences of hiding behind our mask, of not understanding who we really are—of living life in the sad reality that we cannot be ourselves? Is this what we must be subject to? So, the real question is, is life mimicking the movies, or are the movies mimicking us?
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There is this sort of clarity you receive after you try to commit suicide. There is certainly somewhat of a regret that the deed wasn't done, but for me—it was more like a turning point. It wasn't that I was happy about what I did, no, not at all. Rather, as I fingered my bandages again, there was a new outlook. I wasn't better, I wasn't changed, I just received a different vantage point from the same spot I'd been in for years.
Certainly I couldn't be alone, Miroku had moved me into his apartment for a while—a place where I hadn't been for a long time. As I sat around the apartment that had probably been christened many times with Miroku's trysts, I felt a little more than usually awkward being alone with him. For some strange reason Sesshomaru's face kept swimming into my vision, as if I was somehow betraying him by sitting here, living here almost, with the man who I lost my virginity to. That, in itself, was awkward enough for most women the man who you lost your virginity to is from some bygone days of your youth and someone who you meet on the street after you are both happily married and remember the night you gave yourselves to each other. Even though Miroku and I weren't particularly close anymore, it was just some strange coincidence or providence even that he had showed up at my apartment that night over a week ago, we still had a relationship. Miroku was the kind of guy you always wanted around you on retainer, he was good-looking, well-off (unless his apartment wasn't really his and he stole it or something) and when the situation was dire indeed—he was there for you. I guess he could be characterized in the book of my life as the best friend that was overlooked or something. Or perhaps we just had our chance way back in college and we were really only meant to be friends. Who knows? I don't even profess to know anything at this moment, everything is just so unclear. Its like the lines have blurred, everything is hazy and the life I had before is just a clear, still-life picture, a memory that perhaps never happened. Or maybe my life was never ever clear, maybe the lines were always blurred and it took all this time, all these events, all these…feelings to really understand that…well, that life isn't black and white, that life is just perhaps…blue—no black and white, just haze, blue as the sky and as encompassing as the skyline.
It's kind of funny the way things turn out. I sat here, body hurting from scars that would never be healed on my soul, cuts so deep I might need only love to help cauterize the wound and yet all I want is someone to wrap me in their arms and tell me—that for better or for worse, they will love me until the end of their days. It's desperately apparent to me that I need someone to tell me that I'm alright, that I need someone to assure me life is okay and that I cannot stand on my own two feet without someone there to reassure me. Leaning on friends is alright, but being dependent hurts my stubborn, wounded nature.
"How have I become that woman…that woman that needs a man to tell her that she is good enough? And it isn't even sadder that once I've had that…had the reassurance that I am in fact, alright, I still won't agree?"
"You're better than that…" Miroku answered and I visibly recoiled from his hand reaching out to touch my face. He was just salting the wound—he was one of the men I needed to make myself feel better. Could I play with him that way? Did I really like him for who he was or was it just what he stands for? And…is that how I felt about every man I knew? Even Inuyasha…even…even Sesshomaru?
"No, I'm not, Miroku. I'm worse than that. This proves it." I pressed my palm into my wounds, prompting them to bleed through the bandage for emphasis, trying to dig in the fact that I am not the woman he thinks I am.
"Yes you are, Kagome!" He yelled, standing from the sitting position he had previously on his reclining chair and pulled my hands away from my bandages. "Damn it, you are better. You were always better than all of us, especially me…" He leaned down in front of my chair. The semi-recumbent position scared me a little as his hand reached up to cup my face.
