October 17, 2006

She made a phone call to the General, Kouga's leader. He wasn't dead. She wouldn't believe it. The dial tone was busy, but she tried again, desperation in her eyes. No luck, the General was still on the phone. Again, she redialed the forbidden number, her eyes flowing. Finally, after repeating the process at least sixteen times, a man's voice drifted into the receiver.

"Hello?"

"General!"

"Kagome, is that you?" He sounded tired, like he'd been up for over two days. "Hello?"

Fighting the nausea rising in her stomach, Kagome spoke. "Yes, it's me."

"You're calling for…Kouga…"

"The survivors, General."

"Kagome, I can't be sure – "

"I need to know." There was a small sigh as she tried frantically to stifle her tears. "Please."

"He wasn't one of them."

She choked, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"I'm sorry."

Denial

Something clenched inside her, this slow sickening spread of poison through her blood, making her want to run. Or hide. Anything to seclude herself from the world. From reality.

"Kagome? Are you there?"

A loud crash could be heard as the cordless phone shattered against the tiled floor. The General grew anxious as the phone buzzed in his ear.

"Kagome! Answer me!"

His voice was a faint whisper to her as she let her body slump to the floor. "He's gone…" She closed her eyes tightly, painfully, and waited. Seconds ran by, minutes, an hour, then two. The phone was dead; there was nothing left to stir the silence.

What was she waiting for?

The pain had to stop. It had to! But it didn't.

Acceptance

It was past 12:00 when Sango burst into her kitchen, her eyes wild and scared. "Oh, God…oh my God, Kagome!" She hurried to her friend, grabbing a handful of paper towels on the way to wrap her bloody wrist. Luckily, the wound was shallow and the bleeding had already stopped. "I'm so sorry," Sango cried. "I just heard! My God, Kagome, what have you done to yourself…"

"He promised he'd come home, Sango," Kagome choked.

"Oh, honey…sometimes…things don't work out the way you plan."

"I loved him, Sango…" She was crying hard now.

"I know you did."

She let Sango hold her, rocking her back and forth as she sobbed into her shoulder. Everything she had known, everything she had ever worked for and wanted fell apart in front of her eyes.

xXx

He always made sure to call her at night for reasons he never bother disclosing. Kikyo, on the other hand, could hardly care less. She thought only of leaving his icy chamber that stunk of rotting meat and the stench of an ogre's breath. Everything was dark, velvet or leather, and shaded an ugly, deep purple that Kikyo despised. She loathed much more than the surroundings however. The mere thought of having to converse with him and take orders from him taunted her like no nightmare could. Often she would hurry home after their short meetings, her face as colorless as those slivered eyes peeking out from the darkness, and retch 'till her throat burned of acid.

Today was no different.

She took a deep breath before walking in. His quarters were stationed at an abandoned butcher house on the outskirts of Tokyo. The city was quiet here, almost deserted if not for the few cars that drove by. There was no doubt that he liked it better this way.

"What do you want?" The animosity in her voice was evident, but he hardly seemed to mind as he stared at her, those pale, shiny eyes penetrating her very soul. Kikyo shivered slightly and looked away, focusing her attention on the carpet beneath her heels. The snow-white fur rug was matted with dull blood, and she had to close her eyes to keep from gagging. Was there nothing here that would cease to remind her of his cruelty?

He grinned maliciously at her, his cold eyes tracing her outline with an intensity that frightened her to no end. "Keep an eye on him, Kikyo…"

"I'm already doing that," she managed, grinding her teeth together painfully.

"Yes, of course," he hissed, licking his dry, burnt lips with a paper tongue. "I thought I would remind you."

"There was no need. May I leave now?"

"Close the door on your way out." She prepared to do just that, nearly tripping in her eagerness to leave the cold room. "Oh, and one more thing…" Her hand quivered over the doorknob, anticipation and fear clenching her heart.

"Kill anyone who gets too close to him."

October 20, 2005

Somewhere on an isolated island in the pacific, a makeshift boat washed ashore. It continued to float along the sand beach until somebody shouted for help.

A young girl of 24 ran towards the body, her flip-flops throwing up sand as she stumbled across the hot, bumpy surface. The girl had tied her auburn colored tangles into two straight braids that hung down past her chest and slapped against her back and shoulders as she ran. Her eyes were a beautiful sky blue, and although they were bright, they had also a sharp caution inside them as though she were constantly paranoid. She was also quite muscular, giving her a slight tomboyish look.

There was a body in the boat – tied to it actually and from the sturdiness of the knots it couldn't have been accidental. The girl collapsed next in the sand and dragged the boat out of the water, using her legs as leverage. Halfway through she stopped to catch her breath, grumbling slightly about the heavy weight and hot sun beating upon her back. Secretly however, she was all too curious to care about the heat. Pulling out her pocketknife, she cut the bindings loose and lugged the body from the boat a far enough distance away from the shore.

It was a very young man, probably only 25 and her forehead crinkled with worry as she caught side of the bloody bandages decorating his body. "Help! I need some help over here!" She pressed a finger gently to his neck and, relieved to find a pulse despite how unsteady it was, called out again for help. From a distance, several men who seemed familiar with the girl began running towards her. While the men got closer, she further examined the body and managed to spot a nametag.

"Hmm…" The girl bent down, careful not to touch any of the man's injuries, and read the dirt-covered words, "Kuga?"

Funny.

There was an abnormally large space between the K and U. She brushed a finger across it and uncovered another letter.

