I know I had that last part pretty rushed.
And I know I take long to update.
I'm really sorry about that. But things look pretty bleak. A new chapter every week or so. Particularly Sunday, because I have school on Saturday too. Every other day except Sunday has me running around until 11 pm or studying until that time.
So I apologize...but...yeah. Thanks.
Anything But This
Chapter 8
I'm Sorry
-Kagome-
Violet...?
Not the brilliant golden eyes she remembered, but a much duller and darker shade. She went to look at his hair. That wasn't the same either, silver cascades had dripped into an infinite black. She heard a gasp, and was surprised that it had come from herself. She was too preoccupied in grasping this, a hundred thoughts barreling through her head. She wished each of them were false.
Her grip on the hem of his shirt got weaker. Why couldn't have she seen the signs? Remarkable fighting abilities, supernatural jumping power, not to mention two very real ears.
They were gone too.
It all began to make sense, and yet at the same time...not at all. She couldn't believe that he was actually...that. She may as well believe everything now, down to what Miroku Houshi claimed--that he was a respectable monk. Snort. Like that would ever happen. It brought a disturbing mental image.
She denied the urge to look across the room, to the blood-stained carpet, beneath the window. Something that had left her mind before.
The painting...
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-Inuyasha-
For a second he was sort of dazed. He blamed his wound for it. But the more he simply sat there, with a more innocent and older version of Kikyou on his lap, he felt a weird sort of queaziness in his stomach. Not the kind that he felt when he felt guilty, but a kind of nervousness that he had had when he was younger... Like peer pressure or something.
He was simply worrying what she thought of him.
And then it struck him, hard. His eyebrows knitted together and he winced from the invisible strike.
She had seen his eyes.
And no contact lenses could do what weird powers could do to his eyes. He couldn't even bear to close them, he was afraid she'd leave. Without a chance to tell her what was going on.
Indeed she was. He could feel her tight fists loosening, her confused face now grim. So he did the first thing that crossed his booger-sized brain.
He grabbed her. Grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him.
He had definitely skipped ahead of himself this time...
"Uh...I can explain." Then she hit him. He fell to the floor with her, but she hastily scrambled away from his touch. A hand rose to his cheek, a bruise swelling up. That had been no slap, like any other girl would do, but that had been a punch. A sharp-knuckled, good punch right through his head. Surprisingly enough, the slash on his stomach was numbed. The shock was more evident than the pain right now.
She was huffing angrily, and her chocolate eyes were flaring with a rage and fury she was holding back elsewhere. ... Like her mouth for instance. He would have expected shouting and yelling by now, or her screaming while she was fleeing from him.
"I...," He stammered. "I can--," He was cut off from repeating his previous words, her own voice biting through the air like acid.
"I know." She hissed. His reaction was only to widen his eyes at her narrowing ones. Violet to her cocoa.
She suddenly whirled around, marching to the window in which he had come through earlier that night, and for a moment he was struck with the fear she'd leave. But that girl never failed to surprise him sometimes. He admired the fact she did not break into a run, or hurt him again, but all she did was pick up a shreds of paper, and throw them at him. They fluttered aimlessly, not even close to their destination. But it didn't matter, she picked up another handful, advanced menacingly, and proceeded to shove them into his face.
And now he knew what that was. The only thing besides his carefully hidden ears (until he was angry), would tell her what he really was. He watched the pieces wave around him casually. At least they were too crumpled up to make out now. He tried in vain to swallow the apple-sized lump in his throat.
Finally she stopped, seemingly realizing she had nothing to hurl at him anymore that would hurt him enough. He watched her scoff, not breaking into tear-mode, but could see her trembling. Although it still may have been anger.