"Miroku, I…"
"No. Let me say it Kagome, even though I know you don't feel the same way. I was never good enough for you, no one is. Its not that you're too good or too pure, but there is something about you, this aura—you are a wonderful woman. You're funny, fucking smart, and a little pretentious at times but you have this strange quality about you that draws people to you. I saw it in college, I still see it…but the thing that breaks my heart is that you don't see it yourself. You are so amazing—I mean, disease research? Have you even read what people are saying about your company? Ever since that day when you said we should just be friends I've been trying my best to be the friend that you would need, that could help you see how amazing you are. That night was proof I had failed. I know that you're going through a lot right now, I know something prompted this but after everything you've accomplish, after everything you stand for—its just, Kagome, you expect, no, you demand, more from the people around you. You don't surround yourself with superficial people or superficial relationships—you demand deeper, more understanding, more honest relationships. And this is where I've failed you. I haven't been completely honest with you. Kagome, I," he took my face in both his hands, trapping my face in position. "Kagome, I love you."
I was shocked, to say the least. I never thought that he felt that way. In fact, that was probably the last thing from my mind. All throughout his speech I was imaging Sesshomaru there, confessing his love to me, about to kiss me, about to confess the desire to spend the rest of his life with me. And yet, it was Miroku, his beautiful lips that I've always desired were descending upon mine and kissing me with an urgency I had only met once before—that day long ago when Sesshomaru came into my home and heart. It was Miroku who was gently pulling me to my feet as we kissed, holding me tighter than I've ever been held. I could imagine him in my minds eye, I watched him as he kissed me—his eyes closed in concentration and devotion, his lips maneuvering mine to a response and yet my heart held pity for him, not love. I wanted to be the woman he wanted me to be for him, but it broke my heart to think that I couldn't. Grabbing a fistful of his hair at his nape and pressing his lips to me harder than before, I kissed him for all I was worth.
Which at the moment, wasn't much.
I stopped kissing Miroku at that moment and brushed my hand across his face. I would stand on my own. I would get better. I would heal my wounds myself the best way I know how and the only way I can. I walked out of his apartment, alone and afraid…but stronger for having been there. He made me see something inside myself—he truly was the friend he set out to be.
However, life wasn't perfect. No, no…the road to recovery was hardly smooth and flat. I struggled with myself and my inner demons constantly. There were so many things I wanted to change, but habit had proved me incapable. I couldn't forgive my mother for having these genes. I couldn't forgive Martin for letting her get this bad. I couldn't forgive God that this had happened in the first place, and worst of all, I couldn't forgive myself. For some reason, I believed that I had been the one to tip the scale. The little known about her disease was that they believed that it was triggered by something, and in my sadness, perhaps you could say, my own depression, I believed I was the trigger.
The hardest thing was coming back to visit her. She was exactly the same as she was before…but it was harder to handle when even she wasn't apparent of what she had done to me. I wasn't even aware of the immensity of my sins to myself. She still held my hand, laughed with me and cried when we wanted her to take a shower. I picked out her clothes, day after day…just like before, as if nothing had changed. Had I even changed?
My mother wouldn't eat anything. She was getting worse and worse. She lost so much weight that we had to force her to eat. We came during lunch, and sat with her, feeding her the hospital food. Sometimes she would only take a couple bites.
Life continued with blow after blow, as we had to force my mother to have electric shock treatment. She vehemently refused. However, finally, she gave in and signed her warrant for this unkind treatment.
After her total lack of remembrance of me, I didn't wish to be left alone with her, for she was not my mother, and deserved none of my attention. One day, when Martin left to do something, I was left alone with my nightmare. She was sitting on the bed, in her own world, when she motioned for me to sit next to her. I complied, out of habit, if anything. She took her shaky hand and ran it across my face and through my hair. Her eyes glazed over, and her hands cold and wrinkled, she whispered,
"Beautiful." Her breath on my face is something I will never forget. I, still bandaged and bruised from that horrible night, still horrifically scared from my emotional penance to my faults, I wanted to cry at this gesture. It was scary, her frail hands were like an old woman's, the skin baggy and worn in places I never knew it could be before. But with her comment I received something no one else could give me. I know, in a sad sort of way, she was telling me what every daughter wanted to hear from their mother but expected that she only said it because she had to. Her was my mother, constantly pushing me to become thinner, to be healthy, to strive for a better body…her she was telling me, fucked up Kagome, that I was beautiful. How could that ever compare to what any man could tell me about myself…?
