Fire and Rain

Note: Just have to say, this little story is not like my others, and by that I mean there is no extreme sexual content. Sure, there’s sex (duh, it’s me), but it’s very normal sex. Some of you might be sighing in relief, but I don’t know. The most viewed story of Shot Week was Good Boy *gasp!*. I didn’t even reread it in order to correct it because it was just too out there. And to date, my most viewed one-shot has been The B Word, which I wrote as a joke since I felt somewhat annoyed at the requester’s response to my calling school “a bitch”. I didn’t think anyone would be really into Kagome anally raping Inuyasha. You lot keep on surprising me.

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Two: That Was My Veil








(That Was My Veil by PJ Harvey)








She was so hungry. And thirsty. Kagome didn’t know whether she wanted a burger or a soda more. The mere thought increased the agony in her gut and throat. Even just water and a banana peel would be welcome. Well, maybe not the banana peel. Bananas were gross. Unless they were dipped in Nutella, with graham cracker crumbs sprinkled over them… Oh, Nutella. The food of the gods. She could almost see it in front of her, she just had to reach out and take it—





“Oh my god!” screamed a woman in a shrill, nasally voice, making Kagome’s eyes snap open in shock. Who the heck was in her room?





A small Filipino woman was at the foot of her bed. Kagome’s vision was blurred, but she recognized the accent. She tried to respond, but her throat was too dry.





“You were moving!” the woman in the bright pink scrubs cried. “I saw! Let me page the doctor.”





Weakly, she tried to nod, but her neck was stiff. The little woman hurried out of the room, her back never once turning on her. Kagome could only move her eyes, and even that hurt. She deduced she was in a hospital, which was pretty obvious. The set-up was exactly like on TV, but the room smelled sick and was dirty-looking. It made her want to throw up. At least she had a private room. She didn’t know what would have happened if someone was there to witness her weakness. She didn’t like being weak. Before they had dated, Inuyasha had teased her about being a wimp, and it had been a sore spot ever since.





Which brought the question to mind: How did she get here? The last thing she remembered, she had been hobbling across the street, trying to get to school so she could pretend to dance with her boyfriend for ten minutes and then ride him in his jeep like a drunk wannabe Texan would a mechanical bull. Why wasn’t she there now? What had gone wrong?





The woman had seemed like she was in an awfully big hurry to fetch a doctor, so Kagome became increasingly irritated when no one showed up for another thirty minutes. Weren’t hospitals supposed to be quick and efficient? She couldn’t even move, which was totally freaking her out, and she had just been abandoned and perhaps forgotten. If she could only say something, it wouldn’t be so bad, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a dry creepy breathing sound that immediately made her shut up and press her lips together, shocked by the noise that made her think of cursed revivified mummies. In addition to all that, she was hooked up to machines and tubes and that in itself was pretty scary. Was she dying? What looked like a bag of water and another bag of light brown creamy liquid that said “Nestlé” on it were hanging on the IV stand and had tubes that led to somewhere on her body. Was she being fed some sort of candy thing intravenously? What was going on?





Just when she was going to attempt to hurl herself out of bed to try and figure out whether or not this was a very strange dream, a tired-looking man with prematurely gray hair entered the room with a gaggle of nurses who were almost identical to the first one. They all had the same haircut, they were all Filipino, and they were all wearing garishly bright Disney character-themed scrubs.





Had she died and gone to hell?





“What is your name?” the doctor asked.





Kagome shook her head, trying to tell him that she could not speak.





“Amnesia,” the man said, turning to the nurses. “It could be temporary, could be long-term.”





She shook her head frantically again, not wanting them to make a mistake with her.





“Do you know what day it is?”





Kagome rolled her eyes.





“This is a standard mental evaluation,” the doctor explained impatiently. “The sooner you cooperate, the sooner we can go home.”





Angry now, she opened her mouth to curse at him a string of words she had learned from Inuyasha back in middle school. All that came out was that dry, whispery noise. The doctor’s brows raised and he made a note on his clipboard.





“Get her some ice chips and check her out,” the doctor muttered to the nurses without looking at them as he walked out the door.





Nodding as one, the nurses descended on her, and Kagome wished she could run.





