Fusillade
Your life has been so hard
It's dried up angels that can't keep guard
And I'm trying to reach your hand, but I'm on fire
I never meant to fade away. Wait for me.
Oh, just stop pretending
When they say you're nothing.
Chapter Five: Weak
She couldn't feel anything.
The hunger, the exhaustion, the bruises, the sprain in her ankle, it was nothing to her. In the one moment the world came crashing down on her with a simple phone call, every feeling she had ever felt had disintegrated into dust.
All but overpowering self-loathing.
Her hands gripped the edges of the cold ceramic sink in the small washroom. She watched as her tears dropped from her cheeks and trailed down the drain. Raising her chin slightly, she instantly shrank back at her reflection in the mirror.
The girl she saw was unrecognizable as Sango. Red splotches decorated her cheeks and eyes, which were bloodshot and empty. Large purple patches had formed under her eyes and her hair was a tangled mess, hanging limply over her shoulders, her bangs casting shadows over her eyes.
She couldn't bear to look at herself any longer.
Quickly, she pulled her arm back, and with a frustrated scream, brought her clenched fist into the reflection of her face. Cracks appeared, snaking across the glass, marring the once smooth surface. The single, large reflection of Sango multiplied into several as the glass split into pieces.
Sango backed up slowly, until she was stopped by the solid wall behind her. She raised her hand in front of her, and was slightly surprised to see trails of blood dripping slowly around her fingers and down the back of her hand. The image strangely enchanted Sango, her own blood tracing patterns along her skin.
Though she watched the blood flow steadily from wounds in her fist, she couldn't feel anything at all.
She wanted to be reprimanded, screamed at, yelled at, punished. But there was no one who could do that for her. She wanted to be told that it was her fault, have it be confirmed by someone other than herself.
Anyone who said otherwise, they lied, and only she knew it.
She had made a promise to herself to live for them. To carry on as the last remaining family member. But how could she keep true to this if she had been the one to kill them? Indirectly yes, but even so, she had caused them to die.
All due to your selfish ambitions.
You claim to have loved your father and your brother, but you couldn't spare a day to listen to their wishes and come home.
Yet you still insist that it was because you wanted to make your father proud with your studies, when really it was your own self-absorbed conceit that made you want to come home late every other night and deposit your younger brother into the care of one of your friends.
And you know what?
It made him feel like he was a burden to you.
And you say there's nothing more important than family?
Abruptly, the severely cracked glass on the mirror gave way and fell out of it's frame, raining pieces of glass over the sink and onto the floor. Sango looked down and noticed that a few slivers had nicked her calves and feet, but again, she felt nothing but burning self-disgust.
She fell to her knees on the bathroom floor, bits of glass digging into her skin. Picking up a small shard, she held it lightly between her fingers, studying it.
You are a disgrace.
It sliced through her skin, just deep enough to draw a slow stream of blood.
You are disgusting.
It was fascinating, really, how the sharp edge looked like it was simply sliding along the surface of her pale skin, but it left a trail of contrasting scarlet in its wake.
The blood is a distraction.
She leaned back onto the wall behind her, a limp hand dropping the fragment of glass. There were no more tears left in her.
Any pain you feel is deserved.
*
"What are you saying Miroku?"
"Exactly what I just said, Kagome. Sango's family, they're all dead. She lives by herself."
Kagome's now horror-stricken face stared back blankly at Miroku as he looked gloomily off at some point past her shoulder.
"How could she not have told us this after all this time!" she exclaimed. "I thought we were supposed to be her friends!"
She frustratedly kicked the wrought iron gate at the entrance to the school courtyard. Though she was trying to appear angry, she knew she couldn't. That wasn't the way her emotions worked. She was more worried than anything else.
Inuyasha put a comforting arm around her shoulder before he shot a glare at Miroku. "When did she tell you this?"
Miroku had now crossed his arms over his chest and was leaning back on the gate, avoiding eye contact. "Yesterday, when we were walking home."
Inuyasha made no indication he had heard him and was now awkwardly attempting comfort. "It's okay, Kagome," he said in a low voice. "It's not your fault that that happened to Sango."
