Being strong by The-infamous-one
Being strong
Rated MA
AN- This story has to do with spousal abuse to an extent. If you have issues with this then please back out. If you or someone you know is being abused and doesn't have the strength to get out, please call your local women OR man shelters.
You are not alone, you can and will get through this.
I wish you the best of luck.
Being strong.
-
She remembered when she and her sister would watch those old shows on T.V, how they just couldn't understand why those women would accept the abuse. The beatings, the black and blue swollen eyes, the nasty names that, one who loved another, should never be uttered.
Her father raised a fighter, a woman who took no bull shit from any man, who, on the worst of days, would stand up to the devil himself if it meant keeping her morals.
At ten she remembered when the first bully hit her, how hard his fist was when it connected with her cheek. Pain exploded in her head and it felt like her brain was knocked loose, left to rattle back and forth. The taste of blood filled her mouth and that day she learned she liked the taste. The boy hit her for no reason other then her standing up to him. He got a few good blows in, and they caused her eyes to water, but she refused to shed them.
He had no idea what he unleashed.
She remembered the shock on his face when she didn't cry, the disbelief when she cocked her arm back, and the tears that streamed out of his eyes when she broke his nose. The crunch more satisfying then getting praised by her father. The feeling of putting that little fucking bastard in his place below her, was sweeter than anything in the world. It's one memory that she cherished above all other. It symbolized that she didn't have to be weak.
The years had passed by, with many, many fights littering the pavement. Some she lost, lost so horribly that you wouldn't know her from looking. Others she nearly killed those men, had it not of been for those who thrived on the fight. She got good at hitting just right. Just enough pressure to close the wind pipe but not crush it.
Breath in.
Hit.
Exhale.
Dodge
Repeat.
Don't get lazy, don't get compliant. Always, always watch your back. Never be weak, don't ever give them the power.
She remembered when she was sixteen, she met a boy who wasn't afraid of her, who even though she could protect herself, he wanted to protect her too. He taught her love, the sweet kind, the kind that was no good for someone like her. It was beautiful and bright. So warm and tender. It was amazing, but it was a lie. He felt that, he wanted that picture perfect white picket fence kind of love. Her on the other hand, she didn't know how to be gentle, she didn't know how to be soft and sweet. She knew blood. She knew pain, and broken bones and fierce want to find one of equal strength, equal drive.
It ended before it really began and she found out how to cause a different kind of pain, one without the use of her fists. This pain though wasn't one that she enjoyed causing.
Not to him at least.
He, who was so bright in this world, never deserved it. So she left him, left him to find one much better than her.
She kept fighting and she got good. People in the underground knew her name, chanted it, praised it even. Her fights were always sold out.
Knock you out Kagome.
It was so sweet to hear. It was her own personal heroin. Smooth and seductive, it wrapped around her ears, tingled her flesh until she quivered with anticipation. Those moments, before the walk to whatever decrepit pit they found for the fight, those moments were her lovers. It's what kept her coming back.
It was one of those nights that she found him, completely by accident. Or at least, so he said.
New to the area, new to the scene. He was beautiful and intriguing, fresh meat for the hounds so to say. His brother was her friend , She sparred with him enough to give him that title. She knew that high end man had no business down in the slums. No business to be slinking in her shadows. Yet he lingered, he watched and studied. Memorizing her queue's, mapping her reactions. His gaze sunk within her back, embedding itself within the sinew of her muscles. It felt like he was owning her with just that look. It started something new in her. Something primal.
She'd had lovers in the past, those who approached her with lust, those who only searched to sate themselves. Their love was hollow, but their bodies satisfied her for a short time and once the light of dawn peaked over the horizon, they were cast aside. Both not caring that they used each other for physical gratification.
He was different.
He made her crave him, made her wonder what thoughts hid behind those half mast orbs. He became a whole other addiction. Soon she sought with her eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of him lingering around her corner. She wanted him to want her, wanted him to be impressed by her power. When that day came her heart stopped for a second, the missed beat almost as painful as a hit to the ribs, yet she stayed standing. She wouldn't lose his interest now that he approached.
Sesshoumaru was how he introduced himself, his voice the makings of many a catatonic state. His form was that of a predator, toned and rippling underneath his custom suit, it was hypnotic. It made her mind wander from the fight to places best left in the bedroom, of sensual hot touches and vicious blood filled kisses. He was dangerous to her mental state. But I guess creatures like him have always been dangerous to women, no matter the time. He made her feel small, delicate even, if she could ever feel that way.
It was a new feeling, being feminine.
Their first date was magical if not cliché, a five star restaurant with better food then she had ever ate. She had wine for the first time, some ridiculously priced bottle that cost more then her rent, and while the blood red colour was distracting, the taste she didn't care for; too sweet and nothing like the colour promised. She was a ruff and rumbled kind of girl, of whiskey and beer, and nothing like the polished man in front of her, nothing like his brother. That was the first time she wondered 'Why does he like me?'
From then on most of her time was spent with him, doing things she never thought that she could since growing up in the slums was a hard place to leave. He wooed her, fed her need for adventure and thrills. It wasn't long until he had her in love with him. Wanting only him, needing only him.
