InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Confessions ( Chapter 72 )

Ashur rolled over onto his back with a heavy sigh, pulling Jessa along with him, her body sprawled over his, her heartbeat thundering in his ears, her skin covered with a light sheen of sweat as she struggled to breathe.

It took a few minutes for him to calm down enough to do much of anything, and he smiled just a little, smoothing her hair, watching it fall through his fingers . . .

"You have an unhealthy preoccupation with that mess," she pointed out, propping her chin on her hands that were resting atop his chest.

"If I've told you once, I've told you many times: I adore your hair, Jessa."

She sighed, her smile fading as a thoughtful frown surfaced instead.  "Do you know those children's parents?"

His hands stilled for just a moment before resuming the idle stroking of her hair once more.  "I don't think so," he remarked.  "That doesn't mean much when they obviously know something."

"What could they know?"

"They . . . They said you were bad, Daddy . . . They said . . . They said you're not my daddy . . . An' they said . . . they said I don't gots a mommy 'cause . . . 'cause . . ."

He scowled.  "Kells said . . . He said that they said I was bad, that I'm not his . . . his daddy . . ."

"And his . . . his mommy . . ."

Ashur nodded.  "They obviously know something.  I just don't know how—whether it was something they might have known first-hand or if it was something they'd just heard and had drawn their own conclusions."

Jessa frowned.  He could tell from the expression on her face that she wanted to ask something.  He could also tell from that same expression that she didn't think it was her business, and he sighed.  "You . . . You want to know what happened, don't you?" he asked gently, more for her benefit than for his own since he . . . Well, he'd rather not think about it, let alone talk about it.  But Jessa . . . She had a right to know, and maybe . . . Maybe he should have told her a long time ago . . .

The look she shot him was almost guilty, as though she thought that he was just humoring her, and in a way, he supposed that he was.  Even so . . . "You . . . You don't have to tell me a thing, Ashur," she said.  "It's . . . It's really none of my business, and—"

"You're wrong," he interrupted, placing a finger to her lips.  "It is your business.  What kind of relationship do we have if you're . . . if you're afraid to ask me things?  Because right now, I know what your questions are, but later?  I may not, and . . . and I can't read your mind, Jessa.  This . . . This whole mate thing?  It's supposed to be a partnership.  It's not supposed to be something where I only tell you what I want to tell you.  You know that, don't you?"

The confusion in her gaze was enough to make him wince.  Remembering the things that Nora had told him, he frowned.  No, he thought.  She really had no idea . . . "You don't know that, do you?" he murmured, pulling her against his chest again, kissing her forehead as he let out a deep breath, as he smoothed the hair out of her face.  "It's just . . . It's not a story with a happy ending, Jessa.  My parents, you know?  They . . . They were much better at destruction than they ever were at nurturing.  They blamed it on Ben, on the idea that he'd chosen to walk away—to live his own life—instead of staying behind and living the one that they'd planned out for him."

"He was raised like you were?" Jessa asked quietly, softly, gently, as if she thought that her questions would hurt him somehow.  "Treated like . . ." Suddenly, she shook her head.  "I'm sorry.  No matter what, they were still your parents, and—"

"Don't be sorry," he told her, giving her a little squeeze.  "As far as Ben goes?  I . . . I don't think so.  From what I've been told, Ben was raised slightly differently.  I mean, he had the same forced freedom that I did, sure, but . . .  They were more apathetic than cold to him, allowing him to learn from his own adventures, I guess . . ."

"And you?"

He sighed.  "I don't know much more about Ben's upbringing than that," he said almost apologetically.  "If you wanted to know more about that, then you could ask Ben—I promise you, he wouldn't mind."

"That's so . . . I-I-I couldn't—"

"I just meant that if you wanted to really grasp the difference.  It doesn't really matter except to say that my parents thought that I'd be Ben-reborn, and I wasn't.  The thing was, they didn't tell me that I even had an older brother till I was eighty.  I lived my entire life until then, not really understanding, why I could never actually meet their expectations—or even what their true expectations even were . . ."

