Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or any of it's characters, even though I wouldn't mind one bit!
A/N: Whoo. My first Sango and Miroku story. Yay! Um…yeah…I should really stop writing so many new stories but oh well! It's summer so I don't have to go to school anyway. This is dedicated to I's wonDERful friend fanfictiongeek36. Sango and Miroku are her favorite pairing, so I had to write a story for them! Something angst, romantic, and un-cliched, just the way 'ya like it idiot.
Warnings: Um…this story is rated for language, drug use, violence, and some adult situations because Miroku is a pervert.
Miroku- I am not!
Also, at the end of each chapter (I hope anyway), I'm going to be putting up the lyrics for the song each chapter was named for. This whole story is based on Yellowcard's song 'Powder'. Also, please review, because this is my first attempt and a Sango/Miroku.
Rain. Freezing drops of water falling from an already dark sky, pouring down on the heads of the people who were silly or unfortunate enough to have to be outside in the unusual weather. The rain was not unusual, of course. Rain was something that happened everywhere. But this was the fourth day in a row it had rained. Four days of whipping winds, of violent downpour, of freezing temperatures, of absolute misery. It was, as some people called, Armageddon weather. According to some, it was the end of the world, the four days of rain signifying God trying to wash the earth clean of the sins of its people.
He could blame it on the rain.
It was a pathetic excuse, he knew it, but right now, he was pathetic. Walking down the dark and grimy streets, clutching the stolen money in his dirty hands, pulling his flimsy coat even closer to try and keep himself warm. If it was the end of the world, then he would need something to get him through. They couldn't expect him to go through the Apocalypse all alone, could they?
Who are they anyway? And what the hell gave them the right to tell him what to do anyway?
He was cold, shivers running down his spine, causing him to tremble convulsively as he continued walking. His feet ached from running, and he really wished that he had some actual shoes instead of the flip flops he was wearing. Gripping the wad of cash he held even more tightly, he briefly thought of using this money to buy a new pair of shoes. That would be a good use, wouldn't it? Better than what he planned to use it for.
Then again, how would having a brand new pair of Adida's help him if it was the end of the world?
His teeth began chattering with the cold. Doing a quick scan of the streets surrounding him, he checked his mental map, seeing that he was only a few more blocks away from his destination. His stomach turned. 'Get a hold of yourself. You're acting like some damn kid. Grow a back bone.' He continued chiding himself for beings so nervous. It wasn't as if he hadn't been down this street before. He'd seen the graffiti, the children trembling in alley ways, the women waiting on the street corners with promises of pleasure in the dark for only a few dollars, the homeless begging for work or money, the drunkards who were still hanging outside of the bars; he was numb to it all. He'd been one of those people before. Smiling bitterly at the irony of it all, he realized that in a way, he still was.
He was still stealing, cheating, lying, and doing anything he could to get what he wanted. He wore different clothes now, lived on the other side of town, even had a minimum wage paying job as a waiter; he was supposed to be better than this. Then again, who was he to think that he was better than anyone? He wasn't. He wasn't better than the boy who had written his name on the side of the building, than the scruffy men asking people to spare some change; he was them. Just in a different form. He was the scum of the alley that everyone looked down upon, he was packaged differently; the same hopeless soul you find inside of the shell, just with a different kind of wrapping.
The sound of police sirens echoed through the alley way. His first instincts were to begin running, to tell his feet to move again because they had caught up with him, it was his last chance to get away. 'You're being paranoid. Why would they come looking for you? It was only sixty dollars from a low-class restaurant. Who's really going to notice that?' No one would, most likely. And even more likely, no one would notice that he was gone. Not that he cared anyway. Sometimes, he barely noticed himself.
It was pitiful, he supposed, to be in his position now, and to be brooding about the fact that he was alone. He had always been alone, and he was just fine with it. There was no need for anyone else. Somewhere along the line, after the deaths of his mother and father, before the true horrors of his life began, he'd learned that if you're alone, you will never find anyone to care about, you will never have a reason to hurt. There were flaws with his conclusion, oh he knew that. He had suffered through a lot in his lifetime, been through things that might not have happened had his stubborn ways allowed him to take a helping hand that was leant to him. Also, if you never cared, then there would be no one to care about you.