Stable
I've been thinking about my future
About something that I want to do
Its not that I have something in mind or that I'm particularly confused
It's just something that I just need to do
Life hasn't always been easy for me
But that's just the way it goes
I always dreamt I'd be writing Shakespeare
But I'm just sittin here writing prose
Because life just isn't what you thought it would be
And trust me, it ain't no crystal stair
I'm not exactly stable, but I'm getting there
Because sometimes, life just isn't fair
My mother told me once
That I'd lost my intrinsic spark
It wasn't that I neither laughed nor cried
It was that I just hadn't made my mark
Because life just isn't what you thought it would be
And trust me, it ain't no crystal stair
I'm not exactly stable, but I'm getting there
Because sometimes, life just isn't fair
I've seen what its like to live in poverty
I've seen what its like to be free
I've seen everything that I'd like to see
And yet it's still so hard to be me
Maybe it's just a part of who I am
To be eternally abused
But when it's yourself that's the abuser
Do you ever just blow your fuse?
Because life just isn't what you thought it would be
And trust me, it ain't no crystal stair
I'm not exactly stable, but I'm getting there
Because sometimes, life just isn't
Because life just isn't what you thought it would be
And trust me, it ain't no crystal stair
I'm not exactly stable, but I'm getting there
Because sometimes, sometimes, sometimes life just isn't fair
But I'm getting there… oh yeah, I'm getting there
Just trudging up those stair's…
I'm getting there…
Walking out of Miroku's apartment that day might have been one of the hardest things I ever had to do. It wasn't because I knew I'd be breaking his heart, but it was because I knew that I could be happy there. And it scared me to think that I could be happy with something that wasn't what I wanted and wasn't exactly right. That I could be happy without taking the chance to strive for what was truly in my heart. That day I didn't just walk away from a man I know I could have loved, but I walked away from the well-trodden path.
For I, I took the path less-traveled by.
And that has made all the difference.
--
When I got home Sesshomaru and Inuyasha had left a whole slew of messages on my machine.
Hey Kag, it's Inu. I know you heard what I said, but I just wanted to say that Paul and I, well, Paul and I are together but that doesn't mean there isn't going to be time for us. I think I love him, I really do. He takes care of me. What about you? Does Sesshomaru? end message
Or my personal favorite;
Kag, pick up the damn phone. I'm sorry that you heard about this in the most horrible fashion but that doesn't matter. My brother won't stop moping about—well, I suppose he hasn't because I haven't seen him around here since. Do you even think you can forgive him? I mean, he is such an idiot. Date him once or twice and then tell him to fuck off…honestly, you deserve better. end message
Or Sesshomaru's…
Hi…I wanted to see how you were doing. I hope your mother is alright. You can call me whenever…end message
Hi Kagome. It's Sesshomaru…end message
I was listening to them for about the seventh time when there was a loud knock on my door. Listening to see if they would go away, I pressed stop on my answering machine and walked to the door, peeking through the eyehole.
Oh god, it was Sesshomaru.
"Kag, let me in. I need to talk to you." Gritting my teeth I turned my back to the door, unable to let him in. what would he say to me? Would he tell me he loves me or is he trying to tell me we're through? How would I respond to either of these? Would I fight for him or would I let him go? Is he just here to pick up his books? Oh god, I look like a complete horror.
"Kagome, please." I turned to look in the eyehole once more, unable to resist the honest pleading on his face. Opening the door slowly, I walked over and sunk into my couch, knowing that life was easier to face when comfortable.
He looked gorgeous, like a dream, like a man who I could love for the rest of my life. He was rumpled and upset, a combination I always liked on him—it made him appear childish and delicate and hardly cold at all. Definitely not the formidable man we all thought he was. He was pacing in front of the couch.
