The Opposite Of Attraction – Part Fifteen: The End

It was all a mess. A dizzying swirl of blurred colors and confusion, twisting around and around into an indecipherable whirl. Sango stared numbly at her drying laundry as she sat in the hotel’s small laundromat, her thoughts a sickening jumble.

How could she have ever been so utterly stupid?

She couldn’t get her mind off of what had happened. In a way, it was ironic how much everything made sense when she looked back at it, or it would have been if it hadn’t hurt so damned much. She had often wondered how Miroku had managed to always keep his cool when the show sent curveballs their way, such as when they’d been charged with Shippou, or how he’d always known just the right thing to say, even after he’d done something she wouldn’t normally forgive.

It was simple.

He’d known all of those things, the ‘challenges,’ that they had been put through in advance. Kikyou had already told him. As for his perfect words and unfaltering demeanor...an actor. He was an actor. Perfectly in-character, perfectly charming, perfectly leading her on for his own eventual gain.

Miroku had fooled her. Perfectly. With a smile and a kiss, he’d made her brush aside her gut instincts and trust him, despite the liar that he truly was.

The thought made Sango’s eyes burn and her fists clench, her fingernails biting into the heel of her palm. She had been such a fool to have believed in the carefully spun web of words, the overblown flirting, the tender smiles, the heated kisses...

He’d said it was ‘just an act’ from the very start. She hadn’t realized just how true that claim really was. Sango cursed herself for ever looking for anything more, for hoping that he was just using that as an excuse to act on real attraction, for thinking that he’d ever had anything other than impure intentions.

She hated him.

She hated Miroku for his deception, for the way he’d taken advantage of her and their situation. Yet in a way, she hated herself even more for being deceived. She was supposed to be better than that. She wasn’t that gullible. She wasn’t the sort of girl who got led on by guys, who let herself be tricked and made a spectacle of.

But she had been led on and tricked. She had been that girl.

And in a few months, her mistakes would be broadcasted on television for the whole world to see.

Sango felt her traitorous eyes begin to well with tears and she bit her lip, trying to make herself stop. When she’d left the house and climbed into that cab, she had dried her eyes and sworn not to dare shed another tear on Miroku’s behalf. To do so would just be...humiliating. Yet as often as she told herself that he was not worth it, her eyes would start to sting and her heart would start to hurt and she would have to pinch herself and try to forget.

‘He’s a jerk and a liar and he means nothing to me,’ Sango told herself forcefully, trying her best to believe it. She had bought all of his mistruths, so why could she not put stock in any of her own?

The dryer buzzed loudly, announcing that its cycle was complete. The colorful collage of clothing settled into a heap as the machine slowed, and Sango stood and opened the door to see if it was dry yet.

Still damp.

Sighing, she dug another two quarters out of her pocket and popped them into the slot. This was the last load, and she wanted to return to her room soon. Sango had not slept much, if at all, the night before. There had been too much on her mind and every time she’d tried to close her eyes, she had seen Miroku’s face as it had been when she left him, looking so utterly defeated and sad.

But that had been just another lie, another part of his act. Wasn’t that the most astounding acting job ever? To use a girl for money, break her heart, only to get her to trust him all over again. The ultimate résumé builder. Easily worth an Emmy or three.

That was the only explanation and it caused a wave of miserable anger to rush though her.

‘How could he?’

Any chance she could have been given to consider that mystery was interrupted when someone else entered the otherwise empty room. Sango glanced up briefly, only to do a double take when she realized she had met this person before.

“Ayame! What are you doing here?”

The redhead grinned lightly, waving in greeting as she came to sit next to Sango. “I came to visit you,” she explained, her smile turning a shade wry. “I heard about what happened—Kagome told me.”

Sango blinked, giving Ayame a sharp look as something dawned on her, her mind picking up the pieces of what had happened over the past few days and fitting them together. “You knew,” she said softly, before her voice turned accusing. “You knew. That’s why you warned me to be careful. Did...did Kouga...?”

The other woman blushed, but her green eyes met Sango’s sadly. “Kouga was in the same position that you were in. I was supposed to be leading him on, like Miroku did to you.” Ayame looked away, her gaze lingering on the washing machines when the expression on Sango’s face grew hard. “I guess I was too weak-hearted though. At first, I was dead-set on winning that money; it was a race too, you know, on top of everything else.

“Then I met him, and I started to feel differently, like I couldn’t go through with it. I felt guilty, because I really did like him, even though he was obviously head-over-heels for Kagome. And...I didn’t want to go through with it anymore. I...” She trailed off for a moment and shook her head slowly. “I told him. I couldn’t lie anymore.”