"That's entirely unfair.  Two children aren't supposed to be the same as each other," she muttered, snuggling a little closer.  "I can't even fathom . . . How do you not tell your child that he has a sibling?"  She sighed, brow still furrowed in very obvious irritation.  "It just seems wrong . . ."

"They didn't have to tell me that for me to understand early on that I was a bitter disappointment.  I'm elemental, like you, which means that I'm not as physical as otou-san—as Ben—a panther—was.  I never have been.  Mononoke—creature spirits—are always more physical because it's in their natures to be.  On the reverse side of it, they tend to not be able to use the kinds of attacks that we are.  It's give and take, but of course, my father, being a panther, as well, held value in brute strength.  Anyway, the point here is just to explain that I was never raised to ever think that I was anything but a failure.  I wasn't given hopes or dreams outside of the betterment of the family.  I simply didn't exist outside of the framework that they'd set down."

"That's . . . sad . . ." she ventured, her fist tightening around a handful of his hair, as though she needed something to hold onto.  "What a horrid thing to do to their child . . ."

"It is what it is, Jessa," he told her with a wan smile.  "Everyone grows up in some sort of cage.  It's just that some parents make those cages a little more pleasant than others."

"Is Kells in a cage?" she countered quietly.

"Of course, he is.  His cage, though . . . It's whatever he wants it to be."

She considered that, but finally smiled.  "Then, it's a beautiful cage."

He nodded.  "I hope so . . ."

She sighed, leaning up on her elbow, pushing back his bangs with her tender touch, her gaze full of an understated light, a gentle glow.  "Do you want more children, Ashur?  I mean, maybe not this minute, but someday?"

He smiled, caught her hand, kissed her knuckles.  "Kells does," he replied.  "I hadn't really thought about that, but with you?  I think that'd be all right . . ."

"Just, ‘all right’?" she teased.

He chuckled, pulling her in for a soft kiss—not one meant to spark anything, despite the surge that shot through him at the intimate contact.  No, it was more of a kiss designed to let her know, exactly how he was feeling, that he was simply happy enough, just to be with her . . . "Seeing you, chubby and round with our baby?  I think I'd like that, yes."

He could tell from the expression on her face, the softness in her eyes, that she was considering that, too, and she laughed.

He indulged in the moment for just a little longer before letting out a deep breath, reminding himself, what they were talking about, unwilling to allow himself to be sidetracked this time.  No, it was best to just rip off that bandage, wasn't it?  Because if he didn't . . .

"Anyway . . . I guess that kind of explains enough for you to understand that, by the time the plans were being whispered—the idea of trying to overthrow Sesshoumaru—that I . . . I wasn't entirely sure what to do.  On the one hand, it had been drilled into me for centuries: family, blood . . . the idea that you simply did not question otou-san . . . That he was always right, that his word was law.  I understood that, and still . . . At that time, the idea of going against them wasn't really something I'd considered.  I mean, it wasn't my place to try to tell him that he was making a foolish mistake.  Then I heard them talking one night.  They were discussing the idea of having another child, not because they wanted another child.  They wanted an insurance policy, of sorts.  They wanted to make sure that, should the need arise, they could use okaa-san's pregnancy to buy them some time in case they needed to flee the country, to hide—because who would ever issue a hunt for someone whose mate was pregnant?  That's . . . That's what they thought, anyway.  I knew it was arrogant, even stupid, on their parts.  They were talking about murdering the Inu no Taisho.  Pregnancy or not, it wouldn't have made a difference.  But the thing that horrified me the most was just . . . just the pragmatic way that they discussed it, like it wasn't a child at all that they were going to create . . . Something about that . . ."

