InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Paramour ❯ Paramour ( Chapter 1 )

I swear it wasn't like that.

 

Really, I do.

 

I know I'm young—I just turned eighteen four months ago. But it started out something simple: names. I gave my name, and I got one in return. I had just started my job at a local café. I can remember just about every detail of it all.

 

I had been fretting over whether or not my math teacher was going to have pity on the poor girl who was not gifted with numbers and allow me some extra credit. I had been wandering around, absently smiling and asking the few costumers that we had if everything was okay. I barely heard any of their replies until—

 

“Actually, I was wondering if you had any extra lemon slices. I like them in my tea.”

I wasn't expecting a request of any sort and started, blinking almost dumbly at the young man for a long moment. My eyes absently drifted up to his platinum blond hair. I swear in the sunlight, it looked silver; the exact opposite of my own dark locks.

 

“What was that?” I asked in a chipper tone, masking my embarrassment. I half expected him to give me “that look” I got from customers who assumed I was some sort of preppy airhead.

 

Instead, he laughed.

 

It wasn't an “oh, you loser”-laugh, either. It was a melodious sound that was light, uplifting; contagious. Before I realized it, I was chuckling along with him.

 

That was how I met him.

 

He came back the next day for the exact same order. On that day, I took note that his skin was an unusual (yet definitely attractive, I have to say) coffee-with-cream color. He came back the day after that and on that day I saw that he had eyes of the most beautiful variety—a golden shade. The next day, I finally realized his outfit was a military uniform.

 

It was also that day that he stayed longer than usual. He stayed late into the night and almost tentatively; I went over to where he was sitting and informed him that it was time to close shop.

 

He smiled dazzlingly. “And here I thought you were going to stay open for the whole night,” he teased lightly. “I wasn't sure when you got off, but I wanted to ask you—would you walk home with me?”

 

And despite the fact that little bells should have been blaring extremely loudly at that, I found myself throwing all self-preserving morals aside and smiling. “Sure, I will.”

 

That was how I got to know him.

 

Everyday he came back. Sometimes he walked me home. Sometimes, if it was still day, he would walk me to other places—a park, the lake, the pier. For the thirty-two days we were together like that, we talked. He learned many things about me and I about him.

 

He was almost three years older than me. His parents had died several months back right after he turned eighteen and, unable to pay for the college tuition, he enrolled in the army. He just finished all of his training and he was being shipped over seas to fight in the war.

I cried the day he left. Countless times I would look up from cleaning at work and think that he would be sitting at his usual table, smiling easily—

 

That was how I decided I needed to write to him.

 

I knew his name, he told me where he was to be stationed, and I could pretty much guess as to how to compose the address correctly. I spent countless hours on a letter and sent it. When I got a reply from him, I was ecstatic. After that we constantly wrote to each other—confessing fears and secrets, writing comforting words when needed. I even confessed to him something that I was so terrified of uttering to anyone else—I was carrying his child. When he replied, he seemed euphoric at the news and promised to take care of me when he came back—and he started including words of affection in the letters.

 

And that was how I fell desperately in love with him.

 

I didn't get a letter for almost a month and I thought nothing of it at first. The weeks went by, and one night I decided to attend a local football game. I have to say, my mind wasn't a hundred percent there, so when I heard his name spoken over the intercom, I was extremely baffled.

 

Swallowing my paranoia, trying to sooth the cold knots that had twisted in my stomach, I turned to the middle-aged woman beside me, smiled, and politely inquired as to what the announcement had said. It wasn't until she looked at me that I noticed tears were fighting to spill down her cheeks.

 

She bit her lip to gain some control and then choked, “Some of the—the locals that were across the sea—”

 

“Hurt?” I demanded, hand automatically fluttering over my belly which was definitely showing a tell-tale bulge.

 

She looked slightly startled at my tone but slowly shook her head. “Dead,” she whispered, quickly averting her gaze from me after seeing the swell that I hid under my blouse.

 

That was how my world shattered.

 

I'm not sure how many people stopped to stare at me or how many tried to come over and offer comfort. People I knew from High School were there. They had heard about my “illicit affair.” They also heard the name of my beloved on the list of men killed-in-action. I know what types of thoughts were going through their heads… but…

 

I loved him. With everything I was, I loved him. I wanted to marry him. I swear I would've, too, if he had come back. I wasn't a—a whore… or… or…

 

I swear it wasn't like that.

 

Really, I do.