That was true loneliness. And in all honesty, he hated it, couldn't stand the thought of being alone. One day, when he got over this, out of this stage of his life, he would have a family. Wife, kids, dogs, a house with a white picket fence, real job, car; the works. 'Stage? Is that what you're calling it now? Pathetic, worthless, pitiful, trash. You'll never get over it, will you? This is what you are.'
God damned stupid voices in his head. Never letting him have a moments piece. Why couldn't they just shut the hell up? He was not worthless. He was not trash. He was better than that. For a moment, his feet stopped moving. His entire body stilled; the only thing moving was his chest, rising and falling with each shaky breath he took. He was better than this.
He was not some drunkard or whore waiting out on the street for a few dollars.
He was not some bum with no money or no home.
He was not some druggie who steals money from their restaurant to come down and buy another bag of their miracle drug.
Oh, wait a minute.
Yeah he was.
Letting out a raspy, strangled cry, he ran to the wall of the alley, letting his forehead hit the wet surface. 'Stupid. What the hell am I doing? Stealing again. I won't go back there. I won't. I am not like this. This isn't who I am.' He turned around, his eyes narrowed in determination to march right back down this alley and go back to work, return the money, and get some fucking help. He sighed heavily, allowing his back to hit the wall, and slid down the cool surface onto the ground. He cringed as he felt cold water seeping into his jeans. 'Shit. Great. Just fucking great.' In his right hand, he held the wad of cash he had just borrowed only twenty minutes ago, contemplating whether or not he should continue walking through this alley or if he really should go back and return it. He would probably lose his job if he admitted to stealing. Then again, he would probably be dead soon if he finished what he had came here to do. Absently, he began to pull out blades of grass with his other hand.
Furrowing his brow, he began weighing the pro's and con's of his actions. It was really a useless exercise; he'd done it a million times before. He did always end up coming to the same conclusion. 'Just one more time. I just need it one more time. Then, it's all over. I can be strong…just after one more time.' He thought on this for a while. Hadn't he been saying the same thing to himself for the past five years? With a heavy sigh of defeat, he began to stand. His legs were shaking. With cold or with fear, he couldn't tell. Rubbing his left against his pant leg nervously, he looked down when he felt something in his hand. He brought it up, studying the small object. It was a simple blade of grass. He growled softly and tossed it back down. 'Fuck it.' He turned around, and began walking the other way. The way back to work; the way home. The way out of this hell hole.
Even though his legs were aching, his feet were throbbing, he began to run as quickly as they could carry him. Maybe if he ran fast enough, he could fly through the fabric of time, racing back to a time when he still had a handful of free will. 'Fabric of time huh? Look's like you're already high.' Ha ha ha. That was so fucking funny he forgot to laugh. He scowled a bit as he ran. He really was to hard on himself.
Soon, the aching in his side and his shortness of breath got the better of him, and he slowly began to come to a complete stop. He was panting hard, causing small clouds of his breath to appear in front of him. Almost like a child, he tried to touch his breath with an outstretched hand, but of course all there was air and cold. Maybe he really was high.
The feeling of the bottom of his jacket being tugged on caused him to look down. There was a man, maybe around his forties, a white messy beard covering his face, a dirty woolen cap pulled over his eyes, his ratty old jacket closely huddled to him, with his gloved hand wrapped around the bottom of his own jacket.
"Spare some change?" he asked, his voice raspy. He let out a cough, the sound of the other man's dry and scratchy voice causing him to wince a bit. "Please man. I'm not gonna spend it on boo's. I swear…" he slurred.
"Yeah, you're already drunk," he spat much more harshly then he meant to. He gulped down the apology he had almost immediately spoken, shaking his head. 'I have to get out of here. No stops.' He wrapped his hand around the other mans, a shiver running through him as he felt the other's ice cold hand. 'He's going to freeze to death out here.'