"Kouga…"

xXx

She couldn't believe Sango had dragged her here. Nor could she put her mind around the fact that she had given in at one point, simply giving her friend a hard time by flopping around uselessly when she'd tried to dress her up. Sango had ditched the outfit completely, choosing to let Kagome stay as she was instead.

It had been 3 long days since the news. 3 days Kagome had spent in her bed, burrowed under the covers, sobbing so hard her eyes had swollen shut and her nose was redder than Snow White's poisonous apple. Sango, of course, had other plans for her and made sure that she ate although she had failed to get her to wash. To put it simply, Kagome looked and felt like a complete mess. Standing here in the middle of a bar watching people dance and make out really wasn't helping.

"He'd want you to live and have fun," Sango had insisted, but really she couldn't imagine having any amount of fun at a place like this.

Especially in her pajamas with the flying pigs and cows littered over it.

Sango had just left, claiming she desperately needed to go to the bathroom and shoved Kagome in the midst of the dancing after giving her an encouraging smile. With a tremendously loud sigh, Kagome ambled over to the bar and slumped over the counter. The seat spun slightly as she sat in it, but after gripping the counter for support, it slid to a stop, leaving her to knock her head against the marble and mumble something about a drink. There was no response as the bartender was too busy flirting with a voracious blonde who was doing a very nice job of seducing him into giving her a number of free drinks. Groaning slightly, Kagome closed her eyes and wished, frantically, that she was back at home in the safety of her bed.

"New style around here, eh?" She felt someone slide into the stool next to her. "We got the whole flying pig pajamas going. Is that a new perfume, too," the voice joked, closer than it had been before. When she neglected to reply, the voice, a distinctively male one, continued. "Figures. I haven't been here for ages."

"Look, just, leave me alone," Kagome grumbled, not bothering to lift her head. She felt suddenly annoyed at the unwanted company.

"Let me buy you a drink."

Finally, she straightened up, giving the man a full glare. "Are you always this persistent?" The bar was too dark to tell exactly what he looked like, but she managed to distinguish he wore sunglasses and smelled of cologne.

"To pretty ladies who wear pajamas into bars?"

"Whatever."

"Always," he grinned, flashing her his pearly whites. Then, before she could protest, he slammed a hand on the table, catching the bartender's attention.

"What!" the impatient man snapped.

"Martini for the young lady. On me." He said it casually as though he'd done it a million times and it distressed her to no end.

"I'll make it strong," the bartender sneered at her.

Kagome glowered at him, resisting the urge to slap the smug look off his face. "I'll have a beer," the mysterious man cut in, glancing nervously at the girl next to him.

When they had gotten their drinks, Kagome seemed to calm down a bit. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked up in surprise at the man before turning her stare to the wall of glasses, wines, and alcohols. "No."

"I understand."

An hour later she was half-drunk and blurting out practically every random tidbit secret about her that she would never usually tell anyone.

"And you know what?" she was saying.

"What?"

"The Beatles?"

"Yeah?"

"Never liked 'em," she slurred.

"No!"

"Yup." She could've sworn she saw him smiling behind those dark sunglasses.

"That's too bad. I love the Beatles."

"It is, isn't it?" She downed her fourth drink before picking up another. The man, whoever the hell he was, had the nerve to grab her hand and stop her.

"You've had enough."

"No, I haven't."

"Miss, you're already drunk."

"'Course not!"

"You are," he said, so convincingly that she believed him.

"Am I? Well, not drunk enough then."

"How do you know that?"

"'Cuz…" She whispered, her voice so soft he barely heard her. "I can still feel him."

There was silence after that, but he dropped her hand and she gulped another one down until suddenly, out of nowhere, she began to cry. He stared at her, silent in the darkness and straying colored lights, and produced a handkerchief from his pocket. Kagome took it, gratefully, and blew her nose loudly into it before handing it back. He received it cautiously, pinching it between two fingers before coughing slightly. "You'd better keep it," he said and for the first time she laughed.

That was all he needed. It was a real laugh, not like the angry, bitter ones she'd forced out before, but one that made him smile in return. It started out as a gurgle that she tried to keep in until before long she was full out laughing, so hard in fact that several couples glanced at her curiously before returning to their make out sessions. After a minute or so, she chuckled to a stop, leaning against the counter for support as tears of mirth streamed down her face. The handkerchief was on the table next to her arm, and she stuffed it carelessly into her pajama pocket.

"Let's dance," she said abruptly.

A slow song had begun to drift from the speakers surrounding them and she pulled at his arm eagerly. The mystery man glanced at her uncertainly. "I'm not sure that's a very good idea."

"Too smelly for ya?"

"'Course not. It's just – "

"C'mon then!"

She dragged him into the center of the dance floor, and wrapped her arms around him, flying pig pajama glory and all. Hesitantly, the mystery man swayed with her like a tree too weak to stand still in the wind. He held her delicately, almost barely touching her at all, as though any sort of pressure would break her. Then, as she put her head on his shoulder, he began to relax, letting the music guide them both amidst the crowd of swaying couples.

"This used to be our song, you know?"

He looked down at her, face crumpled in sympathy before holding her tighter. "I guess," she mumbled into his shoulder, "I'm the only one who knows now." He slipped the sunglasses off his face and tucked them into his pocket.

"No," he whispered, his voice muffled in her hair. "You're not."

They swayed through the night, neither of them stopping even after the song had ended.