Part Two: Maine
Chapter Nine:
The next morning I awake to a clawed hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently and wordlessly.
"Five more minutes, please?" I whine grabbing his hand and cradling it between my own, hugging it tightly.
"No. It's late enough we need to go to the grocery store." Groaning I pull his hand in closer.
"Mmmmm what time is it?" I don't dare open my eyes, I know the glare he's giving me because I am invading his personal space.
"Ten thirty." He answers, boredom laced in the words but I hear something else. Frustration.
"It's the weekend though! Can I not sleep in?" Rolling onto my back I finally let go of his hand that he retracts quickly back into its spot by his side.
"No sleeping in. We must get things done." He answers me sternly and I groan even louder than before in protest.
"Noooooooo..." My whining is cut short when strong arms slide beneath me, peeling me from the mattress and carrying me to our closet. He places me on my own two feet looking into the open doors.
"There, now most of the work is done for you, now choose clothing and let's go." He glides out of the door with a swish of silver hair. I watch him as he disappears downstairs. I wish for the warmth of his arms once more.
The once vaguely intimate moments we shared together in Vegas now seemed to be far in the past. Ever since we got to Maine we have been nothing but roommates, apart from our banter and small frustrating arguments we have said nothing of importance to each other.
We have not divulged any close guarded secrets, no dreams, no hopes, nothing of the personal matter.
I want nothing more than the warmth of his touch against my skin once more. My heart wants to know why he is here and what he plans to do. Am I nothing more than a stepping stone to the next place he plans on going? Am I a filler in the endless cycle of his life?
Nothing more than a nearby familiar moon, passing just close enough to get sucked into his orbit for a little bit longer. In time will I be thrown away when someone, or something pulls me back away from him?
Is Sesshoumaru using me? Why would he ever need to use a washed up priestess like me? Priestess is used lightly of course considering I never received any formal training other than from Kaede for the priestessy things and Jinenji for the healing herbs.
Sinking to the floor I sit cross legged in front of the open doors of the black hole that is our closet. There is no semblance of order within its small confines. We do not have a side each, or a section for each type of garment we own. Oh no, everything is shoved inside where we found space.
I don't know what to wear today, I don't even want to think about it actually. I want to lie in bed today and not think about anything. I don't want to have to deal with Melanie's voice mails, I don't want to call Souta back, I don't even want to have to think about the demon living in my bed with me.
A pang runs through my heart and I wish for it to go away. I am nothing more than a brief blink in his life to fill a void that I will never understand.
"Are you sleeping while sitting?" His voice rouses me as I bite my thumb. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed he looks at me. His eyes are soft, gentle, as if he will scare me away if he looks too hard. I look up at him.
"No. I'm thinking." He nods in understanding, but I know he doesn't understand why I'm sitting on the floor thinking when I should be getting dressed so we can go run errands.
"What am I?" Suddenly the words escape the confines of my lips before I can reel them back in. The word-vomit hangs in the air for a moment, begging me to clean it up when suddenly he answers my unwanted question.
"You are a human girl who is sitting on the floor thinking." He answers this as if it is obvious to anyone observing but he doesn't quite seem to grasp at the question.
"No, what am I to you?" I catch onto his eyes and refuse to let them go. He seems to hesitate at the door, stock still not daring to move. He's thinking, I can see it behind his eyes, the unknown thoughts and answers dancing around. He's trying to pick the best thing to say to me.
"You are a familiar face in a crowd of strangers."
"That's it? A familiar face?" He looks at me as if I'd grown a second head. He seemed to have thought that an answer like that would be adequate.
"Think about what you just said to me." I give him a moment to mull this over. His face stays the same, stoic expression plastered over his features.
"You don't see how that can hurt my feelings do you?" His face is blank. My blood boils, my heart pounds, my legs are on fire and so is my face. I want to punch him, I want to kick him in the shin and yell at him. I want to tell him to get the fuck out of my house and to never come back. I never want to see his stupid pretty face again.
But I do none of this, instead my heart sinks and I let my head fall into my hands. I haven't felt this frustrated in so long. I haven't felt my blood boil and my face flare in anger. My temper has been dormant for too long and I think I need to let it out more because keeping it bottled just makes it worse.
My anger has fallen, and nothing but hurt remains. I can feel the hot tears stream down my face, but I don't dare let him see. I keep my face buried in my hands, gripping my hair as tight as I can, willing myself to stop crying.
Stop it, stop it, stop it you silly girl. Stop that.
Soft, gentle fingers touch my back and I recoil at their proximity. Refusing to look up I melt further into the floor.