Oo/O





The ice chips helped her throat, and once she was cleared for cough drops, she wolfed them down, the cherry flavor making her even more ravenous. The nurses thought it was a miracle that she was awake at all, and without any visible brain damage or discrepancies in her scans. They had revealed to her that they had been praying a weekly rosary for her, and that touched her so much that she cried. They were all nice people for the most part as soon as she got to know them. After a couple days, they carefully disconnected her from the feeding and water tubes, and she was allowed the bland hospital fare. The doctor was amazed and asked her permission to notify the public about what he termed her “stunning healing”. Vehemently, she shook her head. She didn’t want anyone to see her the way she was now.





The physical therapist had patiently taught her to walk again over the course of a grueling few weeks, and she could now stumble to the bathroom on her own without help, as long as she was extra careful. She had to sit down in the shower on a special chair, but that didn’t matter as long as she was clean. What shook her up was the change in her appearance. She had always wanted to be thinner, but now her ribs could be seen clearly, and her arms and legs looked like sticks, even the muscle gone. It wasn’t attractive, and after the first time she had looked in the mirror, she rushed back to her bed and cried. She didn’t look like herself. She didn’t even look human. At least they hadn’t cut her hair too short while she had been sleeping. It had been oilier than ever and full of tangles when she had first washed it, but she made an effort and patiently took hours to fix it. It was the only nice feature she had now, so she made sure to keep it beautiful.





The nurses gave her some loose pajamas after a couple days, since she had been complaining non-stop in her deep, scratchy man voice that she hated the flimsy and revealing standard hospital gown. Her favorite nurse, the most helpful one, just happened to be the only non-Filipino, non-female nurse in the entire establishment. Nurse Hojo was the only one who understood her when she didn’t want to speak, the only one who was patient with her when she wasn’t being quite normal, the only one who treated her like she was still a person and not a miracle or an oddity. The other nurses giggled together and made plans for their wedding, which made Hojo blush. They teased him a lot about everything from his squeaky clean appearance to the squeak of his shoes on the floor, which stayed no matter how many new pairs he bought. It wasn’t malicious on their part, but Kagome still felt sorry for him.





After a couple more weeks, the doctor came back to her room, the same clipboard attached to his hand. “Do you feel strong enough for a family visit, Kagome?” he asked with a wide smile. He had become kinder to her and gave her more time than the other patients since she had proved herself mentally and physically capable, obviously thinking her recovery was somehow due to his once a month two-minute visits.





She paled. Family? Kagome shook her head. She didn’t want anyone who knew her to see her this way.





His smile faltered. “Er, well, they have already arrived.”





Kagome glared at him and straightened her bed sheets as best she could, buttoning her pajama top up to her neck and fluffing out her hair so that it fell in waves down her shoulders and back attractively. Motioning for him to leave, she leaned against the pillows and tried to look deathly ill, which wasn’t exactly difficult. She had wondered why her mother had never called or visited, but had been too afraid to ask why. Was she mad at her for being careless? Was she no longer her favorite? Secretly, she had been glad, wanting to hide. It was like a little vacation. She had never spent even a night away from her family, and even though she was injured and in a hospital, it was still kind of fun.





To her surprise, it was not her mother who walked in, but Kikyo. She looked the same, but different somehow.





“Did you change your hair?” Kagome croaked.





Kikyo looked directly at her, startled. “They said you couldn’t talk.”





“It hurts, but I do it anyway.” She feigned being mute unless she was with Hojo, whom she had sworn to secrecy.





Sighing, her sister plopped down in the chair next to her bed. A man came in, knocking tentatively on the doorway, and then without bothering for an answer sat down next to her in the other chair that was identical to the first. His hair was long and dark and his eyes were an indeterminable color.





“Inuyasha?!” Kagome gasped in horror. Why did it have to be him? Anyone but him. She was so ugly now! Part of her wished she could just hold a pillow in front of her face the entire time without anyone wondering why she was doing it or thinking it was odd.





He said nothing, his gaze on his feet.





“To answer your question, yes, I did change my hair,” Kikyo drawled, trailing her fingers through the thick, straight mass. “I’ve changed it a lot over the past six years.”





At first, Kagome just nodded. Then the words sank in. “Six years?!”





