Chaos Theory by Stella Mira
Money Can't Buy Fucks
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko.
A/N: I broke my ankle, so I have nothing to do but write. That’s my excuse for starting another story. Please read, enjoy, and maybe review. XD
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She was…broke. Jobless, evicted, and spending her last penny at some dodgy bar drinking her woes with rapid gulps, shot after shot of cheap tequila. Kagome groaned, plastered over the bar counter, reeking of alcohol and misery. Being poor…sucked. What in the world had possessed her to screw her life seven ways to hell? Oh, right…dreams. Dropping out of law school, leaving the suffocation her father called home, and aspiring to be an author were…dreams. And like all dreams, magnificent screw-ups.
A grin stretched across her lips, and she hiccupped. Raising her glass, Kagome cackled manically.
“Well, here’s to…dreams. Fuck you very much.”
The bartender stole a glance at her but wisely kept quiet, and Kagome gave him a mock-salute, eyes glazed and slipping off her bar stool. She caught herself at the last moment, saving herself the pain and possible medical bills a fall would bring. Not that she could pay those either. Frustration rumbled in her throat, twined with the stirrings of an upset stomach. Kagome grimaced, pushing the half-empty glass away. If she ended up flushing the last of her money down the toilet with the contents of her stomach, this night would be more of a waste than it already was – and she…more pathetic.
Thoughts raced through her mind, half-lucid and out of sequence. Where would she even stay tonight? What would she even wear tomorrow? All her things were in her locked apartment which her landlord had refused her access into until she paid the rents she owed. Two and a half rents, almost two hundred thousand yen. Well…fuck. There was no way Kagome could gather that much money even if she had a job – which she didn’t.
Her only comfort was that she always carried her laptop on her, not that Kagome would ever sell it, but at least she had her words for company. Useless company, useless words. What had they ever done for her besides giving her the guts to live life however the hell she pleased and say fuck anytime she wanted? Her father almost had an aneurysm the day that word had left her lips in his presence.
Laughter gurgled in her mouth. Spitting it in his face just before she had walked out and slammed the door behind her had been worth it. But she’d had enough – enough of being groomed into this perfect, mindless, polite, obedient, emotionless puppet of a daughter to be used and exploited for status and prestige. And money…goddamn money. As if they hadn’t enough. Her family practically swam in wealth for generations now. Even law school wasn’t for the benefit of her career but for making her more appealing, more sophisticated, so she could be sold to the highest bidder. Never mind that she hated law studies. What an insipid thing to be…bloodsuckers and liars, at least the lot who worked for her father.
Kagome loathed money. She’d rather be poor and homeless than loaded and living in a gilded cage. Still, it sucked. Spectacularly.
A sigh worked itself out of her chest, transformed into a groan half-way through. For the time being, she could drag her drunken self to Sango’s flat and beg to let her stay the night. The underground train had stopped running at this hour though, and there were no more buses. A taxi was out of the question, freakishly expensive. Kagome barely had enough money for the bus ticket she’d been planning to buy. But no more buses. She was screwed. Burying her face in her hands, she slapped her cheeks once, twice. Walking it was. If she could manage to walk, let alone stand straight.
Downing the last tequila shot she’d pushed aside earlier, Kagome hissed, lips peeled back and eyes squeezed tight. With another grunt, she swung her feet off the stool, and balanced herself on shaky legs. One wobbly step, and another. Her laptop was nothing but weight in her bag, the straps digging into her shoulder and making her lean to the side, precariously swaying. Somehow, she made it to the exit, only to curse the stairs before her. Riiight…dodgy bar…basement. By the time she climbed up the stairs and all but slammed her body against the door, barreling outside, she was a panting mess of sweat and motion sickness.
A waft of cool air assaulted her, but it was too late. Her stomach couldn’t take it anymore. Nails scratching and palms flat against the dirty wall of the back alley, Kagome emptied her stomach, heaving and coughing with violent spasms. Gods…fucking stupid. Her knees trembled and her hair was sticking to her face. Kagome wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gasping. Bitterness saturated her tongue – she felt nauseous again. Please…don’t let me fall. Dizziness hazed her mind, blacked her senses, and she would have passed out if she hadn’t slapped herself.
