Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha/ Dashboard Confessional
(10/24/04)
A/N: ohJoy - I'm starting to think that you're the one that stays up late alot. You're always the first one to review, lol. Watch, as soon as I post this, I'll wait ten minutes, refresh my inbox, and you'll have reviewed already.Aamalie - And I quote, "you are detested." Lily Thorne - Good writing? Why are you reading this then? Amethyst Fluff- Who hasn't had the urge to snoop before? Iggy04- Curse my dumbing down of the characters!chocolatechipp, Lady Sango 7 - I've been so busy too! Thanks for reviewing and finding time to do so. Starzski - Ah not the reason. Prepare to be disappointed! But you have faith in me, and for that, I love you. eef - That has to be best short review ever. Thank you!
And lots of love to Katrina5, the entire reason for this story, and Wendy, my official muse (now that I know what those are).
Okay everyone. PREPARE TO BE DISAPPOINTED!
-- May
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-
"You knew about this, Kohaku?"
The little bottle slid across the table and fell into the boy's lap while Miroku paced in front of him.
"Yes," he said tiredly. "I knew ever since she was prescribed them."
"She . . . she told you not to tell me, didn't she." It wasn't a question. Kohaku wasn't looking at him.
Miroku raked his fingernails down his cheek, making a frustrated sound. "How long?"
" I - I . . . she -"
"Don't answer," he made a motion as if to sweep the boy's stammered beginnings of a sentence aside. "I don't want to be the one to make you answer."
"But . . . Miroku-san," Kohaku said timidly as a faint chiming was heard outside the door. "It wasn't all because of you. Ane-ue . . . has never been happier."
"Hello," Sango said cheerfully as she slipped off her shoes and dropped her bag by the stairs. She walked into the kitchen and twined her arms around Miroku's neck, leaning in to kiss him.
He returned it briefly before pulling back and giving her a weak smile. Her arms dropped to her sides. "What's going on?" she asked in slight concern. "Did something happen?" She turned around to look at Kohaku, whose head was bent in guilt.
"Ane-ue," he whispered. She bent lower to hear him, laying a hand on his back. "Kohaku? What's wrong?"
He shrugged his shoulders violently and she withdrew her hand. He stood up so quickly that the chair nearly fell over backwards at the force from the back of his knees.
"You should have told him."
The little bottle slammed soundly on the table before he turned around and soundlessly walked up the stairs.
When he was out of sight, she didn't have to look back at the bottle to know what it was. "Miroku . . . I'm - I'm sorry."
"What are you apologizing for, Sango?" There was virtually no emotion in his words. Or at least, it sounded that way.
"I didn't tell you -- "
His hand was pressed against his temple as he leaned heavily against the counter behind him. "I don't get it Sango. Please . . . just explain it to me. Please."
"Ask me. Ask me anything."
"Are they . . . "
She took a deep breath, her back suddenly warm.
"I was put onto antidepressants when I was nineteen. That was when my mother became sick. She died not too long afterward, and my dosage increased. I took it the worst, worse than Father did. He simply immersed himself in work."
"Your father approved of this?"
"He thought it would be best. His wife just died, he had two kids that he couldn't handle alone, one that did not understand yet and one that was slowly spiralling downward. It was the only thing he could do."
Miroku looked like he was restraining himself from something, be it lashing out or kicking a hole through the wall.
"Was he with you through any of this? Treatment? Sessions?"
"Father had to work. He told me this and I understood him. He had to support us. I did visit a psychiatrist every once in a while, for an update. I was doing well with them. It helped me to deal with everything, to be there for Kohaku."
"Why are you still on them?"
Sango paused, swallowing.
"I . . . I need them."
"If you were doing well, if you're able to deal with things now it means you've gotten stronger. Sango, you don't need them."
"You don't understand Miroku, it's not like that -"
"Aren't you happy? You promised me -- you promised that you would say something, anything, if you were unhappy."
