WAHOO! An update! Can you believe it? It's been longer then I meant for it to be, but circumstances were weird (long detailed thingy at the bottom) Anyways, I really hope you like this chapter! YAY, finally we learn something about Kagome's home life!
Oh! And yeah, I'm being a loser again and inserting one of my songs, but you guys haven't hated me for it yet and some of you even like it so no getting mad! I think I'm allowed now! (and it makes me insanely happy, so there!)
All she could feel was disgust.
She knew that wasn't what she was supposed to be feeling. She knew she ought to be channeling emotions like sadness, regret, compassion, maybe even a need to intervene and be helpful. But she just stood there, trying to keep her features from showing something entirely inappropriate for the situation. The result was that her face held no expression at all.
"Just talk to her." Her dad's voice was tired, and he looked worn and haggard. "Please?" He added, putting his face in his hands and then moving them to massage his temples as though leaving them to cover his eyes was a sign of defeat. He didn't look at her after he'd asked.
The ugly feeling she couldn't push away wasn't for him. It was for the person she knew she ought to be pitying, the one who she should sympathize with, but all she could do was compare her mother to Yura. The dramatics, manipulations and coercions to find out just how far people were willing to go for her sake . . . traits she despised that she had to deal with outside of school.
"She's threatening to kill herself."
How was she supposed to feel when her dad came down the stairs, surprising her with his entry to her part of the house, and told her about yet another over reaction. She'd found a stash of CD's, ones she'd told Kagome not to buy because the band was known for its violent, abusive tendencies. Few of the lyrics were explicit, but all the songs were angry, harsh, and judgmental, not something she wanted her model daughter to listen to.
Months ago, Mr. Higurashi had taken her, saying she was old enough to decide what she wanted to listen to, especially if the group wasn't cussing every other word, or singing about sex. It had been one of the times she'd felt closest with her dad, like he'd really understood her, like he was on her side for real, not just yearning to be.
She was always careful with the CD's, she'd even torn of the labels and written a false name in black marker. But apparently her mom had found them and stuck one in, to check up on what her daughter was listening to, make sure it was appropriate. The one she'd played was a concert version, where they screamed their name for the audience to cheer to, and of course she'd recognized it.
"She won't talk to me."
How was she supposed to feel when her dad tried to hide how tired his eyes were and said her mom was threatening suicide? What emotions were supposed to flare up? Was she supposed to be understanding? Calm? Hysterical? She felt cold and callous as she made her way up the stairs, as if she were viewing her emotions from outside her body and shaking her head in despair over the harsh judgment that filled her where there should have been compassion.
It wasn't that she hated her, or anything at all to that effect. It was just so pointless, inspiring words like 'pathetic' and 'irrational' to come to the forefront of her mind, unbidden and unwanted but too strong to fight down. Did it make her a bad person? What kind of daughter heard a sentence like that and didn't cry? She hadn't even frowned. Her face had gone slack, her eyes empty, anything to hide the disgust that had immediately risen.
The door was in front of her and she could hear crying on the other side. Mechanically, she raised a hand, formed it into a fist, and knocked slowly, softly like she knew she should. Everything had become a script and she was only playing the part expected, the only acceptable role for the situation. As if she didn't feel the ugly feelings choking her.
"Mom?" Her voice was soft, hesitant, and a little insecure, the real emotion she couldn't hide. "Are you okay?" She didn't know what to do with her hands now that she'd knocked, and they hung loosely at her side. She didn't know what to do with any of her body. She felt awkward and out of place as she waited for a reply.
"Or course I'm not okay." She sounded strangled, as if her tears had gotten stuck inside her throat and refused to let her breath. She gasped for air before continuing. "But I'll be fine, go away." It was such a stark contrast to the woman she was in front of the world. It was comical, really, just how different she could become without any warning. "Go Kagome."
Her dad was watching her, somehow having made it up the stairs without her noticing. He motioned for her to continue, to say something else. "I'm sorry." She offered, wondering if the words sounded as insincere as they felt escaping her lips. "I didn't mean to-" She struggled to find the right words, feeling stupid and inadequate. "I'm sorry I bought the CD's." She finished, staring at the wooden door as if that was where her apology was directed.