"I know," she replied quietly. "But...but maybe I said something to hurt her...and I didn't even know. I could have treated her better...if she had told us!"
"You're a genuinely nice person Kagome. You treated her the best of all of us here. Maybe she had her own reasons for not telling us. Sango is...a shy person. You brought her out of her shell."
Kagome's mouth curved in a small smile, before Miroku cleared his throat.
" I'm not sure Sango gave me the assurance that it would be okay to tell you this. I think it's right to say I'm taking a risk," he said with a sigh. "I think it would be best if you two act like nothing's any different today than it was before I told you anything."
They opened their mouths to argue but he stopped them again. "If she had held on this long without saying anything to anyone, then maybe she really didn't want anyone to know," he reasoned.
"So I'm supposed to just go on with how I acted yesterday?" Kagome asked in slight outrage.
"I didn't say anything about that. Just don't make it obvious that you know," he responded.
The loud, monotonous warning bell sounded, and the three students automatically moved to go through the gates.
"You know," Inuyasha spoke up. "If she's not here now, she might not even show up today."
Miroku tried to look as though those words didn't affect him.
*
She was going to be late.
Did she care?
She didn't know.
She woke up lying on a bed of shattered glass and cold tile. The memories of the night before surfaced, almost instantly, as a lingering stinging returned to her arms, legs and stomach.
Sango wondered if she should get ready to go to school. After all, any reasons that had kept her going before now lay in pieces.
Her family? She was the ungrateful leech that had killed them. Why should she continue to live for them when in reality, she should be dead and they should be alive.
Had she managed to find happiness at all in her short life? Her path was littered with sadness, hurt, hatred. And it was all hers.
She just wanted to be able to go back, and relive her past. Maybe, just maybe, things could have been different.
As she stood in the cold shower, ignoring the stinging of soap on her lacerations, she decided to go to school.
She wouldn't be weak, though she felt like a slight breeze would tear her to pieces.
She wouldn't cry, because tears were a waste of time and energy, and she didn't have enough of both.
And of course, she wouldn't tell them. Not a word. It was bad enough that she had spilled to Miroku her tragic past, but if they ever discovered this...
Maybe the way they saw her would change too. Then her only friends would see her for what she was, a pathetic, lost child, looking for something she would never find.
The sky was grey and void of any sunlight. Sango's bandaged hands were tucked into the pockets of her thin coat, and her book bag was slung over one shoulder. There were hardly any other students on the sidewalks, evidence of how late she was. How could she explain her tardiness?
It was one battle after another. Conflicting emotions kept telling her to give up, and her natural instincts kept telling her to fight. She was raised as a fighter.
If fate gave her a reason to give up, then she would have no choice, right?
But her heart wanted her to live, regardless of what her mind told her.
Her heart wanted to see him again.
*
There was collective hush around the room as a quiet, almost hesitant knock interrupted the current lesson.
The teacher dropped the chalk on the ledge and turned towards the source of the distraction. "You may come in," she called tiredly.
The door creaked open and Sango softly walked towards the teacher's desk, careful not to look towards her classmates, careful to keep her face shielded by her hair.
"It's your first time being late today, Sango," the teacher stated.
"I know," Sango said quietly, still looking down. "And I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"I know it won't. I may be a teacher, but I'm not made of stone. You've had a rough night. If you want to go to the washroom first, then you may."
Sango shook her head. The last place she wanted to be was in front of a mirror.
"Then you may take your seat. We're just taking a few notes. I'm sure you can get anything you missed from one of your friends there."
She turned to pick up the chalk stub again, and Sango walked quietly between the desks to her seat, carefully avoiding any eyes. She could sense Miroku looking at her intently, and as she sat down his gaze continued to burn at her back.
He was going to ask her. It was inevitable.
So when class ended, she bolted.
*
Sango sat on a bench in the school's change room, which was currently humid and steamy due to the girls in the showers. She had feigned menstrual cramps to the teacher, who, of course, bought it once she had taken a second glance at Sango's messy appearance in addition to her sore ankle.
She rested her fingers on her temples, rubbing slowly. She was moving slowly and sluggish, because her ankle was still slightly aching, and she just felt so tired and weak. It was a struggle just to keep her concentration during class, and to walk to them in between. She didn't think she'd survive if she participated in physical education.