"That's . . . disgusting," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

He grimaced, biting back the emotions that rose in him, even now, years after the fact . . . That night, with the sliver of a moon, hanging so low in the sky, and he had realized it then: the absolute perversion of the people that he called, 'family' . . . "It felt . . . unnatural . . ."

"Kells," she breathed.

He nodded slowly.  "Kells . . ."

"That child," she said, her voice taking on an unmistakably sad lilt, "he's light and . . . life and . . . love and laughter . . ."

"And that was when I decided . . . I told them that I had a business trip that I had to take, and I went to find Ben, to tell him everything.  That was when I realized that . . . that I couldn't let them do what they planned.  I'd be lying if I tried to say that I wanted to save the Inu no Taisho.  That sounds better, doesn't it?  But, in reality . . . I mean, when I thought about the way that this child would be raised, the things that he'd be made to feel—the things that he'd never be allowed to feel . . . And a part of me understood from the moment I left my parents' home, that ultimately, they would die . . . and . . ." He winced, drew a deep breath, forced himself to admit the rest—the part he'd never, ever voiced out loud before, not even to himself.  ". . . And I meant for them to."

"To save Kells," she finished.  Somehow, it did little to alleviate the surge of guilt that frothed in him.

"Don't try to make it sound noble, Jessa," he warned, his tone taking on a slight sharpness.  "It was selfish—purely selfish.  I didn't want to look that child in the eyes, knowing that there was something I could have done to prevent the pain, the ache that never goes away . . . because if I let it go on, then it would have been just as much my fault—maybe more my own than theirs.  After all, they honestly saw nothing wrong in it, so how can they be blamed when they didn't know any better?  But I . . . I did . . ."

"If you're trying to convince me that you're anything but a good man, Ashur Philips, it isn't working," she told him sternly.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead before wrapping his arms tightly around her once more.  "My actual thought was that I'd end up dead, but with any luck, so would they, and that would leave Ben, but he'd take care of Kells, so . . . So, it was all going to be all right, you know?"

"You . . . You wanted to . . . die . . .?"

He shrugged.  "'Wanted' isn't a good word.  I just knew that it would probably happen . . . Anyway, everything went crazy.  They decided that the best course of action would be to take out Sesshoumaru's protection first—try to weaken him, as it were . . . They hated Sesshoumaru, blamed him for being the reason why Ben had left, to begin with, and he was, indirectly.  He asked Keijizen to take up the post of tai-youkai in America, and Ben, his best friend, went with him.  They blamed Sesshoumaru for it, maybe even more than they blamed Keijizen—maybe.  Over time, that hate festered, and that's when otou-san thought that if he could gather enough support, cover his animosity over with whatever reasons anyone wanted to hear, that he could overthrow him, which was entirely stupid, given that Sesshoumaru is Inu no Taisho for a reason.  It's not a title that was just handed to him because he was the prettiest puppy in the puppy parade . . ."

Jessa frowned.  "Well, he kind of is . . ."

Ashur choked out a laugh. "I'll take your word for it, Jessa."

She giggled, but her expression didn't remain, shifting once more into a more serious tone.  "They targeted his private guard?"

"Well, no . . . Sesshoumaru doesn't have a private guard, per se.  What he does have is a bevy of hunters at his disposal, and the best of them all is his nephew, Ryomaru Izayoi."

"I've heard of him . . . His father is legendary, isn't he?"

Ashur nodded.  "He is . . . I'll be honest.  There's nothing on earth that could make me tangle with that particular family, period.  To do so is foolishness, and nothing but.  In order to lure Ryomaru out, to trap him, they decided to start cutting down humans, but I warned Ben, so . . . So, Ryomaru was never sent. Instead, they sent Manami, which was fine, but after she'd hunted a number of the ones that they'd sent out to lay the traps, otou-san spotted her in the city, and he figured it out.  Manami was close to Ben when they were children—teenagers . . . Okaa-san knew that Manami wouldn't have ever returned to Japan unless something important brought her back . . . So, they captured her . . . and what they did to her . . ."