Sango did not say anything immediately. She didn’t know what to say. The extent of all that had been behind these past two weeks was so much that it was overwhelming. Even so, she couldn’t stop the spark of curiosity that remained within her.

“How did he react?” she asked, staring down at her interlocked fingers. She didn’t see Ayame’s small, bemused smile as the woman remembered.

“He yelled. A lot. I yelled back. I think we fought for over an hour. Kikyou and some others from the company finally came over and had to separate us, it was so bad. But I think Kagome talked to him...”

“Why?” Sango rose to her feet and paced a few steps away, leaning against a washer in order to try and hide the restlessness she felt. Staying still was too awkward.

“He forgave me. I don’t know why, exactly, but—”

“Is that why you’re here?” Sango interrupted angrily, whirling on Ayame so quickly her hair spiraled out behind her and around to snap against her cheek. “You think I should forgive him for what he did?”

“No,” Ayame replied coolly. “Nobody can convince you to do that, and nobody has the right to try. It’s your decision alone. He took advantage of you in a way nobody should take advantage of anyone, and I’m a horrible person for even thinking of doing the same thing to Kouga. I just wanted to apologize for not telling you when we had that game, instead of just giving you that vague warning and thinking that it was enough.” She stared down at the floor, shamefaced. “It’s practically my fault that it went this far.”

Sango pressed a hand to her temple, sensing the beginnings of a killer headache. There was nothing that she could tell Ayame that would be the slightest bit honest or genuine, so she didn’t try. It wasn’t fair; none of it was. All she had wanted was a fun, enjoyable vacation and a chance to be uninhibited and different for once. Now, here she was, with nothing to show for it all but a broken heart and a hotel tab to pay for. And once the show premiered, she’d have a ruined reputation too, no thanks to Miroku.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” she spat out abruptly, more for her own sake than Ayame’s, feeling her cheeks flame. She had to remind herself that, whatever had happened or would in the future, she still had her dignity.

“What?”

“I didn’t sleep with Miroku,” she repeated, forcing herself to speak the words calmly. “I never gave him the chance to get that far.”

“Kagome turned off the cameras hidden in your bedroom the night before you left,” Ayame said absently, obviously thinking hard. “She thought by the looks of what was going on, it was inevitable that you two were going to...you know...and switched them off so that there wouldn’t be a risk of everybody watching or taking the tapes and abusing them. I mean, the last thing anyone needs after something like this is some jerk leaking embarrassing footage onto the internet.”

“I stopped it,” Sango explained hollowly. “I wasn’t ready to go there yet. Too soon, and too many doubts.” She laughed humorlessly. “Too many suspicions.”

Ayame rose quickly, rushing to Sango’s side and gripping her shoulder determinedly. “You need to tell Kikyou this. He has no right to all of that money, and if you don’t do anything, he’ll take it all and—”

“—So what?” Sango snapped, brushing off the redhead’s hand. “If he wants it so badly that he has to screw some girl over for it and is okay with that, let him have it. Otherwise that asshole will probably go hurt someone else for it.” The other woman tried to protest, but she shook her head bitterly. “No, Ayame. Just let it go.”

Ayame sighed and stepped back, looking as if it were the last thing she wanted to do. “Alright. It’s your call. But one more thing.” She reached into her bag, pulled out an envelope and handed it over to Sango. “This is your plane ticket home. Kikyou asked me to give it to you if I managed to find you.”

Sango opened the unsealed flap, checking the date and time—tomorrow at noon. Tomorrow, she was going to go home and leave behind this island, this show, Miroku...

“Kikyou...she’s the one who invented this show, isn’t she?” Ayame nodded slowly, though Sango didn’t notice. Instead, she forced herself to plaster a smile on her face and meet the other woman’s gaze. “Thank you for dropping these off, Ayame,” Sango said gesturing to the papers in her hand. “I appreciate it.”

She frowned as if there was something she wanted to say in response, but then the redhead’s shoulders slumped as she seemed to change her mind. “It’s no problem, but I’d better get going.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I—Good luck, Sango. I’ll see you around.” With a final, half-hearted grin, Ayame turned and left, the door rattling as it swung shut behind her.

Sango let out a long breath, squeezing her eyes shut tiredly. The plane ticket was held tight between her hands as she stood there.

The dryer buzzed again, its cycle finished.

How had everything gone so wrong?