"There is something I have to tell you. You won't like it, in fact, I think you'll dislike what I have to say very much, but it must be said. I used you, Kagome and I can't forgive myself. I used you at first because I thought that I could understand you…understand why you could, for the rest of your life be perfectly happy with loving my brother from afar, even when you were close in his arms. How you could be safe inside his affection when it could never go above friendship. How night after night and day after day you could sit on that couch and entertain his selfish sighings, his incapable communication skills and his sexual orientation. I had to understand what prompted you to love him despite his flaws, despite his affiliation with the same sex, despite the fact that he could never love you in return." He sat in front of me now, kneeling as Miroku did. I couldn't move or speak. He was just like the others? "But you must listen to me. I love you. I fell in love with you when I began to understand you. How could I not? does Inuyasha know how you take your coffee? Does he know that when you wake up in the morning you stretch your feet first and then arch your back and make the cutest groaning wake-up sound? Does he know that when you read you laugh out loud at what you're reading and then try to explain it to whoever is around you? I love you so much, do you understand that?"
"What the hell is your problem?" I managed to stumble out, rising and shaking his hand away from me. His hand brushed against a particularly bad sore spot on my stomach, one of the deepest cuts I achieved that night.
"What did you do to yourself?" He grabbed both my arms and dragged my body to him. "Kagome, what have you done?"
"Don't you dare change the subject," I said, yelling. "How can you expect me to even begin to believe you when you just confessed to using me? Did I work for your experiment? Do you understand how I love him now? And what about this woman you have supposedly loved forever? Where is SHE now?"
"I've never loved anyone before you." And that was the last straw. Not only had he used me to somehow understand love or his brother…but he lied to me. All those moments when I thought that I had understood him, that I thought I had found someone who was like me, who understood me and what I felt—it was gone. No one had ever understood me. It was all fake.
"And you ask me why I love Inuyasha? Well, think about it…at least he doesn't lie to me like this. You don't understand me at all if you think that just because you love me I will take you in my arms and forgive you." His face hardened and he looked me straight into my eyes, holding me with his piercing gaze. For the first time, he frightened me.
"Do you know what your problem is Kagome? Your problem is that you put people up on a pedestal. Or more importantly, you put men up on a pedestal. You make them better than they really are, they are illusions, and nothing can ever change your view of them because they have no faults. And when someone real comes along, who you can't put on a pedestal, you don't understand, you don't know what to do with them. Why does everything have to be so intense for you? Why does everything have to be so…I don't know, so damn romantic and literature-esque? Why can't something in your whole damn life be real? Why don't you realize that Inuyasha isn't a real person? Theses illusions aren't going to solve your problems and they aren't going to sweep you off your feet and make everything better. Stop being afraid of what you could have and just take it, take what you want and run with it. The chance may never come again. And he is gone, Kagome, he isn't coming back. They aren't going to replace your father; ever. I can't do that either, but I am offering you something more. I am offering you something that hasn't been warped or confused. I am offering you me, me, with my temper and my possessiveness and my often introverted nature. I'm offering you a future that will have tough times and that will have sad times but we will have happy and romantic times too. I am not offering you forever or happily ever after but I am offering you now. And that's the best I can do. It's up to you to decide if it's enough. Goodbye, Kagome."
I stood, shocked, as I distantly registered the door slamming. I stumbled back to the couch as my heart pounded in my chest, my sobs coming out in chocking gasps. I couldn't decide what was harder; the fact that he lied to me or the fact that he just verbalized my deepest and darkest secret—that no man I could ever have could compare to the image I created in my mind, the image of the father I had, the image of the man I want to marry—the image of an illusion. At that moment I knew that my life was going nowhere for a reason—I hated myself. And I created the perfect man in my mind to do the beating eternally.
All my life I had mistaken love for simply a dream-like obsession.
Curling into a ball on the couch I rocked myself into a tearful sleep, praying that tomorrow would bring a dawn that I could look upon myself and smile.