"It's not about you buying the CD's." Her mother's voice was harsh, raspy from continual sobbing. "Don't apologize for that." She sounded angry, as if the misunderstanding was a personal offense. It didn't make any sense to Kagome, but she knew better than to argue. Instead she waited. "It's that you got those horrible CD's and actually hid them from me!"
Wasn't that the same thing? Kagome didn't say anything but her mother didn't break the silence. Finally, she turned to go, giving her dad a helpless shrug. She couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't stand there and pretend to feel whatever emotion she was supposed to be feeling when all she wanted to do was feel nothing . . . an absolute nothing that would erase the disgust that threatened to overwhelm her.
"I'm sorry about the CD's." She said quietly, stepping away from the room and starting for the stairs, passing her dad without looking at him. The door opened behind her, and her mother came out in her bathrobe, her body weakened and shaking from her crying.
"I told you." Her eyes were bloodshot and intense, not glaring but harboring some desperate emotion her daughter couldn't define. "It's not about the CD's." She was quickly regaining her composure, her breathing becoming less erratic and calmer. She stood tall, as if convinced of her own righteousness.
Kagome didn't say anything. She just continued making her way down the stairs, and no force on earth could have made her turn back and face either of her parents. She went straight to her room and turned on her radio, loud enough to drown out any possible thoughts, but quiet enough not to disturb anyone upstairs.
And that night at dinner, everything was fine. Her mom made a simple meal, nothing fancy or too complicated, but enjoyable all the same. Her brother knew nothing of what had taken place that afternoon and no one mentioned it. Her mom's eyes seemed a little redder than normal, but it was easy to overlook. Her dad tried to keep conversation going on any positive topic.
She didn't protest their handling of the dinner, if anything, she was grateful for their game. It was easier to play the part of a smart, capable daughter than whatever she had been earlier. Sinking into her normal routine was a relief and worked nearly as well as the music to stop her mind from thinking anything at all.
Parties came and went, days passed by, turning to weeks with little change. Hiten recognized her enough to give her smirks or even a small wave at school or at one of the night time 'socials' but they hadn't had any significant conversations, nothing that would give her the kind of security she wanted for her night life.
Her family was normal, of course, wonderfully, sanely, and absolutely normal. No more suicide threats since that day with her mother, and no one had made mention of it. Her dad seemed more withdrawn then ever, as if he was asking for help but didn't even know what he needed. Kagome didn't know either and it was often painful to meet his eyes when he looked at her. She felt like he was begging her for something and she was too pathetic, too far removed from his reality, to understand, much less give it to him.
And she was tired all the time, more so than normal. Her studies weren't suffering, she'd never allow that to happen, but to her it seemed as if she was running on autopilot. And at night, when sleep should have replenished her minds ability to function normally, she was restless, tossing and turning with a nervous energy that refused to let her rest. She felt like she was going crazy. Oddly enough, she was sleeping best at the parties she went to, as if the stranger really was some kind of dark angel, someone strong enough to keep the bad thoughts away.
Seeing him was becoming less of an oddity and more of a comfort. The silence enveloping them was like a spell, binding them to each other for the space of that night. She liked to think that his thoughts were easier because of her presence too. But she never spoke to him, not even in greeting or farewell. She was afraid it would ruin it; ruin whatever it was that made her feel safe.
She forgot that she wasn't the only one with the power to make that choice, and in the end, the spell shattered whether she wanted it to or not.
"Again?" The word broke the silence, the stillness she was used to when they were alone. She'd been in the room with him for only about ten minutes, but it was the first time he'd spoken to her since the first time she'd met him.
"Is that bad?" It was dark. It was always dark when the met. The partiers were at their craziest, the good people were leaving, the druggies were stoned, everyone else was drunk . . . and the two of them retreated to the last room in whatever house they were in that wasn't taken up by a busy couple.
"I don't care." He moved from the window, surprising her even more. He sat across from her, on the couch. She couldn't see his face, but was glad he had the same disadvantage. "Who are you?"