What a sight she must have made… If reporters ever caught the princess of the Higurashi empire in such a dreadful state, they’d have a field day. A bark of laughter escaped her mouth, rang high-pitched and mad in the quiet alley. Kagome barely made it two steps farther before her legs gave out on her. The fall didn’t hurt as much as she’d expected, the cement cold and gritty under her cheek. Get up…fucking get up. But no matter how much she struggled, her brain refused to heed the command and send out the signals to her dead limbs. Kagome lay limp and twitching on the ground, lids heavy and growing heavier. The world became a dim blur, or maybe she was crying, and she hated crying – then nothing. No dimness, no tears.
~~~~~
Her bed was so soft and warm – but it strangely smelled of…detergent, and something unfamiliar. Kagome burrowed her face into the pillow, tried to place the odd scents. Slowly, memory awoke beside disorientation, and she sprung upright with a yelp. This wasn’t her bed. These weren’t her sheets, her pillow, her bedroom. Where the fuck am I? Last night was a fragmented puzzle of shame and an obscene amount of tequila, but she distinctly remembered that she’d never made it to Sango’s. What the hell happened after she’d blacked out in that wretched alley? And these weren’t her clothes. Oh gods…had she been –? Kagome was throwing off the sheets and lifting the white, obviously male, shirt she wore before she could finish that thought. But these were her panties. Relief flooded her insides, and she exhaled the breath she’d been holding.
Wary, marginally calmer, Kagome observed the room she was in. It was…Spartan, with no hint of personality, walls white, furniture black. Her feet slid off the bed and touched the tiled floor then she was rising. The shirt was crumpled but large, reaching mid-thigh and…smelling like the bed. A man’s shirt, a man’s bed…and a man’s house. Teeth sank into her lip, chewed the wet flesh till it almost bled. With careful steps, she walked to the door and peeked out. Silence. More white, more black. Her gaze roved over what she recognized as the living room, but what she really needed to find was the bathroom. Kagome couldn’t leave dressed like this, and she bet that if her clothes were anywhere in the house, they should be in the bathroom.
Deeper inside, past the living room, she could make out the kitchen, and to her left, one closed door. Sprinting with rabbit-fleet motions, she made for the closed door, guessing it would be the bathroom, and she was right. Pristine, and unsurprisingly black-and-white-tiled, but no sign of her clothes. Kagome drowned a sigh then dragged her feet back to the living room. The owner was out, and she didn’t have the faintest clue when he’d return, or if she wanted to meet him. What if he was some kind of psycho killer, or worse…a reporter? She was grateful that he’d saved her sorry ass, more or less, but his motives left much to question.
Her nose scrunched; her lips pursed; and her stomach growled. Perhaps she could…help herself to some breakfast? If he’d gone to the trouble of picking her up, maybe he wouldn’t mind feeding her as well? Her stomach growled again, decided for her. The fridge was…humongous, and inside, everything was wrapped in cellophane and plastic, tagged and organized. Her brows knitted into a frown, but she filed it for later contemplation. She pulled out the containers with cheddar, turkey, and mayonnaise written on them, and placed them on the…black table. Cupboard after cupboard, she searched for plates, and while doing so, she discovered that everything were in even numbers and aligned to the right side. Kagome chuckled. So he was a hypochondriac with severe OCD. And didn’t that fit the profile of a serial killer to a T?
Shaking her head, Kagome made the sandwich then put everything right back where she’d found them, in the exact order they had been. When she was finished, she washed the plate, despite there being a dishwasher, and sauntered into the living room. What stood out the most in this black and white matrix was the library. It spread across one wall, filled with books, CDs, DVDs…and labels. What was it with this man and order? It bordered on psychosis. Humming softly, her fingers flitted over the shelves, picking up titles as she went. Books on mathematics, physics, chemistry, sci-fi movies, pieces of classical music. A serial killer with a geek factor…or otherwise interpreted – an insane genius. Kagome was far from a brainless idiot, but these books…they were far above the intellect of a normal person.
She was still seized with bewilderment and awe when a click resounded. Kagome prayed he wasn’t a mad scientist or a psycho killer…because he was evidently clever enough to make his victims disappear if he wanted to.