"I couldn't just well tell you I was taking antidepressants!" she cried. "You'd think I was crazy! Unstable! You'd worry about me non-stop and get worked up about every single thing. Every single damn thing."
A realization struck him. "Takeda knew about this."
She didn't say anything.
"Shit. Takeda knew about this and I didn't. That's why he -- he knew something was wrong."
"I'm sorry . . . please."
"So is this why he always had those issues with me? Because he knew your secret and I didn't? Because he knew you were sad, and yet still with me? Does he think I'm making you unhappy? Am I?"
She moved her head side to side very slowly, as if to emphasize her silent answer.
"He . . . he just worries, okay? He worries about me! I didn't tell him . . . he and father discussed it so that he could keep an eye on me from time to time. He just cares too much. Too fucking much."
Miroku looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply as if to calm himself.
"When I told you that I was serious about us I did it for a reason, Sango. Because it was true. I'd worry about you because I love you, and I'd want to know what was so wrong that I couldn't fix. I would support you, I'd be there."
His expression clouded over and for a second, she was more scared of him than she had ever been before.
"Now I'll tell you what I wouldn't do. I wouldn't force you to do anything, I wouldn't berate you, baby you, pressure you. You are your own person and these are the kind of situations that only you can control. And if you truly want to take control of your life again, I'd be there every step of the way."
She clutched her head in her hands, frustration sinking in.
"Miroku, I . . . can't. Not yet."
" . . .You've become reliant, haven't you? Fucking hell, don't tell me you're addicted."
"No . . . that's not true. At all."
"Then what's true, Sango? You say that they've helped, that you're better, that you're happy with me and the way everything is, why would you continue? To say . . . to say you need them . . . why?"
"Miroku, am I . . . am I everything? To you?"
He walked over to her swiftly and grabbed her wrists, holding them between his hands tightly. He looked so pained.
"You are."
She looked so lost, so unsure.
"You think I'm lying."
He dropped her hands.
"Being with you -- and being like I am . . . I'm insecure, Miroku. I can't help it! Despite what everyone says, you're amazing, and I'm lucky to have you."
"And you think that's a reason I would cheat?"
"No . . . I've always just thought that I was -- sometimes I don't know if you're just playing a trick on me! Making me feel so happy just because you can
"You're right Sango, you're right that I wanted to make you happy, but now, I've learned that I can't. I just . . . I just thought I did."
He reached out again and held her wrists loosely so she couldn't turn away.
"Listen, I don't deserve you, I've never had, and I never will, so why would I look elsewhere, when all I needed was right here with me? If I was the reason, a contribution to the problem . . . Sango, I'd never forgive myself."
He gathered her in his arms and gripped her tightly, feeling wetness on his shoulder as she pressed her against him.
"I always had doubts, and without them, everything just beat on my defenses even more so. Fuck, Miroku, it was because it was too good to be true." The sound was muffled by his shirt. We shouldn't be together."
She pushed away from him, eyes shining with the build of tears, harsh and broken determination stealing across her features. He staggered on the spot.
"Why?" His voice was raspy, choked and if he had said something longer, it would have been incoherent. "Is this my fault?"
"I can't . . . I'll just keep on hurting you like this."
"Sango, I . . . I don't want to see you like this. I want you to be happy, not for me, not for anyone else, but for you. I don't want it to get worse."
Her dainty hands balled into fists and she swiped at her eyes angrily. "How do you know it won't get worse? How the fuck do you know that?" She was becoming short of breath. "I should have said from the beginning . . . don't get involved with me, I need chemicals pumped into my fucking blood to keep me sane."
Her knees gave out and she braced her hands on cold tiles, looking at her faint reflection before teardrops marred it.
"Miroku . . . I don't want this."
"What do you want then?" He bent to her level, brushing her bangs back and kissing her forehead.
"And when everything is said and done, we can trust each other and we are ready to start again . . . if your feelings haven't changed . . . come back to me. I can't stop you from feeling what you feel . . . because those feelings are yours."
At that moment, they both wondered the same thing, unwilling to stop the questions from floating into their thoughts.