"Go away..." I tell my hands, muffling my voice and allowing myself to swallow it back up.
"No." His voice is stern and hard compared to my own. His hands, peeling my face away from my own, forcing me to look at him when I don't want him to see me like this. So weak, a mere ghost of my former self.
"Leave me alone to be sad." I pull away but his fingers find my chin, gripping it tightly, pulling it towards him.
"No." Even more stern then before I finally look into his eyes.
I see something, something small, buried. I can see it melted in the confines of his eyes. Caring, want, desire. I see emotions other than basic needs. His eyes melt and bubble to the surface. His mouth moves as if he's going to speak, but he stops himself.
I don't want him to stop, I want him to talk to me, to say something. Divulge something, please, don't let me be the only raw nerve in this house.
"No, tell me." It's my turn to be stern with him.
"I feel..." He's choosing his words carefully now, weighing them out before he throws them into the room. "I feel comfortable with you. I know you, and you know me, like no other person does in this world."
My eyes well up but not with frustration or anger this time, with sadness. He is so lonely, but so am I. Hand reaching up of its own accord I touch his cheek lightly, tracing a finger over the marks across his face, letting them settle cupped around his ear.
We don't go to the grocery store that day, instead we lie on the floor, seeking quiet solace with one another.
xxx
When we finally make it to the grocery store a few days later, Sesshoumaru has prepared a detailed list with exact quantities of each ingredient we need.
He still hasn't told me what we're baking, or even if I'm allowed in the kitchen when he's baking.
"You have to make enough for at least thirty people, you know that right?" I'm in charge of the list and the cart. I am the leader of this expedition and he has to do all my bidding.
"Wait, this says blow torch. Why do you need a blow torch?!" I look at him frantically. He just stares back.
"No, no you need to come up with a new dessert, there is no way I'm buying you a blow torch. No way!" I stomp my foot in finality, he simply turns his nose up ever so slightly.
"Fine, no crème Brûlée. How about a torte instead?" Part of me is taken aback from him asking me my opinion, the other part is excited. Maybe I should buy him the blow torch.
"Does the torte involve any use of open flame?" His head shakes slightly. I gesture for him to go ahead and he takes the list from my hands, pulling a hidden pen from my purse and adding ingredients as well as crossing out blow torch.
We peruse through the rest of our shopping as I read him whatever is on the list, and he throws it into the cart.
"The last things we need are sugar and cocoa." I take a quick glance to make sure we've picked everything up and see two cans of whipped cream buried under a mountain of pecans and brown sugar.
"Hey did you put the whipped cream in here?" He gives me a sidelong glance and I do nothing but shake my head.
"Who knew you were such a sugar hound?" We finish up and head home.
He lines up all of the ingredients, as I put all the excess things he threw into the cart away in my tiny kitchen.
"Umm, when did you throw these into the cart?" The secret gummy worms sit in my out stretched hand. He stares at me and I almost think I see embarrassment cross his gracile features.
The great and powerful dog demon has a sweet tooth. You learn something new every day...
xxx
"The recipe says to gradually add the sugar."
"Whatever the recipe is only a guideline who actually reads those." He looks at me and brushes me aside gently, taking over my bowl duties.
"It doesn't actually matter if I gradually add the sugar or if I dump it in all at once." I huff under my breath. I see his mouth twitch in distaste, as if my mentioning this was so sacrilege.
He finishes our multi layered torte with coffee buttercream frosting, and hand piped chocolate flowers courtesy of the demon lord himself.
"I hope it tastes ok" I mumble scooping a fingertip full of left over buttercream from the bowl and popping it into my mouth. A completely primal sound escapes past my lips as I grab a spoon to eat the rest.
"You're going to make me fat, this is utterly delightful." He looks at me with slight pride etched onto his immobile features.
That night, we lie in bed together, the cake tucked away in a safe spot for its debut tomorrow. All in all we spent a lovely day together doing mundane things like run errands and bake. I sit on my side of the bed reading some gross tabloid magazine while he sits on his, thumbing through an old archeology textbook he found in the back of my closet.
"We're so boring." I say to him, looking at his features in the dim light. The lamps light dances off of his slender nose, playing with the shadows of his face and softening all of the angles.
"What do you mean?" He puts the book down and looks at me as I wiggle over and place my head against his chest, listening to the strong rhythmic thud of his heart.
"I mean we're boring. All we do is boring things."
"What is exciting to you?"
"I don't know. That's the problem."
xxx
End of Chapter Nine