“Didn’t they tell you?” her sister said, her eyes studying every new flaw of Kagome’s and making her want to cry.





“I-I-I…” Kagome stuttered in a whisper, her hands beginning to shake.





Nobody had ever asked her any questions and she had been grateful. But they had also never answered any of hers, and at one point she had written dozens of them, mostly little things, but some of them definitely had to do with current events, which to them had happened nearly a decade ago. She had been more concerned with learning how to move her body and hide her new appearance than learning about her condition, anyway. Also, the television was broken and her requests for it to be repaired had always been mysteriously ignored.





“It was a hit and run.”





“I’m…I’m…”





“You’re twenty-one now. Congrats. I’d take you out drinking, but we have to wait until you’ve put on a few. Don’t want you passing out from one shot.”





Kagome began to cry softly, hiding her face in her hands. She hadn’t noticed that she’d aged. Her body was too thin to show any physical developments and she was still short. Her face had been haggard and different, but she had assumed that was just from the stress of whatever had happened to her. Kikyo wasn’t helping the situation. She didn’t even seem like she wanted to be there.





“Where’s Mom?” Kagome sobbed, the force of her sorrow making her body shake. “I need Mama.”





“Gone.” Kikyo’s eyes looked haunted for a moment.





“Where?!” she nearly shrieked. What had she done to her mother that made her send Kikyo in her stead, knowing that they’d seldom ever gotten along?





“Grandpa died a few months after your accident. Natural causes. Mom went just last year. Not natural causes.”





Her sobs were vocal and wild now. She barely registered Inuyasha whispering something to Kikyo.





“What do I do? Where do I go?” she said quietly, once she had calmed down. Oddly enough, the tears seemed to have helped her throat, and she sounded more like herself than she had since she had woken up.





“Well,” her sister said, politely trying to ignore the fact that Kagome was about to have a breakdown, “we don’t really have room at the moment, but I guess we could clear a space out over the next couple days. We sort of donated all your stuff. We never expected you to wake up,” she said with a shrug. “I’m sorry, Kagome. This never seemed like a possibility. To tell the truth, I’m a little overwhelmed. I don’t know what to do any more than you do.”





That didn’t even matter to Kagome. Something else had occurred to her. “Why are you two here together?” If it had really been six years, why was Inuyasha still around? He was twenty-two, he should be off at college somewhere, getting drunk, banging sluts, and not remembering her for an instant.





“We got married,” Kikyo explained slowly and linked her hand with Inuyasha’s, speaking like Kagome was stupid.





“What?” she said, gritting her teeth. Now she was angry. How dare Kikyo dump all this information on her at once! Kagome didn’t know when or if a more appropriate moment would ever exist, but she certainly didn’t need the entire thing now. And they were married? How could she have missed that Inuyasha was such a sleaze ball?





Kikyo cleared her throat, looking a little nervous. “To reiterate, Kagome, we never thought you were going to wake up. No one did. We were toying with the idea of pulling the feeding, it had just been so long and—“





“Get. Out.”





“Excuse me?” Kikyo said, her brow furrowed.





“I never want to see you again,” Kagome stated calmly, trying to keep her breathing normal, knowing if she gave in she’d hyperventilate and have a panic attack. Inuyasha was still staring at his feet, but she glared at him just because.





“It’s not like you have anywhere else to go,” Kikyo explained, her tone changing to her old “big sister in charge” one. “Come on, we’re family. Don’t be upset. I know it seems like just yesterday for you, but it’s been a very long time for everybody else.”





“Get the fuck out!” she growled. “You always were a complete bitch, Kikyo. Mama knew it, but I never realized. Until now.”





Kikyo’s face hardened. “Mother killed herself because of you, not me, Kagome. I delayed coming here because I wasn’t sure how to act around you. I wasn’t sure how you’d respond to all the changes. But you know what? I don’t care anymore. I have a good life and you’re not going to ruin that like you always ruined everything before. So stay here and rot!” she finished in a scream, stomping out, her husband trailing behind her like an obedient dog. If Kagome’s room had a door instead of just a curtain, she probably would have slammed it twice.





