Father's Son, Woman's Blood by bug

Drink

Disclaimer: Not mine!

A/N:  This oneshot is very different from any of my others, hence the rating.  It's definitely on the darker side and not to be read by anyone of inappropriate age.  Please, be warned.

Side note, I also do not own the song that gave inspiration to this fic.

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He sat in his office with an empty glass in his hand.  He’d been staring at work since early that morning, but when the sun went down, his productivity followed.  The bottle of whiskey was plain to see on the desk, but no one was around to see it.  His glass was his only witness. 

Whiskey had been his only loyal companion for the last 12 years.  Or… that’s what he liked to tell himself now.  He’d had another companion the last few years, but it had been more than a month since he’d seen her.  And from now on… from now on, his whiskey really would be his only companion. 

‘Never again,’ he promised himself.  He poured another glass of whiskey, foregoing the ice.

The first night he’d met her, paid her, had been a night that no one would normally remember.  The weather was terrible.  It kept normal people indoors, but he’d never been normal and, in retrospect, neither had she.

He was walking, alone, down the street.  The red glow of neon lit the street on fire, so her form was easy to pick out.  She was waiting beneath the sign, the glow of the lights warming her skin and adding shadows to her face.  They hadn’t needed words that first night.  She took his wrist and guided him into the building, up a flight of stairs, past several rooms that were already occupied, and through a door.

She turned on the lights and he saw how young she actually was, but for that night he didn’t care.  He needed release, needed her in that moment.  He took her none too gently, but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, he was sure.

That had been their first coupling.  He remembered it better now than he ever had before.  He downed the glass in his hand, made a face, but poured another.

She had been so young.  He became a regular, not because she was particularly good, but because he had seen something in her eyes that first night.  Even as he moved in her, her eyes were dead.  She looked as lifeless as he felt.  And now… well, now she was.

They carried on for a long time, but after the first few months they’d started to talk a little.  She told him her line of work wasn’t against her will, she just felt compelled.  She told him she’d been in the game since she was 17.

‘It’s strange,’ he thought to himself, swirling his glass.  ‘Rin is 17 now.’  He thought about her.  She was visiting this weekend, since the initial custody agreement said she must.  She was sleeping, just down the hall.

They never talked about why she’d gone to the streets, but they talked a little about his past.  Well, he talked about his past and she listened.  He’d told her about his father over several nights, picking up the story where he’d left off each time.  It had happened around the time she was born, so she didn’t have any of the tainted information from the media.

“When I was in college, my father remarried.  The woman was like you, actually.  Her profession, at least.  She came up pregnant soon after they married.  I wasn’t sure the child was legitimate, until she had it; then it was undeniable,” he said all of this dispassionately.  He had distanced himself from the event years ago.

“After the baby was born, my father was happy.  He loved the woman and the child like he hadn’t loved my mother.  Their marriage had been arranged, but she divorced him shortly after I was born and left me to him.  I never knew why she’d left, but I think I understand now.

“Anyways, after a few years, the business went bad and people were berating my father for losing the company.  They blamed his second wife and the boy.  My father became sick; the doctors think he had a breakdown. He started beating his wife, they told me.

“I came home from college for winter break.  It was my final year.  I opened the door and knew something was wrong.  I had never smelled anything like it.  I went to the kitchen; I don’t know why.  I saw blood there and followed it.  It led into the hallway.  That’s where I found them.  My step-mother and her son.  They were on the floor.  Blood, lots of blood, shit.  It was… it was a mess.  They’d been dead a while, the police told me afterward.”

That had been the first time she’d cried for him.  He swore he’d never be like his father.  But even now, he couldn’t feel anything about that event.  He’d blocked all the feelings.  When he graduated, he’d started drinking and sleeping around.  That’s where Rin had come from.  He’d married her mother, tried to be happy, but when he blocked the feelings of that winter day, he’d blocked the feelings for everything.

The months that followed his retelling were good, happy even.  They spent hours together.  He started to feel again.

But now, now he was stuck with the feelings.  He downed the next glass and poured another, noting that the bottle was half gone.

“Humph,” he said to the empty room.  “It was full when I started.”

She became his whole world.  He’d visited her nightly.  She made him happy.

“But then that bitch found out,” his voice filled the air again.  “She wants to… to take my daughter away.”

His ex-wife had filed for sole custody, with no visitation rights.  She had noticed his happiness and wanted to steal it away from him.

“Her and that damned private detective.”

She’d hired someone to prove that he was employing a whore.  He couldn’t even deny it, because it was true.  The judge had already ruled on it; this would be his last visit with his daughter.  They would keep her away from him.

“They want to keep my daughter away from me,” he said, tears in his eyes.

“But why?  You are a good father,” she responded.  She opened her door to him.