"Another demon, huh?" Her sarcasm was more painful to hear. They held no trickle of humor at all. Her next words were hushed into a nearly inaudible whisper. "And to think I felt sorry to you..." She closed her eyes, and he could not even start to imagine the thoughts that were running through her mind. Suddenly she opened them, her tone rising. "To a thing that could have killed me." She laughed lightly. Still no real amusement. "You certainly have your role fixed very well. A rebellious student who flings only profanity from his mouth and needs assistance from a tutor. What were you planning to do? Hurt me like you hurt those men?" Her voice quivered. "Plunge a knife through me like what happened to you?"
He was in no place to talk to her at this moment. Persuade her or even move. He simply continued to watch her break.
"Oh, I'm fine with the demon bit." Her gaze wavered to look at him for only a fraction of a second. Very quick, but he knew he hadn't imagined it. "I just had...high hopes for you. Pull you out of that world of violence you're stuck in. But it turns out you're way more than I can handle. I also trusted you...to come back. So I waited." He could see the torment that was she was going through in having to express herself through her anger. "I knew you could be sweet. I knew that I could try to make you better. Maybe that was why I was drawn to you, even though I couldn't stand you. I just...thought I had a chance to change you. But I jumped ahead of myself..."
Her gaze was brought to him, and he felt himself squirm under her look. It was a look he had never seen before from her, and would have guessed that she never had to look at anyone like that. She seemed desperate..for relief.
But he couldn't give that to her.
Because her words were the most bluntest truth he had ever heard.
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-Kagome-
She searched him for any sign. She waited for a cry to tell her that she was wrong, that he would explain. But she had cornered him into a tight spot, and he was content in staying there to simply watch her.
Her words had held no lie in them. And she herself was surprised she could control herself so much to speak her mind so subtely. In all fact, she felt betrayed. Despite his stinging words, his disobedience, he had turned out to be even worse. So she couldn't help him. And she blamed him for that. For pulling her into it too.
She couldn't even explain why she felt such an intensity in her anger. She knew she had never been tolerant, but this time her anger was there to hurt him. To hurt. She had stooped to his level. And she blamed it all on him.
She could not feel herself rising to her feet, her body was numb. She was unconscious of the fact she was gathering her books and things. She could not think of why she was so casual or worry about the blood on her clothes. All she simply did, was slip on her coat, walk to the door and open it. She waited for him to say something. But nothing came. No longer hesitating, she closed the door behind her quietly.
She had only wanted to make him better. Like the myth of the half-demon and the miko with the legendary jewel: the Shikon no Tama.
It was ironic how much their story matched theirs. Except that story was a fairytale.
And this was real.
She began to realize this after she arrived home, after she smiled good night to her mother and went up to her bedroom. After slowly dressing, after lifting the covers to her neck.
This was real.
She closed her eyes.
And nothing could erase the words she had said to him. Nothing.
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-Inuyasha-
It was safe to say he was only sub-conscious while seeing her gather herself. He was simply replaying each and everyone of her words, and recording her voice to his memory. Absorbing all the meaning of her large confession, his mind in an emotional maelstrom of the feelings he had always feared but felt...occasionally.
However, his exterior betrayed none of that, and simply continued to be in his laid back position, one arm propping himself up, the other holding himself up by his elbow, legs bent but sprawled. He followed her figure with his eyes, saw her open the door. He made no objection to that, he was as paralyzed as a dead person could be. Only the muscles in his eyes functioned.
He waited for her to look back at him. Allow him to be free of this suffocating tension.
The door shut. Not only was she gone from his view, but he knew that that last action had meant that she no longer had any doubts about him. No second glance to tell him she would forgive him.
And that hurt.
Once again his physical body did nothing to express what he was feeling, for he walked with the same numbness in which she had walked. He threw a pile of clothes to the bloodied carpet, wanting to deal with it later. He got into his bed after washing, and could vaguely smell the fragrances of her.
It was a sweet flowery smell, with the wild tang of strawberries maybe. He remembered the other times she had smelled of vanilla. So soft smelling.
He was sorry.
Those were the hardest words he had ever learned to say.
Too short. I'm sorry. =/