She shrugged, not even knowing if he could see the gesture. "You wouldn't recognize the name if I told you. I'm no one. I come to these things because I'm invited, because I have the kind of face people ask, I guess. It's something to do." She paused, trying to regard him in the darkness. "Who are you?"
She thought he smirked, but couldn't be sure. "You'd know my name if I told you. I'm half the reason people throw these things. I make an appearance and then wait it out. Like you said, it's something to do."
Somewhere to go, her mind corrected, but she didn't say anything, just curled herself up tighter and willed sleep to overtake her. And when morning came, someone smacked her in the head lightly, waking her up. She only saw his white hair before the door closed behind him.
I'm searching for my kind of heaven
Music seemed to overpower the room, filling the atmosphere so strongly it was impossible to know where it originated. It seemed to pulsate around her, radiating from the walls themselves and gaining power with every body moving in synch to it. The air was sickly sweet, perspiration and layers of sprays and perfumes so thick you could almost see the vapors. And it was dark, so dark at times it was as if everyone had their eyes closed, so blinding you had to smell that perverse air to convince yourself you were still alive. Beams of colored light cut through the air at random intervals, bathing dancers in magnificent strobes, as cheap as they were exotic.
Full of people unforgiven
She didn't usually go to clubs. She found them demeaning almost, a party without the rush of watching for cops, an excuse for everyone to get drunk and leave her no place to hide. But she didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. There were no parties that night and Kouga had seen her doing homework on her porch as he was heading over. A few rehearsed lines were enough to satisfy her parents and she'd left. Anywhere was better than home, even if she felt sick to her stomach.
I want to fall, crash when I land
Kouga was in front of her, his body obeying the all-encompassing sound pounding in her head. She moved too, with him. Her hair flew, ripping through the sounds and smells surrounding her, and she let her hands interpret whatever message being played of their own accord. Her feet didn't hurt, in spite of the heels she'd made herself wear. She was getting caught up in all of it. The moment, the shocking lights, the music so loud it drowned out thoughts, the alcoholic aftertaste on her tongue when she parted her lips to catch her breathe . . . all of it was tantilizing, mesmerizing her with the very emotions that made her hate that place.
Watch them cry for me
Her cell phone buzzed, vibrating against her hip so suddenly she jumped out tempo. "Phone!" She shouted at Kouga, making sure to mouth the word carefully since she doubted he could hear her. He nodded and waved her off. To be honest, it wasn't her phone, but her dad's, so that they could reach her in case of an emergency. Biting back a groan she pushed her way through the crowds, thankful a bathroom was close enough they wouldn't have to wait a suspicious amount of time.
She closed the door behind her and jammed it with the trash bin before moving down to the furthest stall and locking herself inside. The sound was minimal there, the walls were thick, made of stone and concrete. "Hello?" She answered, pressing the phone tightly against her ear.
"Hey!" Her dad's voice was light, as if he was happy. As if he hadn't stood there and listened to her mom denounce their marriage for a mistake, admit to saving it only for the sake of pretences, and as if he hadn't turned and walked away, disappearing for hours, leaving her alone in the room, in that house. It was a routine, almost a family tradition, but the feeling of abandonment never weakened.
"I was just wondering what time you'd be coming home tonight." He asked, keeping his tone neutral and content. "I got mom to make your favorite." Which meant he talked to her. She didn't know if that was good or bad.
Grip the offending helping hand
She hated herself before she even answered him. "I'm not coming home tonight." Her voice carried an easy smile, and she knew she was crushing him. "I'm going to stay over at Ayumi's to study for the midterm I told you about." She took deep breaths, steady but fast, sucking in the air as if it fueled her cruel nonchalance.
She heard so much in his pause. She could almost see his mask slip as she failed to play along with his idea of family. His face would be neutral but his eyes would suddenly turn dark, all light, machinated or otherwise, gone. His lines would be visible and even his voice was tired when he answered her. "Alright." He said softly, not arguing with her. She felt his hurt acutely, but more vivid was his despair, as if he didn't expect her to care what he felt anymore. "I'll see you tomorrow then." He whispered a goodbye and hung up.