That night, they did all the things they used to do, as though nothing had happened.
The next morning he had left, and she hadn't rushed downstairs after him, hadn't kissed him goodbye.
That afternoon her father had called to offer what little half-hearted comfort he could. She was curt with him, hanging up with a cold farewell. She nearly broke down as the phone clicked into place. She couldn't blame him forever.
That evening she flushed all her pills down the toilet.
That was when she realized how much she truly hurt.
She would see him a few days after that. Sometimes he would come to pick up things he had left, but not everything.
It was almost as if he knew that he'd be back one day.
Any Given Someday
Chapter Ten
The Fallout
It was a wonderful feeling, the few moments after you wake up before you realize just what the hell you did last night.
It also felt very familiar, warm, and sensual, the way his arm hung loosely around her waist, keeping her back pressed against him. His breathing was even, grazing her shoulder. Early morning sunlight hit their bodies in thin rectangles, shaped by the half opened blinds.
He shifted behind her, hugging her close and his inhalations of air tickling the skin of her neck. She moved with him, running her fingers over the bedspread in front of her and wondering where to go from here.
She inched her body away, hoping he wouldn't notice, but even in sleep he did, his arm curling around her body tighter and holding her back.
Shivering, she closed her eyes and imprinted this feeling in her mind, holding her breath and moving farther from him still. His hold became loose, and she slipped out from under his arm, her hair spilling through his fingers. Her body felt strangely cold.
Exhaling deeply, she set to crawling on the floor, hurriedly looking for her clothes and haphazardly throwing them on, her hands shaking and unable to work the clasps and buttons. She was right; the room looked as though it had gone to hell and back.
Swearing under her breath, she snatched up a crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it flat on the floor. Spotting a pen nearby, she scrawled a short note on the sheet before she heard shuffling behind her.
"Are you leaving?"
She stilled, a quiet "yes," escaping her.
Unsure of how to proceed, she stood slowly, bending her chin down to try and concentrate on buttoning her shirt properly. The paper crumpled once again in her fists, as she prepared to simply walk out the door.
"How was it?"
This was really an inappropriate time for such a comment, but something about his smile, the sly tone of his voice, warmed her frigid thoughts. Her head whipped around, long, unkempt brown hair hugging her body in waves, one hand clutching her shirt together. "What do you mean?"
He was reclined atop the pillows, eyes barely open, his lazy grin not unlike that of a Cheshire cat. "I mean, how was it?"
A tiny smirk flitted about her lips as she touched them. "Oh, it was alright."
"Alright?" He looked chastised. "You're not serious."
"Just alright, Miroku. Average. I'm disappointed."
Crossing his arms behind his head, he stretched his head back, the visible length of his body tensing and making her want to look away and think of extremely unsexy things.
"You're bluffing."
The little mischievous streak in her forgot about the weight of the situation and continued to express itself. "I'm not bluffing now, but I'm sure there are a few things I could have been . . . well, faking . . . "She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
He sat up abruptly, rubbing his eyes. "Don't joke about that," he warned.
"Miroku," she said softly, wistfully. Dropping her hand from her shirt, it fell open to her navel and she walked towards him, her bare feet making no sound against the carpet.
All light, distracting moments brushed aside, she held the side of his face and smoothed her fingers through his messy hair. They stayed like that for awhile, simply looking at one another, their education unable to find them the right words.
He barely spoke. "Practice makes perfect."
She swallowed, bending down and pressing a light kiss to his cheek. He reached up and intercepted, moving her mouth to his and pulling her back onto the bed, preparing to do away with the shirt that was so loosely held together.
Her hand on his wrist stopped him, and she twisted her hand into his, stuffing a crumpled ball of paper into his palm.
Hands free, she pushed his shoulders down flat on the mattress, straddling him and kissing him roughly one last time before lifting herself away and stealing from the room.
Taking a long, shuddering breath and gripping the sheets covering him, he remembered the scrap of paper in his hand.
Wait for me.
