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Vanity
Kagome Higurashi, at age twenty-two, had fallen in love a grand total of two times. The first had been so intense and mind-shattering that Kagome hadn't even stopped to consider the consequences – she had just dived right in and rode the waves out to the best of her ability.
The repercussions had been enough to send her to the hospital with a concussion and three broken bones. That was when therapy had started. Seven months later and she had been considered “normal” enough, and released back to the real world – like a cow ready to be butchered. The truth of the matter, though, was that she had been butchered – in the most brutal of ways. This time, there was no useful cure, because her executioner had been her boyfriend at the time, and her soon-to-be husband. Their engagement had been secret. They'd run away to elope with a witness to verify the authenticity of the act. They'd gotten the running away part down and behind them, but her fiancé seemed to have a little trouble understanding the concept of “I do”, because at the altar he had revoked his proposal and run off with the witness. Kagome had been left to find her own way home with a broken heart and open wounds and sores. She had been put back into therapy immediately upon returning home. It had taken two weeks, but Kagome had started talking again. She'd taken things into her own hands this time and had told the therapist that the only way she'd talk was if he promised confidentiality and never to write anything down – not at the time, and not after. Grudgingly, the therapist had agreed. Her first words had been: “Funny how there are two words in 'therapist'.” The tick-tick-ticking of the clock punctuated the annoying tapping of her foot. They were the only sounds in the spacious office. “The quiet should be illegal.” Kagome informed her therapist smartly, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall and then down to the watch she wore on her wrist. One minute and thirty-six seconds separated the two times. Kagome wished she could reset Mr. Taishou's clock. It was wrong – she was sure of it. After all, every single clock in her house (all six of them) was ticking the same time. She'd made sure of that. “Why do you think that?” Doctor Taishou asked in a very disinterested way that bore on Kagome's nerves. Pursing her lips, Kagome turned her head away, refusing to answer. That was always how it was. Their weekly meetings never changed. From the corner of her eye, Kagome saw Doctor Taishou's hand twitch. She knew this was the signature move he made when he wanted to write something down but couldn't. Kagome was observant. She wouldn't allow him to write anything down during or after their sessions – one of her rules. Kagome cackled evilly, turning her head back to face her therapist. “Having trouble, Doctor?” She asked rhetorically. Sesshoumaru's lips tightened momentarily and his hand twitched again. “Thought so.” Kagome smirked. The tapping quickened in pace and the minute hand moved a millimetre. Kagome sighed and leaned back on the plush leather cushion, scrutinizing the man before her. The straight nose and strong chin reminded her of the pictures of warlords she'd seen on her trip to the museum. Frighteningly intense. His eyes were the colour of sun-kissed honey, but frigid and cold like liquid nitrogen. The silver hair he sported lay in a ponytail at the base of his head, sometimes cascading down his shoulders and chest. The long crescent moon eyelashes rested against his cheeks the rare times he blinked. She'd never seen him smile. “You're incredibly girly.” She declared, at last shattering the silence she had created. And that eyebrow... it drove her crazy. Every time it rose to hide behind an immaculately white bang she felt like strangling him. He was supposed to be helping her. She didn't have much faith in either of them. “I bet it drives the girls crazy. You might actually be able to smell the oestrogen one of these days, you know.” She continued. Taking a second look, Kagome scrunched up her nose, shaking her head. “Unlikely.” “Does it drive you crazy, Ka-go-me?” Sesshoumaru asked, breaking her name down into three teasing syllables. Kagome ignored him, instead opting to turn her gaze to the bustling city outside. Kagome hated Christmas more than any other holiday. Nothing good ever came from having to buy presents for snotty children and awkward relatives. The world must have been a better place before Christ was born, she thought dejectedly. How sad – to be born in the wrong era. Kagome picked at the hem of her sleeve absentmindedly, biting her lip – a habit she had picked up somewhere or another in the last three years or so. “I'm going home tomorrow.” She said suddenly, startling the silence. Refusing to look or acknowledge the man before her, Kagome turned her gaze back to the