Somebody slap me
Her hands shook. She felt the phone slip from her fingers but she her mind barely registered it. Legs wobbly, she leaned against the side of the stall, hugging herself with an intensity that would have frightened her if she hadn't been so angry the gesture didn't comfort her. It would pass. The guilt, self-hate, and hopelessness were another ritual she shared with her family. Every conversation made her feel inadequate and heartless. She couldn't have hurt him more if she'd scripted her lines. But she wasn't strong enough to be that good person. She wasn't strong enough to go home.
Her eyes filled and with a gasp she stumbled out of the stall, across the room, and opened the door, submerging herself in the reality she could control. The terrible feeling of being alone was swiftly replaced by feelings that didn't have names. That's what clubs were really for, erasing all forms of sentience people were capable of having, and replacing them with instincts. Movement and breathing were the only commands the mind could follow.
Music pulsing under skin
She wasn't really looking for Kouga. She let herself be carried whichever direction the masses took her, dancing against anyone close enough to touch. It wasn't until she'd gained complete control over herself that she caught the eyes of anyone she recognized. She kept visual contact and continued to let her body move fast than she could think as he steadily made his way towards her.
Promising all kinds of sin
Hiten didn't smile when he made it to her. He didn't say her name, or give any form of greeting or acknowledgement at all. He just started to dance, closer and closer until it was as if he was an extension of her. The music sped up, and so did they, faster and faster until she forgot to breathe. A part of her was disgusted by his nearness and by her offensive acceptance of it, but she pushed that part of her away as hard as she could.
I will love the crimes my life has depicted
She didn't want to think, couldn't afford to, because thinking led to honesty and she was sick and tired of judging herself or having others do it for her. She refused to accept the existence of a tomorrow, of any possible future moment. All she'd believe in was now. It was the only way to get rid of the hurt.
So she danced. Eventually her partners changed, over and over, but she never noticed or cared. Kouga found her hours later and practically dragged her out to take her home. He dropped her off in front of her house and sped off to meet some friends for a different kind of party. She couldn't go in. It was late, she was afraid she'd wake them up, or that they might somehow see her in bed the next morning. And she didn't want to go in that house, not yet.
So she sat down hard on the sidewalk. Vaguely she felt the limpness in her muscles, the physical exhaustion she'd put herself under trying to run away from reality. She pulled her knees against her chest and hugged them tightly, letting her chin rest on them as she stared into the night. Inexplicably, her vision blurred, and something hot and heavy slipped and fell down her cheek, first one and then the other. And then she was crying so hard she couldn't stop, pressing both hands desperately against her mouth to muffle her sobs.
Because my wounds are all self-inflicted
THE END! Sorry! This one was going to be updated all the time, but I started school and then forgot, completely FORGOT, about my internet class, meaning I'm all behind it and everything, plus I have all my other classes I'm trying to get under control. I'm strange, I have to have a working order for things, but it's a procrastinating order. And once I have it, I'm in control. For example, I'm now prepared for next week because I have no homework in Political Sciences, the break after gives me time for chinese food with Rachel and then my Shakespeare reading and informal essay right before my shakespeare class. Get home, go to work, maybe to online stuff (but doubtful, cuz Monday's not last minute enough for me). Then Tuesday, get to campus an hour and a half before my History class and do THAT reading, taking notes according to outline for midterm. 2 hour class and then 1 hour break to do French Homework before THAT class, then straight to work, no home first. See? If I schedules Shakespeare homework for Sunday night, it just wouldn't work. I'd sit there and TRY to do it, and get nothing done. But now I have my thinking schedule worked out, so I ought to be able to update more.
Dude I am strange. Oo
Oh well, anyways! I hope you guys liked this chapter, I think it's a lot more profound and deep then the other ones, and you get more of an idea of how Kagome feels and why. And you'll be glad to know I've figured out how she and Inuyasha are going to meet face to face! I actually like the idea a lot, I'm just not sure where it'll fit in. Anyways, please let me know what you think, because this fic really is different then most of mine and it's so interesting to hear what you guys think about it! I really need that!
I love you guys!
Rogue Pryde