--
"Ane-ue, please don't tell me you had a house party while I was away and are now the recipient of a gargantuan hangover."
She looked over from where she had her head resting over her hands on the wheel. "No," was her flat response.
Her brother opened the back door, shoving his backpack in and sitting down in the passenger's seat.
"Why would you think that?" she asked as she turned on the transmission.
He raised his eyebrows. "Because you're parked between two trees on the front lawn of the school."
"Damn it."
"Don't worry, the trees conceal your moment of stupidity."
She backed the car up, ignoring him, and brought them out onto the road. "So how was your trip?"
Instead of answering, he leaned over and sniffed her arm.
"Kohaku! What the hell?" she exclaimed as the car swerved. Thankfully, it was early and the streets were virtually empty.
"Ane-ue," he leaned back in his seat. "You smell."
She took a hand off the wheel to take a whiff of her sleeve. "I do not," she rebuked, glancing at him. Surprisingly, he was smirking a little, staring out of the window.
"What are you smiling about?" she grumbled, a tad annoyed. He was the one who had just gotten back from a trip with stories to tell, yet she was being grilled.
"Ane-ue, you smell. Not a bad smell, but the lingering scent in your room the second Saturday in each month. Your blouse is buttoned wrong, your hair is a disaster and you've forgotten to wear your undergarments."
The entire car bounced as she went over a speed bump at full acceleration. Checking first to make sure her lane was clear, she turned her head and began to berate her little brother.
"I woke up late, I had to rush to pick you up . . . and I didn't feel like wearing a bra today! I'm a girl, I need to feel freedom. You're a boy, you wouldn't understand."
"Oh, I understand just fine."
"And why would that be?" she asked sharply, her lip twitching.
It was his turn to be defensive and embarrassed. "Don't try and turn the conversation to me! You know that I instinctively think this way because of you!"
She reached over and patted the top of his head, his hair becoming unruly.
"Really, Ane-ue," he spoke up as she drew her hand back to the steering wheel. "You . . . you spent the night with him didn't you?"
The car came to a screeching halt, momentarily scaring a pedestrian. She waved a mimed apology.
Leaning on her elbow, she looked out of the window on the driver's side, staring idly at her reflection in the side mirror. 'Objects in mirror are closer than they appear . . .'
"Ane-ue," Kohaku prodded. "The light's green."
Automatically, she pressed down on the gas pedal and the car lurched forward.
"Put your hands on the wheel!" he exclaimed.
"I know what I'm doing," she scoffed, gripping it violently.
"You're odd this morning, Ane-ue," he observed quietly. "Why?"
"I did, okay? I spent the night with him!"
"And?"
"We did it. Had relations. Formed a coalition. Slept together. Shared carnal knowledge. Did the horizontal tango."
Kohaku was nearly thrown out of his seat as she turned sharply onto their street.
They came to a sharp stop seconds later in the driveway; Sango letting go of the wheel and massaging her temples. "Am I bad sister?" she said in a muffled voice.
"No, no, not at all," Kohaku said quickly. "Actually, it's okay that we can talk about these things. I feel more like your brother than some kid you have take care of."
She looked up at him. "Really?"
He nodded. "So, how was it?"
She punched him playfully and gave him an exasperated look. "Average, Kohaku."
He ran around the hood of the car to bother her as he grabbed his bag from the backseat. "Does this mean you're back together n-"
"No," Sango cut him off.
Kohaku withdrew, taken aback, following Sango up the porch steps in shock. "Wow Ane-ue, I see you in a whole different light now. Hooking up for a night?"
She glared at him, not meaning to be so harsh but doing it anyway. "Let's not talk about it anymore."
The wind chimes jingled merrily as Sango tapped on the largest hollow cylinder, listening to the sound for a few seconds before inserting her key in the lock and opening the door.
Kohaku's bag thudded loudly on the ground as he walked past her into the kitchen, opening cabinets and the fridge.
A loud crack, and one of the plates lay along the floor broken into hundreds of pieces.
