Summary: OOC. AU. Whence running from school in the rainiest day ever, ever feel like theirs something watching you? While running down an ally Kagome meets a glare from a pure white dog, hiding from the rain? T for random foul language.

Chapter 22 – My Past, Your Past III

The day after I woke up, Mama came to me in the hospital, asking if I was all right.
The hospital gives me memories of my father, the day he died, the day I ran ahead so eager to ask him if he was going to come home.
Though he never did.

And that song that was on the radio on the way home that was playing was in my head again. Though I didn't know the words the piano tune that was going through, the song was.
And I think Mama had the song in her head too.
It was the same expression that she had now, whenever the song was on.

Sitting in the hospital I wondered if my friend in the forest was okay, he had to have family right…?
He was safe… right?
I hope he doesn't have a broken family.

My mama left when visiting hours were over, she wasn't allowed to stay. I wanted her to, I was scared of the hospital, the walls were all white and the smell that I could barely smell – I couldn't stand.

As I stared up at the blackened white roof of the ceiling, everything was silent. It was a little scary; it reminded me of the forest near my family's shrine.

The following weeks were filled with me lying in bed, the nurses were upset when I wanted to get up, because I needed to heal.
Whatever that meant.
Did that mean I was broken?
I don't feel broken.
A little tired… yeah.
But broken?

Mama came every day to make sure I was doing okay. I could tell that she was going to have to deal with me in hospital and Sota. He came that day, and when Mama was getting a drink, he told me he was sorry.
I was confused.
Why was my little brother saying he was sorry, to me?
What did he do?

I frowned at him, and asked why he was sorry,
and he replied, he was sorry because he was born.
I still frowned at him; I told him he didn't have to be sorry.
He looked up at me, he was crying, and told me as he shook with the tears, that it was his fault that I was in hospital.

I reached down to him, pulled him onto my bed, and gave him a hug.
He needed it.
I needed it.
He shouldn't be sorry because he was born.
No one should think that their being born is a mistake.

My mama told me she was "divorced" from Sota's father. She also told me that he wasn't allowed anywhere near us.
It comforted me to know that.
She also said to both Sota and me that if he came near us, we were to tell her or someone of authority, by that I think she means the police.
However, who trusts the police?

My mama told me I was able to go home the next day. The night was a check up, seeing that nothing was wrong with me, I would be able to go home.

I was all right to go.
All I had to do was wait for Mama to come to get me.
I don't know if Sota was going to come, he calls me Sis now.
Before I think, he was afraid of me.
For some reason, I was afraid of him.
He hardly talked to me, unless he was asking me a question, or needed help with something and no one else was around.
I like Sota. He wasn't at all like his father.
He had more of Mama in him.
Like me.

When Mama came, Sota didn't. I looked at the time, if it was a school day, it was before school times. I was panicking. Though it turned out, he was trying to get a wheelchair for me.
I laughed at him.
And he grinned sheepishly at me.
I told him he was caught out.
Sota grinned more. Then held out something for me, telling me it was for me.

When I opened it, it was a bracelet saying, "Big Sister" in Japanese kanji symbols. I looked at him, he was staring into the ground, and his foot was digging now and then into it. I could tell he was blushing. Cutely, for a boy too.
I gave him a hug and said thanks, and then I put it on my wrist, and grinned widely at him.

On the car radio, was the same song that played the day that we were coming home from when Dad died. We were all silent; Sota was too, seeing that both Mama and I were.

What will I compare my heart to?
This heart of going by myself.
What will I compare my heart to?
The loneliness of being all by myself.

That day, so long ago, we both wished that the music would die.