"They hurt her," Jessa finished.

He sighed, grimaced.  "Otou-san held her, questioned her, for a few days—no food, no water—nothing.  But okaa-san . . . She was vindictive, brutal . . . She whipped Manami, badly with a poison-laced lash . . . We didn't realize it at the time, but the swan-youkai are different from most others.  When most mononoke transform, their entire bodies change.  Your cousin, Myrna, for example . . . When she transforms, her arms shift into wings.  It may be that the hawks' wings are stronger that way.  I don't know.  Anyway, swans are different—much different. Their wings are retracted into their backs.  Only swan-youkai are that way.  I'm not sure why . . . When okaa-san beat her, she . . . she damaged Manami's wings.  They . . . They couldn't repair them . . ."

"Manami," Jessa breathed, flinched, the horror in her eyes a terrible thing to see.  "She . . . She never said . . ."

"She wouldn't.  She won't . . ."

"And there's nothing that could help her?"

He slowly shook his head.  "I wish there were . . ."

She considered that for a minute, as though she were trying to figure out some way, something that the rest of them hadn't already tried or suggested.  "I'll bet they were beautiful, her wings . . ."

Thinking back to that night, as he'd watched her unfurl those damaged wings . . . And still, there had been such grace, such majesty to them, despite the battering they'd taken.  And still, she flew . . . "They were."  She flinched again, and Ashur kissed her forehead, frowned as he gathered his thought, as he struggled to give voice to the hardest part of it all.  "Hana . . . She was a servant in my parents' house.  She was a friend, too—a childhood friend.  I told you that much, I think . . . But we . . . We were close . . ." He grimaced inwardly, wondering just how much he ought to tell her about that, but then, she'd talked to Hana, hadn't she?  He just didn't know what all the woman had told Jessa . . . "I should tell you, I think . . . Hana and I . . ."

Jessa shook her head, as though she didn't want Ashur to say whatever it was that he was about to.  "She . . . She said she was your . . . your one love . . ."

Ashur frowned.  "My . . .?" That made no sense.  One love?  He shook his head, too.  "Jessa, what exactly did she say to you?"

Jessa bit her lip, her expression growing just a little more guarded, her youki pulling in around her, as though to protect her, and he sighed.  "I really need to know exactly what she said," he coaxed as gently as he could.

She shook her head again.  "It was hard to . . . to understand her," she blurted, shaking her head as she started to sit up.  Ashur caught her and held her.  "She said . . . She said you were her one love, that you . . . that you could not forget her . . ." she finally whispered.

He considered that, his scowl darkening.  'One . . . love . . .'

'First time, maybe? Hatsukoi—first love . . . Maybe that's what she meant . . .'

He sighed.  "I don't think she meant that the way it must have sounded," he said.  "I think she meant that I was her . . . her first lover . . ." He grimaced.  "That I can't forget what she did . . . Jessa . . . I'm not in love with her.  I've never been in love with her.  I . . . She was my friend—my best friend for a very long time—maybe my only real friend back then.  Did you think . . .?"

She wouldn't look at him as she scrunched her shoulders up, like she was trying to make herself just a little smaller, and he sighed again.  "You have to understand, Jessa . . . Things in Japanese are a lot different than things you might say in English.  Most Japanese don't say words like, 'I love you'—it doesn't translate well, and if I were to say something like that in Japan, it'd be, like . . . like something you’d say when you were dying . . . and it doesn't mean I don't feel . . ." he flinched, feeling her retreating from him just a little farther . . . "You . . . are the one I've waited centuries to find.  You're the one who makes me smile, makes me laugh . . . the one I . . . I love . . ."

Her chin snapped up, her eyes flaring wide, as she let go of her youki, as it unfurled around him.  "You . . . You do?" she whispered, shaking her head as though to refute what he'd just said.  "But—"

"It's hard for me, Jessa," he said with a shake of his head.  "I'm not used to saying things like this.  It's . . . It's difficult because it sounds so . . . so strange . . ."