“It’s because of you,” he said, the room empty except for the memory of her voice.  “You are a whore.  Because of my involvement with you, they think me unfit.”

She could smell the liquor on his breath.  How couldn’t she, he reeked of it.  She knew his tone; she’d heard it in the voice of many clients before him.  She backed away from him.

He laid his money down on the table and approached her.

“No, Sesshoumaru, you stay right there,” she said, continuing to back away from him.  She didn’t think he would hurt her much, not after all this time, but she’d never seen him so drunk.

“I’ve paid you.  I’m going to get my money’s worth tonight,” he said, slurring a little.

“I’ve paid you.  I’ve paid you,” he said again.

“Just because you pay me doesn’t mean you can take me when I say no,” she argued with him.  Her back bumped into the wall behind her and fear paralyzed her.

He stalked up to her, slamming his hands on the wall to either side of her head.  He wouldn’t let her run anymore.  He’d caught her.

He took the time to kiss her, to say a final goodbye.  It worked to lull her into a moment of relief; she thought he wouldn’t hurt her for a brief instant.  His hands found their drunken way to her shift.  He fisted his hand in the flimsy material and jerked on it.  Her body moved.  The material gave.  She landed on the bed, breathless.

He dropped her shift.  He tried for a brief moment to unbutton his shirt, but grew frustrated and ripped it open, buttons popping off.  His pants proved easier, with a single button and a pull they were open and off.

He climbed on top of her, grabbing her hands.  She hadn’t expected anyone, so she’d only been wearing the shift and a robe.  He’d disposed of her shift so now she was bared to him.

“Don’t try to scream now; no one cares anyway.  I’ve paid you and I want this one to hurt.  I’ll get my money’s worth.”

She tried to scream, he saw it coming, so he put both her wrists in one hand and slid the other around her throat, squeezing, strangling the sound.  She struggled, he liked that she struggled.  His dick hardened.  Even as she was kicking, he forced his length into her.  It was difficult because there had been no prep.  He looked around the room and noticed the knife she kept beside her bed for safety.  Taking his hand away from her throat, he grabbed it.  She was too busy coughing to notice what he planned.

With a quick pull across her belly, he had all the lubrication he needed.  He dropped the knife on the bed and smeared his hand across the wound he’d made, making the girl gasp in added pain.  He took his dick in hand, coating it in her blood.  Before she had a chance to retaliate, he was inside her again, gliding smoothly now.

She tried to scream again and he hit her.  He put his full weight into his fist.  She was knocked nearly unconscious.  Her cheek immediately started to swell and blood leaked from the side of her mouth.  He didn’t care, just kept pumping, shoving himself into her.

His hand went back to her wound; it had made her skin that much silkier.  The red contrasted beautifully with her pale skin.  He spread it around, grabbing at her breasts.  He wanted—he needed—more.  His hand found the knife again.

Even now, in his drunken state, he remembered the feel of her.  The hot blood.  His penis throbbed. 

He’d shown her.  He wouldn’t be like his father.  He nipped that little whore in the bud.

But she’d been so young.  Not much older than his Rin.  His little Rin, who was sleeping just down the hall.  He thought about Rin going out to the streets, walking under those neon lights.  He thought of someone taking her, over and over.  He thought of a blood stained sheet covering her body.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank down the last dregs of the fiery liquid.

He thought about what he’d done to Kagome and about his little Rin.

“It won’t happen again; I won’t let—hic—let it happen again,” he said, fumbling at a drawer in his desk.  He got the drawer open and sat, staring at the gun that swam in his vision.  His hand caressed the smooth barrel, traced the butt.  Palming the gun, he gripped it in one hand and the empty bottle in the other and stumbled to his feet.

He found the door to his office, stumbled through into the hallway.

She smiled at him, the glow of morning adding a sparkle to her eyes.

This time the sparkle was tears.  He’d told her that his father didn’t die; he was in a secure hospital, his mind broken, shattered beyond saving.  He told her about his fears of becoming his father’s son, of losing himself.

He was in front of her door.  She’d left it cracked.  He leaned against it and it opened with a bang.  She startled awake and sat up, blinking at him.  All he could think about was how he would never see her again.

The hot liquid was all over him.  His hands, chest, abdomen and lower, all covered with the sticky, red substance.  He wondered what had happened.  How had it come to this?  Had he become his father after all?  Had a devil possessed him?

He threw the whiskey bottle at the wall; it was weighted with all his pain, all his fears.  It shattered above her head and rained down around her.

“It will never happen again.  I know now what can happen to a 17 year old.  I won’t let it happen again.  I am not my father’s son,” his words were oddly clear, no indication of the alcohol.  He raised the gun that was still in his hand.

“Daddy?”  Rin said.