A part of Kagome was glad that she knew and wanted to call Kikyo back and apologize. But they were both new people now. Kikyo had Inuyasha, and if Kagome had to live with them, she didn’t know what she’d do. She had thought of him every day, in pain because of how much she loved him, agonizing over what he’d think of her in her current state. She wasn’t pretty anymore. She had scars, inside and out. They weren’t terribly bad, though. The worst one was on her head, and the hair that had grown over it was a different texture, courser and slightly shorter than the rest. But the thin white lines on her the tops of her thighs and lower back mocked her each time she accidentally caught sight of one.





It was good that he was with Kikyo. Kikyo was beautiful. He deserved something beautiful.





Putting a hand to her face, she cried again, whimpering and whining in her throat. Her mother was gone. Her grandfather was gone. Inuyasha was lost to her. She had forced her sister away. What did she have? Nothing.





There was a tentative knock on the doorway and Kagome dried her eyes quickly. “Come in!” she said nasally, loudly sucking in her snot in a most disgusting, unladylike manner so she could breathe more or less comfortably.





“Miss Higurashi?” came the ever polite, tender voice of Hojo.





“Yes?”





He fully entered the room, a concerned look on his face. “Your voice sounds better.”





“Yeah,” she sighed.





“How’d the visit go?”





“Not so good.”





Sensing she didn’t want to talk about it, he said, “Do you want anything special for lunch? I can sneak out and grab you something, if you’d like. I know it’s against the rules, but I think we can get away with it.”





Smiling, she shook her head. “I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway.”





He nodded. “Just to let you know, you’re going to be discharged in a couple days. You’re healing so well! It really is a miracle.”





New tears felt like pinpricks behind her eyes. “Okay.”





“I—“ he started, sounding as unsure as he looked. “I know you’re having a hard time and everything, of course, how could you not, but I just want to let you know that no matter what you might think, you’re incredibly beautiful, inside and out. You are the light of this place.”





His soft words touched something in her and she grabbed for him, hugging him to her and crying on his shoulder. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend he was her mother. Or Inuyasha. No, not him.





Not him.

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End Notes:



Note: *Cue rant made up of run-on sentences* My father was in a coma for six years, starting when I was 10 (which I guess is why I’m writing this, since therapy is for people who aren’t poor college students), and I’m making the description significantly prettier than the reality would be. I don’t want to get into bed wounds, infections, ignorant and downright evil nurses, doctors who never give a damn, the constant mucus, the disgusting trach opening, the fact that the nurses are extremely negligent and never wash their bedridden patients like they are required to or change their gloves in between patients (I have a funny/terrible story about that when my father’s nurses gave him, a ton of patients, and us fucking scabies of all things and then did not inform anybody, denied wrongdoing, and even laughed about it), the ever-present smell of shit, the fact that they’d rather pull the teeth out with pliers than clean them (they actually did that to my dad), the trapped look in your loved one’s eyes that lets you know that “brain dead” is a term invented just to let you feel better about ending a life that’s important to you. People in comas aren’t people anymore to the majority of the world, and that’s something that will never cease to disgust me. The term “vegetable” itself dehumanizes them. Politicians and certain activists act like they know better than the people who experience the actuality of it. I’ve had people, mainly friends and family, tell me to my face that we should have let my father starve to death. Doctors who had never once actually examined my father yelled at my mother for allowing him to continue to live. I’m all about quality of life, and think it’s okay to pull certain life-sustaining medicines or apparatuses and not allow resuscitation in case of death, but taking away food and water from someone who’s already had everything else taken away? That is evil. That is murder. There was intelligence in my father’s eyes right until the end, not at the level it used to be, but certainly above that of an animal’s. He was just trapped inside his body, yet still he reacted to things we said and to pain. My dad did end up dying when I was 16, and we never once took away nourishment from him. *end rant*





Let’s make this a soap opera coma, alright? So it’s like she was just sleeping. Also, they don’t keep comatose patients in hospitals. After two weeks, they ship ‘em off to a nursing home/acute care center or something and they only go back to the hospital if they’re dying or whatever. The only remotely realistic thing I’m putting in here is that all the nurses are Filipino. ALL. Also, this story was originally titled “Girlfriend in a Coma” after the song by The Smiths, but I felt like Fire and Rain by James Taylor fit it better somehow.