"Kohaku, what are you -"
"Why is he here?" he inquired, pointing. Sango filled with dread as she walked into the kitchen as well, and was greeted with the sight of a half-asleep Kuranosuke sitting up on the couch.
"Sango-san," he uttered, his throat still raspy, dry and misused. "You're back."
She made an unclear noise in the affirmative, a cross between a cough and a hiccup.
He stood up, dizzying himself from the sudden action, stumbling to her and holding her by her shoulders.
"Are you okay?" he croaked. "Where were you last night?"
Sighing, she lifted his hands away and placed them back at his sides, where they hung limply. "Takeda-san, we need to talk."
She turned towards Kohaku, gesturing for him to leave, and he obeyed.
They sat down together on the couch, Sango taking a deep breath in preparation for her words, and Kuranosuke beating her to speaking.
"Do you regret it?"
"Do I regret . . . it?" she echoed, her hands folding on her lap.
"Sango, if you -"
She interrupted. She was tired of him interrupting her and putting words in her mouth. "I don't," she whispered, looking at him. It hurt her to say this. "I don't regret sleeping with Miroku."
There. No veiled truths, no white lies. Nothing said just to keep the other happy and oblivious.
He looked as though someone had suddenly shot him in the back of the head with a nailgun; in sudden pain, his eyes vacant.
"Sango-san . . . I'll forgive you." He took her hands again and held them to his chest. "You're still confused, it's the withdrawal, I'm sure it is."
Her stare hardened. "It's not the withdrawal. I'm perfectly fine."
"It has to be something . . . Sango . . . "
"It's not that simple, Takeda-san," she sighed, frustrated. "I don't want forgiveness. I don't want to just forget about this, to forget about what happened, to forget about Miroku. I was never ready, we weren't ready, and Takeda," she stared at him, tiny droplets of tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "I just can't do this anymore. And that's how I feel."
She pulled her hands away. He didn't try to stop her.
"But . . . Sango-san . . ."
"I think it's best if you leave."
Instead of complying, he buried his face his hands, raking at his face with his nails, no longer the collected and complacent businessman he was at work. "Why?" he demanded, his eyebrows knit together and his expression a confused mask.
"Why him?"
"Takeda, please, it's not your fault - "
"What can I do Sango? No matter what - I tried - I worked so hard, I did it all for you! It was always for you!"
Her tears flowed more freely now. She hated these tears; she needn't shed them if she had only made the right decision just days ago.
"Stop it Takeda-san. You're -- you're hurting me."
"I can't lie. I always did so much for you, Sango. And I was so happy when we were together. I had our future planned, I wanted to make sure you never had to be upset ever again. That you knew you could turn to something else . . . "
"I can't continue to lie to you either. Takeda . . . if I was never sad again, I would never know what true happiness was."
"But -- I love you."
"And I'm sorry."
She enveloped him into a hug, trying to offer him everything else she had other than what he wanted. "I'm sorry, Kuranosuke-san. But thank you. I knew from the beginning that you did nothing short of care for me . . . I'm sorry I had to worry you so, make you waste your time on me."
"Never, Sango . . . it was never wasted. I just don't . . . Sango, I knew I couldn't -- I can't protect you from everything, and I'm sorry as well. I'm sorry that I what I offered wasn't enough to keep you happy. I'm sorry that in a vain attempt at protection, I hurt you."
He pulled back and held her face gently, staring at her as if he was trying to memorize her face. For him, she smiled with tears still in her eyes.
"Sango, I understand."
--
"I love you," he whispered into her shoulder. "Sango, I love you so much."
She collided with the wood panelling of the floor. Letting the initial impact sink in, she lay still for a moment, hot and bothered. "Shit . . ." she swore under her breath. "Shit."
"You okay?"
Sitting up, she dusted herself off quickly and gave her brother a nonchalant look. "Just fell off the couch."
He raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Having a bad dream?"
"Not a bad one . . ."
"Oh," he started to smirk. "Just a vivid one."
Sighing, she fell back onto the couch and stretched her arms above her head, before slouching and closing her eyes.