-

Inuyasha tapped his fingertips against the steering wheel impatiently. He was sick of driving, and even more tired of waiting. Ever since Ayame had spilled the beans to Kouga about the Big Secret, capitals and all, the chauffeur had been working a lot of overtime.

It was kind of boring, and boredom wasn’t something Inuyasha took well. Then again, neither was carting Kikyou and her underlings around everywhere something he appreciated, especially when it meant forgoing his highly important beauty sleep, not to mention his TV, video games and lengthy mealtimes. And no matter how hard or how often he tried to take a nap in the driver’s seat, he was always interrupted before it did him much good.

Not fair at all.

He let out an irritable sigh, debating the pros and cons of just quitting now and heading back home for a snooze. Kikyou wouldn’t get too mad when she found out; she liked him well enough that the most he’d get was a very icy look and a cold reprimand.

It was Kagome he had to worry about, but...

Fortunately, Inuyasha was never given the opportunity to test fate, because the show hostess chose that moment to return, plopping down into the passenger’s seat like she always did. She immediately slumped down in the seat, looking entirely exhausted and altogether frazzled.

“What’s wrong with you?” Inuyasha asked bluntly, starting up the car.

Kagome shot him a look, her normally vibrant blue eyes rather dull tonight. She shifted in her seat, pulling on her seatbelt with a heartfelt sigh.

“This job sucks,” she grumped uncharacteristically. “Everybody is in a mood. Kikyou is scaring anyone who makes a peep around her; Sesshoumaru is breathing down her neck because of how much has happened that wasn’t part of the plan. He wants to make sure that there is content for the final few episodes he ordered, since he bothered to put forward the money to film them. Ayame and Kouga are okay, all things considered, but she said that Sango isn’t taking it very well. Plus, Miroku is in a terrible funk right now...” She shook her head sadly. “I can’t see any resolution to this at all.”

Inuyasha glanced at her as he pulled out of the parking lot. She looked utterly miserable. He turned his attention back to the road, cutting off a green sedan. A horn blared, but Kagome didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m assuming we’re heading back to the studio, right?” he inquired gruffly. Kagome nodded her morose agreement. Inuyasha rolled his eyes. She’d said that everyone else was ‘in a mood’, but she had failed to mention that she was in one too. It was typical of her; she always had been the sort of person who let the troubles of others become her own. “I hope you’re not blaming yourself for all of this bullshit,” he informed her, taking a sharp turn. The right rear tire of the limo breached the sidewalk corner for a moment, causing a pedestrian to jump backwards and curse loudly, then dropped back down with a jolt. “That would be stupid.”

Kagome blinked at him, momentarily dumbfounded. “What?”

“I mean it. You didn’t come up with the damned premise. You didn’t even know the ‘catch’ until after you signed on. If you want to feel sorry for the idiots involved, that’s fine. Sounds like they need all the sympathy they can get. But don’t beat yourself up over it. They need someone to be optimistic or else they’ll be making some vapid psychologist very rich in a week or two.”

He cranked the steering wheel, causing the limousine to dive across two lanes, only to screech to a stop for a red light to the chorus of several car horns and waving fingers.

Kagome, however, was smiling at him affectionately.

“You’re right, Inuyasha. Thank you.”

He shrugged, trying to hide his sudden embarrassment. “Keh. Whatever. I just don’t want to have to hear you whining about it.”

Although he would never admit it out loud, he was glad to see her smiling again.

-

Sango hoisted her carryon bag onto her shoulder and adjusted the straps of her shoes, finally through the last of the airport’s checkpoints. It was the perfect day for flying: clear skies, lots of sun and a light breeze. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to appreciate it. The only thing Sango cared for was the fact that she was finally getting off of this island and going home.

Hawaii was hell. Paradise, indeed.

Sighing, Sango followed the signs towards her terminal, finding it just as the first boarding call was being announced. First class...that was her. She picked up her pace, falling in behind an older lady that smelled vaguely like cat and offering up her ticket when she encountered the flight attendant. Within minutes, she had stowed away her carryon and settled into her window seat, pulling out a book (with plenty of gruesome horror and as little romance as possible) and making her CD player easily accessible for when the takeoff was complete.

She was already on page three when she heard something that made her stomach drop down somewhere near her feet.

‘No.’

“Excuse me, is this seat 4B? I...” His too-familiar voice trailed off when he turned his gaze away from the ticket stub in his hand and saw her, sitting frozen and stunned.

‘Miroku.’