"Please?" he questioned again. This time, he looked down, meeting the pleading man's eyes. "I swear I won't…I'm not asking for much. Just some spare change." His voice was so desperate, quivering with fear and shame, it made him want to cry. 'So much for your hardened heart.' He couldn't just say no, could he? Just leave this man when he had plenty of money in his pocket. Just enough; just the exact amount. If he gave it to this man, then he wouldn't be tempted to go, right? He would know that he didn't have enough money and that would be the end of it. 'Do you think it will be that simple? Do you think that if you give this pathetic bastard a few dollars you'll be able to turn away from it all? Please. You know you'll just get the craving again. Who knows what you'll do to get the rest you need this time.'
He shook his head, a few strands of hair falling in front of his face. "Get a job," he said coldly and turned away, heading back down the alley. He heard the man let out a small whimper and hit the ground. He winced. So badly did he want to go back and help the man, but all he could do was run.
He cursed himself over and over again; the way he had been doing for so many nights and days now. He really was weak. He really was the scum of his earth. Well, if he was, then he had to play the part didn't he? The scum of the earth couldn't be sitting around in their apartment, watching the cable they had stolen from their neighbors, thinking on how they could do their share to help the world. No, the scum had to be slackers. They had to be the one's that everyone looked down upon, who got kicked in the dirt and then spat on by all of those who were better. 'At least you've got a place in the world.' Yeah. He had a place all right; scum. Wasn't that reassuring.
By the time he reached his destination, he felt ready to pass out. The running and mental abuse he had been giving himself was already beginning to take it's toile. He scanned his eyes over the old building in front of him, giving it a once over like he'd never seen it before, even though he'd been in this position at least twenty times in the past months. Warily, he began walking towards the abandon warehouse.
He almost raised his hand to knock, then laughed softly at his own naivety. Knocking. Who'd ever heard of such a ridiculous notion. He opened the door, quickly ducking into the doorway, avoiding it as it fell onto the ground, causing a loud noise to go throughout the alley and the building. 'So much for the quite, brooding entrance scene.'
The sound of yells and screams and hard kicks echoed throughout the old building. Not wanting to be seen, he quickly hid behind a few old cardboard boxes. A picture of a smiling and dancing wallaby holding a small wand was on one of the boxes. He raised a queer eyebrow and resisted from snorting. As hopeless and pitiful as his situation was, he would never get over the fact that one of the most powerful drug lords in Tokyo did business out of an abandoned toy factory.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl, perhaps only a child, being picked up by her throat and thrown against the wall. He wanted to go help her, but if he moved even an inch from his position he would be spotted. He didn't exactly didn't want to be caught spying.
"You were stealing again," said a cold voice, spoken evenly and calmly.
The young girl trembled and attempted to wrap her small arms around her knees, trying to pull herself up into a sitting position. "I…I w-wasn't. I was just trying to…I…" She was cut off by one last choking sob before a foot made contact with her ribs.
"And here, I took you in, gave you shelter, clothing, food, and work, and yet you still betray me."
"I-I'm sorry. I w-won't do it again. I…I…p-promise…" she said.
He watched as the figure knelt down, placing a hand underneath her chin, lifting up her face. For a moment, he thought that he might actually wipe away her tears, kiss her forehead and apologize. He'd been watching too many after school specials.
Another slap landed hard across her face, sending her nearly unconscious. The man just shook his head, his wavy raven hair moving slightly as he did so.
"Useless," he muttered to himself and turned around, sighing heavily. "I should have known not to take one in so young."
He bit his lip, trying to keep from attacking him himself. Of course, he knew that would be suicide. He stayed hidden for what seemed like another half-hour. He didn't move when he heard the sounds of other's coming into a building, didn't wince when he heard them drag the girl away, didn't even breath until he was sure that it was only himself and the other in the building.
Slowly, he began backing away from the boxes and back to the door. After waiting a few more moments, he walked into the middle of the room, pretending as if he hadn't been crouched in a corner, but had just walked in.
A cruel smirk crept across his face as he saw the man enter. "Well," he said slowly. "This is a pleasant surprise. I haven't seen you around here in a while."
"Spare me Naraku," he said, his eyes looking down to the ground before swallowing his anxiety down. "I've got the money."