"What's the story, Ane-ue?" Kohaku asked knowingly as he sidled over and plopped down next to her. "Why is my big sister all fidgety, yet tired?" He slapped her lightly on the wrist. "Hands away from mouth, please."
With a quiet huff she secured her hands beneath her thighs. "Kohaku . . ." she said with a slight whine. "Don't ask me to explain it."
He leaned over till he was laying on his back and crossed his feet over his ankles, resting them across Sango's lap. "Will you -- "
"I still don't know Kohaku!" She sounded angry. "I do . . . but then -"
"Did you tell Kuranosuke to leave?" he cut in suddenly. "If yes, why?"
She began to bite her lip instead, and she could feel her fingers wriggling around beneath her legs. "Because I always knew that that was the wrong thing to do, Kohaku. I hurt him. He's always gone out of his way. He was just . . . looking out for me, in his own way."
"So you knew it was wrong."
She didn't answer, so he assumed she did.
"Well then, how did you feel with Miroku?" he asked casually. Immediately, she began to flush.
"Kohaku!" she exclaimed, now a stunning shade of pink.
"I didn't mean that," he scoffed. "Just, with him. Although if you want to refer to that, then by all means, be my guest."
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back.
A foot nudged her sharply in the side. "Don't let your thoughts wander too far," Kohaku said matter-of-factly. "The real thing's waiting."
Prying her hands out from beneath her thighs, she shoved Kohaku's feet away and stood up, idly brushing her fingers through her hair.
"Kohaku," she remarked with a slightly higher voice than usual. "What if - "
"Go, Ane-ue. Go, and tomorrow morning I'll never remember a time when I was so absolutely delighted to be disgusted in my entire life."
Furiously raking her fingers through her hair, she turned to Kohaku in the doorway. "How do I look?"
He grinned. "He won't mind."
She was just about to go when she doubled back in realization. "He won't mind what, exactly?"
Sighing, her brother ran up the hall and closed the door, clicking the lock shut before she could argue.
--
She wasn't about to be the one who made Takeda Kuranosuke give up his dreams of fulfillment for nothing.
Her hands were nearly white as she gripped the wheel. This was the only other place she could think of. He wasn't at home, and she had left early enough this morning that he could have gone to work.
With a tiny sliver of renewed hope, she walked towards the entrance of the drugstore, her mind still frantically trying to concoct some semblance of dialogue. What was she going to say?
Her pace quickened as she saw the faint outline of a tall lean figure through the glass. The doors slid open for her, and she opened her mouth to speak when -
"I'm filling in for him today."
Sango tried not to look too crestfallen. "Inuyasha . . . " she tried to say cheerfully. "How are you?"
He narrowed his eyes at her sourly and crossed his arms. "Don't act like you're so happy to see me. I know you're looking for Miroku. Need I ask why?"
"Inuyasha," Sango said flatly, dropping her happy exterior. "Where is he?"
"He would never shut up about you, you know that? I knew that you were probably going to get desperate for some lovin' sooner or later, I mean, the way you two used to go at it. The next day he'd pass me at work and make some stupid remark that goes . . . that goes something like, 'last night Sango really enjoyed it when I - "
"So, about my car insurance - " she spoke over him loudly.
"We switched schedules," Inuyasha answered grudgingly. "A weekend shift. With no fucking notice, might I add. He just called me up, left a message, and told me to have a good day. What a pain in the ass."
While the man grumbled about his predicament, she let this new information sink in. He wasn't at home either . . . maybe he went out? Or maybe . . . he was even looking for her too?
Her thoughts were shaken from her head as a soft tap on her shoulder and a timid, high pitched voice sounded behind her. One that was painfully familiar.
Slowly, she turned her head to take in the appearance of the newcomer.
"Aren't you . . . her? I knew it. You're Sango."
--
And this bitter pill is leaving you with such an angry mouth,
One that's void of all discretion,
Such an awful tearing sound.
-- Dashboard Confessional, This Bitter Pill