clock. Only ten minutes had passed since she had last checked. Time always did move so slowly for her. “- For Christmas. I'll be back at home. The facility will be releasing me. For good this time.” All she had to do was sign the release forms and she was a free woman again. Kagome had missed choosing and deciding for herself. She hated always having to hand the reins to her life to someone else so they could steer her and screw up for her. It was tiring. “Is that so?” Sesshoumaru asked disinterestedly, not really caring what her answer was. Kagome knew what therapists were like – they were all the same. God complexes – the idea that they could help people. They disgusted her. Kagome hummed in acknowledgement. The first response she had given him since starting to come to his “lessons” three months before. A pity that he missed it in his fit of boredom. Kagome snickered behind her hand. Tick, tick, tick, the clock went, and tap, tap, tap her foot went against the chair's leg, an aggravating sound. Kagome stopped, picking up the black and pink patchwork purse from behind her chair. Rummaging around, Kagome “ahah”-d in victory, removing the candy from her purse, its wrapper, and popped it into her mouth. The hard candy smacked against the back of her teeth and she rolled the wrapper between her index finger and thumb. She hadn't been able to sit long ever since returning to her family. Sesshoumaru's hand twitched. The candy smacked against her teeth again, and she smirked. Unnecessary sound annoyed the rigid man. Kagome did it again to annoy the doctor. “Cease that offensive sound!” He barked a few short minutes later, after she had successfully smacked the candy against her teeth a grand total of ten times. Kagome clucked her tongue disapprovingly and crunched the candy between her molars. Mint invaded her mouth. Half an hour had passed. - The pink and black socks nauseated her. They didn't match. They were unworthy. She couldn't wear them. They were the only socks she had left, and Kagome refused to go sockless. The pink offended her and she scowled in distaste as she rolled it up her ankle to mid-calf. The grey thigh-high boots would cover them, but to Kagome it felt wrong – out of place. The doctors had told her she had a thing called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder – a mind thing. Kagome felt like throwing up. She didn't feel right. The sock felt wrong on her, like it was defiling her person just by being in her presence. Kagome bit the inside of her cheek, relishing in the faint metallic taste that leaked from the wound. Later, she promised herself, when she got home; she would burn the pink sock. The unease didn't decrease, but she did feel a little better knowing that she only had to put up with it for a little while longer. Buttoning up her coat and strapping the thick red belt around her waist, Kagome motioned for the cabby to grab her bags, and got into the atrocious yellow car. She hated Christmas. There were many reasons, but the most prominent two were because of the cold and because Christmas day, in and of itself, was on an uneven number – twenty-five. After that came the fact that it was a holiday and that meant she would actually have to spend time with her family. The cab's door slammed closed behind the cabby and the car pulled out of the vacant lot and into the Christmas-day rush. The stylish grey pompom bobbed on top of her hat, and Kagome fought the urge to reach up and keep it in place. It, too, would be burned upon reaching her home. Kagome snagged a hard candy from her purse and rolled it between her gloved fingers. In the front of the taxi, the driver glanced in the rear view mirror, flashing her a cheesy grin through the reflected surface. She did not return it. “Goin' home for Christmas?” He asked, inching forward in the lane two feet. “Yupp.” Kagome replied hesitantly, stealing a glance at her watch. The cab's clock was off by three minutes exactly, she noticed much to her displeasure. Why was it that nobody seemed to keep a proper watch on the time? Soft Christmas carols played in the background, and Kagome was annoyed to find herself tapping her toes along to the festive tune. She wasn't supposed to like Christmas, and there she was, in the back of Santa Clause's very own taxi, tapping her toes along to the beat of some stupid, modern rendition of “Jingle Bells”. Smokey white condensation frosted the windows. Her left foot felt heavier than her right – the one clothed in the dreadful pink sock. Kagome popped the candy into her mouth, closing her eyes and imagining the satisfaction she would feel while burning the sock and hat. The pompom bobbed up and down on top of her hat. (Updates will be at my convenience. I get my ideas in the weirdest of ways. This one came to me while I was crocheting, so, while I'm suffering from rope burn, I thought I'd write it down. – Incomprehensible)