Everything was still for a long moment as they both stared at each other, until an elderly man trying to get to his seat grumbled a very loud “Excuse me!” and jostled past Miroku. The younger man quickly and awkwardly shoved his carryon into the overhead compartment and, looking incredibly uncomfortable, slowly dropped into the seat next to Sango.

“So,” she snapped pointedly, before he had a chance to say anything, “Where are the cameras?”

Miroku sent her a surprised look; he obviously had not expected her to be the first to speak, if she were to speak at all. He quickly covered it up though with an expressionless mask. “What cameras?”

“Oh please,” Sango replied. “Don’t act as if this isn’t another part of your game. After all, what could be better than screwing the girl over, just to win her back again? What would you get for that, hmm? Perhaps a twenty thousand bonus?” She paused, if only for effect. “Oh wait. I forgot. Acting is all you’re good at.”

“I didn’t even know that we’d be on the same flight,” he said softly, staring at the back of the chair in front of him. “There aren’t any cameramen with me, or microphones or anything. That’s over.”

“Yet you’re still here,” she said blandly.

Miroku’s gaze met hers then. Sango had half-expected a spark of anger to be there. She knew how cold she was being, and whether he deserved it or not, it did nothing to make her feel any better. But there was no anger in his eyes. Only regret, guilt, and a little bit of hurt.

But he had no right to be hurt because he was the one that had hurt her.

It was his fault.

“I’ll move if you would like,” he told her, “or take another flight. It’s your choice.”

“This year’s Emmy winner, giving up his first class seat? That could mean coach! Or are you just looking for your next target?”

The shame on his face was evident.

But if there was anything he could say in response, he wasn’t given the chance to because at that moment, a stewardess called for the attention of all of the passengers in order to demonstrate all of the necessary safety information.

Sango wasn’t exactly paying attention.

Whoever had done this was sick, and if she ever found out whose grand idea it had been to put them on the same flight, she would be sure to give them a piece of her mind. It hurt enough before, but now, sitting next to Miroku...how could he still have such an effect on her? Her fingers shook as she brought her seatbelt across her lap and snapped it closed. She had thought that she would never have to see him again, and now he was sitting next to her, looking as lost as she felt.

But how could she tell if even that was authentic or not?

‘He’s an actor. He’s a faker. He’s a liar.’

As the airplane rumbled down the runway, she couldn’t stop the tear from sliding down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly.

‘So why can’t I hate him like I should?’

Not quickly enough.

“Sango...” Her name was spoken gently, pleadingly, like a quiet prayer. A hand touched her chin, and her face turned so that she could see him. “Sango, why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Sango said, even though she knew quite well that her eyes were filled with moisture. His palm moved to cup her cheek, his thumb drying away another teardrop as it tracked its way down her face.

“Don’t tell me you’re allergic to airplanes,” he chided.

She could feel her walls crumbling.

Sango breathed in deeply, a shudder wracking her frame, and not because of the way the plane shook during takeoff. At that moment, she couldn’t help but stare at him. She could hear the apology underlying his tone, and beneath that...hope?

“Miroku.” Her voice was shaking. “Did...did you take the money?”

He tensed immediately, and she knew the answer even as he struggled to formulate it. Shaking with fury and the pain of it all, she pushed his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

On went the headphones.

Up went the walls.

-

He was such an asshole.

Miroku knew it. He’d known it when he had first signed on to the show. But somehow, using a girl he barely knew sort of beat ending up homeless or going bankrupt. True, it was a pretty selfish move, but being selfless wasn’t exactly one of his defining characteristics.

And now all he felt was regret for it.

Like some sort of dirty scumbag, he had taken Sango and sold her reputation for a pretty penny.

How could she forgive him for that?

He snuck a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She was staring out of the window, fingers playing with the cord of her headphones absently. The book she had brought with her had only lasted the first two and a half hours, and she had needed to change the CD player’s batteries another hour after that, finally turning it off when the flight’s descent had been announced a few moments ago. She hadn’t said a word or even acknowledged him since telling him not to touch her; instead gazing out at the clouds as the plane prepared to land.

Miroku ran a hand through his hair, sighing inaudibly. What was he going to do?

It seemed so out of control. He wanted to fix this, but the how of it was something he was at a loss for. How could he make Sango see that he truly did want to make amends, to apologize for the harm he had caused her, when every clue pointed to the likely possibility that she just didn’t want to hear it?

He wished he knew the answer, but with every moment that trickled by, the plane got closer to the ground, and they grew closer to the goodbye he knew was coming.