It wasn't the first time she heard the high voices of the other girls as they chattered and gossiped while rinsing themselves off from the physical activities of the class. It was the first time, however, that she heard her name.
"Hey, is Taijiya still here?" an excited voice asked.
Another girl yelled Sango's name out a couple of times, checking for a response. Sango remained quiet, leaning against the wall separating the showers from the change rooms.
"No, I think she left. She didn't participate today anyway," the girl concluded. "She looked like she had a bad hangover and slept on rocks," she added in as an afterthought. Some laughter followed.
Another voice cut through the laughter. "Girls, girls! Guess who I saw her with yesterday when I was on the metro?"
Sango waited with bated breath, her hands clutching her notebook so tightly it would collapse.
"Houshi Miroku."
Amused gasps and laughs of mirth echoed off the walls.
"Really? You saw them? Together? Strange, never thought he would go for the withdrawn, quiet type, you know."
"Maybe he's getting desperate. After all, he hasn't been getting some for awhile."
"Still, he's quite cute, don't you think?"
"Still, she's quite ugly," replied another mocking tone. "What a shame though, she would be pretty if it weren't for those...things. Remember last week?"
"Absolutely. Who could forget that sight? That huge, repulsive burn across her back?"
"And all those purple and blue patches? Did anyone notice her hands were all covered in bandages today?"
"Don't even remind me-"
"Enough! All of you shut up!" Kagome's voice exploded, drowning out the giggles. "Jealous? Because Sango-chan is way more beautiful and capable than any of you?"
"Oh, be quiet Higurashi. I know you're her friend. So tell me, is Taijiya really weird like they say?"
Kagome's temper rose with every word she spoke. "Because she's quiet and doesn't care to waste her time with the likes of you that makes her weird? And just who is 'they'? You and your narrow minded friends?"
"Why are you getting so angry Higurashi? Can't you take a joke? So she's quiet, and bruised up, maybe she gets beat at home. We're not stupid enough to ignore that. We'll tell a teacher or something. My good deed for the day."
"You shouldn't joke about that," Kagome said through gritted teeth. "She has her...reasons."
Sango's notebook slipped from her hands and hit the ground.
Kagome knew.
How could she have found out?
The discussion in the showers halted abruptly, and Sango picked up her notebook and hurriedly rushed out the door.
*
Every bruise on her body was beginning to show up dark in contrast with her pale skin. Her head throbbed and her body wasn't handling all the extra emotional baggage as well as she hoped, even though she was putting all the effort she could to cope. Was that how people saw her? Quiet, withdrawn, bruised Sango. Perhaps she comes from a broken home.
Sango darted around the courtyard, searching for a place that would be most suitable to avoid her friends. The lunch bell had just rung, not giving her that much time.
"Sango-chan!" Kagome called, jogging up to her.
Sango forced a smile. "Hi Kagome, ready for lunch?"
Kagome shifted her weight onto one side. "Sango-chan, I want to apologize for last week. You're the nicest person I've ever known, and I want us to continue being good friends. I don't want this to end over some silly disagreement that was mostly my fault," she explained, a sad look in her eyes.
Sango bit back the urge to shake her and ask her if this was all in sympathy. "Kagome-chan, I felt horrible for upsetting you. Please forgive me."
Kagome smiled happily and enthusiastically embraced Sango. She winced, relieved Kagome couldn't see how she grimaced at the pressure on her bruises.
*
She knew he would corner her after school. He always did, didn't he? Isn't that how they became truly friends anyway?
So when he appeared beside her, leaning on the lockers, she should have been prepared.
"Sango."
She exhaled deeply, knowing exactly what the next words out of his mouth would be. He would most likely make some sort of comment related to her strange behaviour and appearance, and then give her a pep talk out of pity. He would begin to treat her differently.
"I'd like to think that we've grown very close over the short time we've been friends. And if there's anything you want to talk about, you know I'm here for you."
She still faced the lockers, avoiding looking at him.
"I don't need your pity, Houshi-san," she said quietly.
" I know you don't, and that's not what I'm offering you. You are strong, the strongest girl I have ever known." He turned her to face him. "I'm not just saying that."