"I'm sure you do," the raven haired man acknowledged with a nod. "You always were one of the more trustworthy customers."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of bills. Shaking, he walked closer to the man and held it out, handing it to him without ever making eye contact. He watched Naraku count the bills.
"Hmm," he said in disappointment.
"What?" he questioned nervously. "What's wrong? I've got all the money."
"Relax my boy. It's no problem. You're only a few twenties short that's all. I'm sure you can scrape it up somehow."
"Nani?" he asked again, blinking in anger and confusion. "A few twenties? But you last time it was only…and you said that since I did you that favor you would give me a discount!"
"No need to yell. I did say that and I don't go back on my deals, you know that. I am giving you a discount."
"Then that should be enough…" he argued.
Narrowing his red eyes, Naraku took a step forward. "Well it's not. Prices have risen since you've been out of this part of town. Now, either you get the rest of the money, or you don't get the coke. It's simple, you know how it works, or have you been gone so long you've forgotten?"
He clenched his fists, causing what nails he had left to dig into the palm of his hand. "It's only been two months," he said, clenching his teeth together. "So no, Naraku, I haven't forgotten. But I just need more time to get some money together. Do you think that you could just give me half? I mean, I've got more then half of the payment right here, so it's more then fair…"
"Fair?" he questioned, amusement lacing his voice. "Since when were any deals I've ever made fair? Listen, since you are such a loyal customer, perhaps we could work out some type of…deal."
He didn't miss the evil glint in the other man's eyes as he suggested this. He cringed inwardly, knowing exactly what kind of deals Naraku made. Stealing again, being his little lackey, being a delivery boy; some he knew had even had to replace the women and men who had been picked off the street and taken to jail for there less then decent acts. He nodded nonetheless, desperate and pitiful as he was. The dark haired man grinned.
"Well, step into my office then."
Around an hour later and a deal had been struck. He didn't like what he would have to do. He didn't want to do it. Stealing was one thing, lying, cheating, but he hated to hurt people.
When he got back to his apartment, he felt like he was going to pass out from the sheer disgust he felt with himself. He ran to the bath room, dumping out the contents of yesterday's lunch; that's the last meal he'd had to dump out anyway. He walked to his couch, falling down on it and slumping in self defeat. Figuring that hey, he couldn't get any lower anyway, he pulled out a small plastic bag from his pocket. Before he knew what was happening, he was passed out on the floor, the bag clutched tightly in his hand.
That's how they found him.
We've all seen the man at the liquor store beggin' for your change
The hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mange
He ask the man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes
Get a job you fuckin' slob's all he replied
God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes
'Cause then you really might know what it's like to sing the blues
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
Mary got pregnant from a kid named Tom who said he was in love
He said don't worry about a thing baby doll I'm the man you've been dreamin' of
But three months later he said he won't date her or return her call
And she sweared god damn if I find that man I'm cuttin' off his balls
And then she heads for the clinic and she gets some static walkin' through the doors
They call her a killer, and they call her a sinner, and they call her a whore
God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in her shoes
'Cause then you really might know what it's like to have to choose
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
I've seen a rich man beg
I've seen a good man sin
I've seen a tough man cry
I've seen a loser win
And a sad man grin
I heard an honest man lie
I've seen the good side of bad
And the down side of up
And everything between
I licked the silver spoon
Drank from the golden cup
Smoked the finest green
I stroked daddies dimes at least a couple of times
Before I broke their heart
You know where it ends
Yo, it usually depends on where you start
I knew this kid named Max
He used to get fat stacks out on the corner with drugs
He liked to hang out late at night
Liked to get shit faced
And keep pace with thugs
Until late one night there was a big gun fight
Max lost his head
He pulled out his chrome .45
Talked some shit
And wound up dead
Now his wife and his kids are caught in the midst of all of his pain
You know it crumbles that way
At least that's what they say when you play the game
God forbid you ever had to wake up to hear the news
'Cause then you really might know what it's like to have to lose
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
Then you really might know what it's like
To have to lose...
What It's Like: Everlast