Miroku wasn’t ready for that finality. When Sango had left the house, he hadn’t stopped her.

He hadn’t tried.

If he failed to do anything now, it was a very real possibility that he would never have the chance to again. That scared him more than it should have. He’d done a lot of stupid things, especially over the last few weeks, but something told him that losing Sango was something he really didn’t want to do.

The airplane jolted as it hit the runway; the flight attendant made some silly joke about it not being the pilot’s fault, but the asphalt’s. Several passengers chuckled, but Miroku didn’t bother.

What could he say to her?

The seatbelt icon blinked out, and the other people onboard the plane burst into movement, talking loudly and jostling each other as they collected their belongings and shuffled out towards the terminal. But for a long moment, both he and Sango were still and silent, neither so much as looking at each other as they sat there.

Sango shifted nervously, and Miroku heard her make a small noise in her throat, as though she was clearing it, but not quite. “You know,” she said after a moment, her tone resembling forced detachment, “I’m not going to climb over you.”

Any other time, Miroku knew he would have had a witty and suave retort to that, coupled with a rakish grin that would have had most girls swooning. This time, there were no flirty words or disarming smiles. There was only a numb sort of hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach as he nodded and rose to his feet, pulling down his carryon and handing over hers. Sango took it carefully, making sure their fingertips didn’t so much as brush.

She glanced at him hesitantly for a brief second as she hoisted the bag’s strap over her shoulder. Then, she seemed to straighten, composed herself visibly and walked past him without a word of goodbye.

What had happened to trying?

“...Sango! Wait!”

A sudden determination lit up in Miroku. He knew he’d screwed up—okay, fucked up was more like it. But it didn’t have to end like this, and he most certainly didn’t want it to. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew he couldn’t live with Sango hating him.

He barely knew her, but he knew that, at least.

She had already reached the terminal when he caught up to her, stopping her with a touch to her shoulder. She stiffened, but paused. Miroku dropped his bags and quickly moved to face her, both of his hands resting on her upper arms as if to prevent her from bolting. She looked ready to.

“What is it now, Miroku?” Sango wouldn’t even look at him, so without thinking, he lifted a hand to her cheek and gently turned her head so that he could meet her startled gaze. The distrust she felt towards him was almost palpable in the way she stared at him.

“Sango...” Not sure what he was about to say, he took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m sorry. I haven’t said that yet. I’m sorry. What happened, what I did, you didn’t deserve that. You’re better than that. I shouldn’t have pulled you into the show, or put you through all that I have. I hurt you and I was so extraordinarily selfish. I have no right to ask you to forgive me or to even hope that you will—and you have every right to slap me for this—but...” His fingers caressed the side of her face as he bowed his head, his eyes shutting. “But, please, just don’t hate me.”

A soft touch met his hand, and Miroku opened his eyes again as Sango drew it away from her cheek. She held it in her own for a moment, before drawing away and sighing. She looked away. “I don’t. Hate you, I mean.”

“Sango—”

She interrupted Miroku, her eyes flashing towards him. “Please, let me finish. I don’t hate you, Miroku, but that doesn’t mean I have forgiven you. The fact is, right now, I cannot stand you, and I don’t think I ever will be able to. And most of all, I can’t trust you, because I will never know when you are being real and when you are just acting.” Sango let out a miserable laugh. “Actually, even now, I don’t know which your apology was. Real, or fake.”

His reaction was instantaneous. Miroku stepped forward, reaching out and pulling her close enough that her breath fanned over his. “I swear to you, Sango,” he whispered, trying hard not to choke on the lump in his throat. “I swear, I mean it. It’s real. I...”

Sango shook her head. “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. Either way, I couldn’t accept it.” She hesitated, pushing him away. “I have to go. My family is waiting for me.”

Miroku could have sworn that the floor fell away from under him at that moment.

He’d tried, but he’d failed.

And now she was leaving. For real.

He swallowed and nodded reluctantly. “I understand.” It hurt so much to say, but he had to. “Goodbye, Sango.”

She was already walking away.

-

Author’s Note: First order of business...sorry that took so long. But there’s a reason. Really. You see, there was this reviewer that asked me to update soon, but claimed that they didn’t mean ‘like two months’ later. So I supposed that meant three was okay. ...What do you mean, that’s not it? You mean... They meant... Oh! I get it now. My bad.

Anyway. If anyone is interested in story updates, sneak previews, and random drabbles from myself and several other MirSan writers that will never see the (dim, dull) light of this site, please visit my profile for a link to our LJ community. See ya next chapter!