"You . . . You love . . . me . . .?"

Suddenly, he chuckled.  "Yes, Jessa . . . Why else would I have taken you as my mate?"  She bit her lip again, only this time, she looked like she just might cry, and he rolled his eyes and chuckled again.  "Before you cry, let me finish telling you this, okay?"

She made a face, wrinkling her adorable nose, casting him a very dry look, but she nodded.  "Ruin the moment, Ashur Philips," she grumbled.

He smiled and pulled her against him yet again.  "Anyway, Hana ran to Sesshoumaru, told them that my father had figured out that I was spying for him, that I'd helped Manami escape.  If she hadn't . . ." Trailing off, he willed himself to calm, willed himself to continue, his tone taking on a far more clinical sound, and maybe he needed that degree of separation . . . "By the time they came, I was unconscious.  Ben had invoked the Rite of Kinship—meaning that otou-san had no choice but to fight him.  Ben won.  He . . . He killed otou-san.  By the time I was healed enough to get up, I went to see okaa-san—she was being held in a small cell behind the house and was almost ready to give birth.  She . . . She wanted clothes—she was in her night gown the whole time she was confined—so, I asked Hana to fetch them.  When Hana returned, okaa-san . . . She lashed out at Hana, told her that she'd killed her mother for being clumsy, called Hana my . . . my whore . . . Hana didn't know about her mother's death.  She only knew that her mother had died, not that she was murdered.  She lost it, for want of a better term, and I could understand that, but when I tried to intervene, she immobilized me with one of her senbon.  I could only watch as she ripped into my mother—as she cut her and beat her . . . When they came in to pull her off okaa-san, it was too late.  She was dying.  I . . . I barely had enough time to . . . to cut Kells free . . . and all I can see when I see Hana is . . . Is Kells, and . . . If she had killed okaa-san before I could save him . . ."

Jessa uttered a terse sound, a guttural sound, trapped low in her throat.  When he dared to look at her, he winced at the absolute pain in her eyes, in the way she kept opening and closing her mouth, as though she simply couldn't find the words to say.  The upset in her youki was a hard thing to reconcile, and he sighed as he held her close, as she rasped out a roughened sob.

"It's okay, Jessa," he told her gently, trying to comfort her, feeling like he was failing miserably.  "That's why . . . That's why I sent her away," he went on.  "That's why I told her I don't want to see her, ever again.  I . . . I can't . . . I mean, I understand what she did and why, but when I think about Kells . . ."

Jessa sniffled, holding onto him like she was afraid to let go.  "And . . . And that's why you adopted him?  So that he wouldn't have to know . . ."

He nodded.  "I don't know if I'm being foolish, thinking that maybe he won't ever have to know . . . It's just so ugly, so . . . so pathetic . . . That's why we moved here—for a fresh start, away from the whispers and the gossip . . . I . . . I chose his first name because of the story—Ben chose his middle name—and I chose mine . . . I chose mine to remind myself that I didn't have to remain who I was; that I could be someone entirely different . . ."

"If he finds out, then he'll understand," she said, her voice shaky despite the conviction behind her words.  "Ashur . . .?"

Holding her close, he breathed in the scent of her, let it soothe him, let it calm him, marveling in the idea that telling her everything . . . It hadn't been nearly as bad as he'd dreaded . . . "Hmm?"

She sighed, finally relaxing against him, and, though he could still sense an underlying sadness, she also seemed to be processing it all in a remarkable way, one that he envied just a little.  "I . . . I love you, too," she ventured quietly.

He felt the strange sting behind his eyelids, blinking fast as he tiled her face, as he kissed her gently, as he wondered absently, just why those simple words were enough to make him forget a lifetime of pain . . . or maybe . . .

Maybe it was all Jessa . . .