Sango wanted to fall into him, and tell him everything. How she felt so guilty, lonely, and how the pressure from all sides was grinding her to dust.
I found out I killed my family, Miroku. I haven't eaten in days. I'm so tired, and weak. I have to fight to pay the rent. I'm not fitting in here.
I hurt myself to escape, I'm self-destructing, how can you stand there and say I'm strong?
Are you trying to understand?
Won't you help me, Miroku?
Please, I'm begging you.
"I don't need your pity, Houshi-san," she repeated.
"Sango, I'm not going to say that I know how you feel. True, I lost my father in front of my very eyes as well, but I was far younger and handled it differently. We are all emotionally different. But I am going to say that I want you to relate to me, to share yourself with me."
He leaned down towards her.
"I want you to say that you trust me, Sango."
Her lips slightly parted as she gently exhaled. His hands were on her shoulders now.
"Please, say it Sango."
Of all the things he could say, from demanding to know more to pretending he understood, cooing and comforting her. Above everything, he was asking for her trust, for confidence in him.
How did he break her down so fast? When did she allow him to get under her skin and influence her the way he did? He could be dangerous to her, if she carelessly allowed him to find out any more than he already knew.
She wanted to say that he already had her complete confidence, that she would willingly share her soul with him. But he had told. And she couldn't forget that.
"I....I don't know."
Disappointment flickered in his eyes as his fingers slowly relaxed from the rigid grip he didn't know they had been in. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he answered slowly.
"We should start walking then, " he said with forced cheer, turning and beginning to walk to the gates.
Sango held back, the feeling of constant pressure beginning to rise in her back.
"Wait, Houshi-san," she called out, taking a shaky step forward.
Miroku scrutinized her closely. He knew that she had been tired, but lately, she looked so weak and frail, he was afraid she'd break. And he wanted to know why.
I want to trust you so badly, Miroku. I want to let you in.
Her skin was noticeably more pale, the slight blush on her cheeks more contrasting than usual.
If he looked hard enough he could have seen the gears turning in her head as she thought hard about what she was going to say.
" I'm willing to give you my trust, Houshi-san. But first, I want you to tell me something too."
He gave her a questioning look.
"Do you care for me?" she said in a small voice tinged with hope.
He chuckled briefly before scooping her into an embrace, unknowingly putting pressure on her bruises. "Sango, of course I do. You're different, and you're special to me."
Sango drew away from his arms, surpressing a wince with a tight smile.
"Then I want you to tell me that you'll always see me for who I am."
He lightly brushed his hand against her cheek. " I always have," he replied, just loud enough for her to hear.
She took his hand gently. "I trust you," she whispered, willing herself to believe him.
*
Their feet automatically carried them onto the regular route they walked home. Though Miroku felt somewhat elated with the progress he and Sango had made, it only heightened his concern for her.
Every stumble, every short breath and every time her pace slowed, worried him. The growing weakness he sensed was blatant. He was carrying her bag for her now, after much resistance, but that made a small difference.
Miroku knew she was strong, what other girl had such a firm, clean slap? But in the months he had known her, she only seemed to grow more fragile.
He didn't even notice when it happened.
At this time of day, the main streets were ordinarily crowded and they had both developed a sixth sense for avoiding heavy body contact with other passers by. In spite of this, Sango just wasn't focused today, and when she collided with a young woman who was being pulled by her child, the wind was knocked out of her.
The mother apologized profusely, and Sango waved it off, apologizing for her own clumsiness.
Which was untrue, Miroku noted. The child ran into her full on.
"Okay, Sango?" he asked out of habit.
"I'm fine," she responded, a little breathless. "Thank you."
She wavered, and before he knew what was happening he had caught her unconscious form before it hit the concrete.
_____________________________*
Fusillade: Weak - April 21st 2004
Er, yes. Here it is. I tried to fix the formatting again, but I'm not sure how it will turn out. This story isn't that much liked, but it interests me, so I'll keep writing it anyway. Not that many reviewers for chapter four, so I'll name you now. Aamalie, LiL psYchO, and Blade of Fire, thank you for your very kind and uplifting reviews. It keeps me going.
