Chapter 7
Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet
"He who feared that he would not succeed sat still"

Warning: This chapter alludes to some mature subject matter, such as rape. While not described in detail, it is referenced.

To endure is greater than to dare; to tire out hostile fortune;
to be daunted by no difficulty; to keep heart when all have lost it;
to go through intrigue spotless;
and to forgo even ambition when the end is gained—
who can say this is not greatness.
- The Virginians

Why did waking always hurt? Did she always hurt when she woke up? Was that the reason she wasn't a morning person? God, and that light! Why was it on? And her head was pounding on top of all it! She started to shift her arm to put something between her head and rumbling and jerking motion of the floor. And would someone do something about that infernal squeaking noise? Stifling a low moan, she tried to move her hands to release some of the ache in her arms, but they wouldn't move.

They wouldn't move at all. Tugging at them, she felt the roughness of rope chafe against her wrists. Tilting her head back, wincing and squinting against the sun, she realized that her hands were tied to the wooden slat of a cart. But the real question was simply why? How did she get here? Why was she tied up at all? Her brain felt too big for her head. She tugged on the ropes, but they didn't give an inch. Shifting her legs, her thighs stuck together and a sharp pain shot up her groin, and she hissed in response. Why was everything so sticky? And why did it hurt so much? It was like everything down there was bruised and just—raw. Kagome heard voices from behind her, male voices, ones that were not familiar in any way, and her body froze despite the painful positioning. Her mind whirled in fragmented thoughts, all echoing around one singular sentiment: no.

No.

She shifted, and felt the unfamiliar brush of her skirt against her hips and breezes brushing against places that they didn't normally brush.

No.

She moved her legs slightly, prying the sticky skin apart and felt the uncomfortable pull of her groin again. She fought the rising nausea.

No! No!

She wanted to cry. And she did, a little, before violently trying to free her wrists from the rope around them. The pain everywhere else felt strangely muted. The only thing that she could focus on, the only thing that really hurt was between her thighs, and she refused to ponder that anymore than she already was.

"Ah, she's awake," one of the men stated and she turned her head more to face them, doing her best to ignore the ache in her neck. "Told you she wasn't dead." He was not the driver, but the cart stopped all the same as he hopped out and walked back towards her. "If she weren't so beat up, we'd probably get more for her."

"She'll still fetch a good price. She's got a good feel to her."

"What are you talking about?" Her voice was quieter than she remembered.

"Don't worry, we'll take you to a nice teahouse," the driver offered as recompense. Like that was supposed to make her feel better.

"A teahouse?!" Her mind scrambled and she recollected Miroku getting slugged by Sango for making commentary about one in a village a while ago. She'd asked in private why Sango was so mad, and Sango had explained their ulterior design with a huff. Teahouses were whore houses. "I won't go!"

"It ain't a choice, girl."

"No, you can't sell me off like that! I'm a priestess!"

There was a beat of silence as the men shared a glance between themselves. But then they broke out into laughter.

"Well, I don't think you can rightfully call yourself that anymore." The man standing in front of her grinned, fingers drumming on the wood slats of the cart. His odor reached her where she lay, curling her legs towards her tighter.

"Yeah, you ain't exactly pure anymore. Doubt the gods want someone like you representing and serving them." The driver let out a raspy laugh; it sounded like he had phlegm in his lungs. The man before her reached out for her ankle and she yanked it away from him.

"Don't touch me!" Panic rose within her chest, and she jerked away from his grasping hands.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" He growled. "Get over here!" He gripped her ankle and wrenched her towards him. She kicked her foot out, catching him in the face with a cracking sound. His head snapped back, and there was a pause, a moment where everything froze, time, her breathing, everything. She wondered in that moment if she'd just made a colossal mistake. Then he let loose a howl, grabbing his nose with both hands, as blood poured through his fingers.

"You bitch!" He snarled and grabbed her ankle with both of his bloodied hands.

He'd always called her names, some more inappropriate than others, some rude; he never shied away from baring his fangs at her whenever they had a fight. His fangs could tear out her throat; his claws could tear her body to pieces, but she'd never been afraid of him. Never been truly afraid that he'd harm her. And it wasn't just because she had the subjugation beads around his neck; she could remove them and hardly anything would really change. She probably should remove them just on principle. But she'd never been afraid of him.

This man, however, was another story. She was terrified of him. Unlike Inuyasha, who just bluffed and acted like he was capable of great violence towards her, this one was more than willing to cause her great harm and violence. Not that they hadn't already.

He smeared his blood across her sock and skin as he pulled her towards him. She kicked her feet towards him, catching him in random places. Her left leg jolted with each blow. She kept kicking and thrashing, ignoring all the pain that built in her poor battered and abused body. She kicked and screamed at him.

"Let me go! Don't touch me!" She howled. "You bastard!"

"Shut your mouth, girl!" He threw a short jabbing punch towards her, catching her stomach and she gasped at the sudden blast of pain throughout her chest that flared and radiated to every bone and muscle. She couldn't catch her breath, and it cut her scream off mid-shout.

"Don't—touch—me," she wheezed, issuing a glare at the man in front of her hot enough to melt stone.

"She's got spirit," the man behind her spoke.

"I'm going to break her fucking face," the man in front of her sniffled, clenching his fist over and over. His grip was too tight on her ankle. His fingers would bruise her. Kagome struggled against it, feeling the ropes cutting into her wrists as she pulled at them.

"Don't do anything that won't heal. We won't get as much for her."

The man in front of her growled in response and reared his fist back before jerking her forward and connecting with her cheek. Her head snapped back, knocking against the wooden slats of the cart. The pain was intense, but it muddled everything else. There were other blows, some on her face, some elsewhere. Her nose trickled and so did her lip. She dipped her tongue out to feel it and tasted blood. She grunted and gasped at each one as he muttered about teaching bitches lessons. About how he'd be her first customer and break her in half.

"He'll find me," she murmured to herself. He would find her. He would. He always did.

"Shut up!" Another sharp jab to her jaw and she took a shuddering breath, letting her body fall slack against the ties. She didn't have the willpower or the strength to support herself anymore. Her head lolled back and she stared at the sky.

The sun blazed down upon her, bright and unforgiving. A singular source of light, no bigger right now than the tip of her thumb. She could snuff it out with just a finger, and all that would remain of everything would be smoke and ash.

One more blow, a deafening crack, and as she'd hoped, the light clicked out, plunging her into the abyss.