The fighting started to fall to the side lines, a mixture of her new love and his subtle suggestions. Her old friends called, her old followers too, yet she ignored them on his behest and months latter; knock you out Kagome was no more. Changed into someone she no longer noticed, yet was too blind to realize or care. Love is funny like that.
She remembered the day they married, the over the top reception that he had wanted. The need to show up his associates, the wealth that he owned, the power he controlled. It bedazzled her, though she was uncomfortable. She had wanted a small ceremony along with reception, beloved friends and family. He convinced her otherwise, saying as a major company head he needed to have the sort of wedding befitting of his place in life. He was always the flashy one. She remembered looking out amongst the masses that had gathered for her wedding day, and not knowing many of the faces that stared back. Not even Inuyasha had made it. Though that friendship fell through almost a year prior, she had hoped he would attend. Glancing at her new husband she remembered smiling at him, and him smiling back but for some reason it didn't look right.
She remembered how good it was in the beginning, being called Mrs Tashio had a nice ring to it. He still wooed her, took her to nice places and spoiled her rotten. He didn't want her to work anymore so she quit her job and loved it. It was so unbelievably nice to not have to work anymore, she had been working since she was 14 and then at 24 it was almost unbelievable to not have to wait on people. As the months passed she became accustomed to the life that he more then happily promoted she have. She happily fell into the lie of being a wealthy mans wife.
She should of know it was too good to be true.
The changes were gradual, almost minuscule actually. Cliché and blasé (as she had been informed to talk) it made her feel ridiculous for ever believing a word that escaped the putrid cesspit that was his mouth. The late nights and hidden phone calls, the extended business trips. Poor excuses spewed by deplorable men. She had wished he would of came to her, told her of his waning affections. Instead, he wished to keep the cupcake and eat the pie too. Thinking about it made her laugh, the bitter kind, the sardonic self mocking kind of laugh that every person know isn't really a laugh at all. It's more like a choked out wheezing cry from some inescapable condemned mental gutter. One you don't know how to pull yourself from.
She remembers the arguing and late night screaming , the thrown vases and other priceless artifacts that littered the floor. The coiling smell of cheap perfume and stale smoke floating around him while his breath was laced with single malt whiskey. The combined smells forming a ball of nausea in her stomach, not for the first, nor mind you; the last time. She remembers the feeling of disgust the first time he raised his hand in mock violence. Threatening in the universal way to show her, her place. His face blotched red and eyes glazed. She remembered jutting out her jaw and slanting her eyes. Her lips curled back in challenge.
He backed off that day. Either he wasn't drunk enough, or what little of his morals were left interfered; she couldn't tell you. The man she met, the man she fell I love with was no more, and for that realization she wept. She cried her heart out alone and miserable in the middle of the living room floor with not even the sound of rain to attempt to mask her pain.
She remembered when he finally lost it, that small glimmering shred of male dignity, and laid his hand upon her.
God it hurt!
It hurt more then that first time the bully hit her cheek, more then some of the fights that left her comatose upon the ground. That last hope that the man she gave her heart to, shattered within her chest.
Maybe that's what hurt the most. Not the hard hits or the busted skin, the bleeding cuts or the bruised eyes. Her heart bled, and it caused a worse pain then she could ever remember.
She remembered the blows stoping and lifting her head to look at him. The horror of his action had stole across his face, his hands trembled from the deed he just comited . An acute sound much like the keen of an abused dog escaped him as he stared, between his bloodied hand and me; curled protectively around my front. Him chocking out my name in dismay, leaning forward to touch me as I instinctively flinched back. His chants of 'Oh god! Oh god! What have I done?!' Did nothing more then insure my rage!
'What does god have to do with this!' She remember screaming. Stumbling to her feet, the alleviation change caused her world to spin and it took a minute to steady herself. She remember looking down on him, his face still so beautiful even twisted in sorrow. She remember his breath catching, the haunted look upon his face as she said nothing to his please for forgiveness, his promises of another chance, a better chance. She remember the sound of his heart breaking as she slipped off the ring and tossed it to lay in a puddle of her cooling blood. She remembered turning away from the man she loved, forsaking the life they created together, the beautiful lie they made.
She remembers making it to the massive oak doors, her hand grasped the handle ready to lead her into her new terrifying world. She remembers his last plea. That single broken word that tested the woman her father had raised.
It was nothing more then "stay."
She remembered freezing in place. Her heart begging to give him another chance, screaming, shrieking to run to him and be the good wife, the submissive wife. That it would work out and everything would be better.
But then she remembered watching those shows with her sister and how they couldn't understand why those woman stayed. Why the went back after every lie and every beating. How they vowed they would never be that woman.
With that thought she straightened her back with resolve, and walked out the door.
She found a new way to be strong as she left him kneeling on the floor. Her daddy would be proud.
---
... I know ... What the hell am I doing writing this when I have other stories to finish... Ummm ... Honestly? I got nothin...:3 just love me! Lol
So this is a bit different in the writing style that I'm used to. What do you all think. More like a memoir then anything else.
Anywhooooo, like always please don't mind the spelling errors to much as I do this on my cellphone telephone and it hates me and my fingers :3
Read and review! And above all else ENJOY!!!
-TIO