InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Irritation ( Chapter 84 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

'You are stupid beyond belief.'

'I am.  I totally am . . .'

'So much for humoring her.'

'Maybe I should text Maddy . . . Tell her that if I die tonight that she needs to make sure to have them put on my stone that at least I died a happy, happy man . . .'

"Come on, Roka," Valerie said, resting her elbows on the table with her chin on her balled up fists, "you ready to lose those pants?"  She leaned forward a little more as though she was about to tell him a secret.  "I've got a full house," she whispered.

He blinked and lifted his eyebrows.  "Is that right?" he asked, shifting slightly in his chair.  Apparently his strategy to let Valerie win was working a little too well.  He'd better change tactics and fast or he was going to end up baring it all, which might not bother him too much, all things considered, but sober Valerie had flicked, and if she'd done that before adding booze, there was no telling what she might do now.  Unfortunately, Evan wasn't entirely sure how much will power he actually possessed when it came to Valerie Denning, but there was one thing he was absolutely positive of: there was no way, come hell or high water, that he was going to fuck her while she was still wearing another man's engagement ring, even if it killed him—and it just might.  Then again, if he were to beat her, he figured that, knowing Valerie, she'd quit the game before he managed to get more than maybe her sweatpants off of her . . . "A full house?"

She grinned triumphantly.  "That's right!  A full house!  And you'll be naked because I know damn well that you don't wear underpants . . ." Her already exultant expression turned downright gloating.  "And that means that I'll get to see your penis!"  Gasping just as quickly, the gloating glint in her eyes shifted into wide-eyed wonder.  "You have a really big penis, you know."

Chuckling because of the absolute wonder on her face as much as from her rather earnest statement, Evan slowly shook his head.  "You think so?"

She nodded emphatically, her cheeks pink from the booze.

"If you think I'm big, you should see Bubby.  His dick is fucking huge."

"Bigger than yours?" she asked, her voice taking on a breathless sort of quality.

He cocked his head to the side for a moment and grinned.  "Hell, yes.  I mean, you've seen him.  He's as big as a damn howitzer, isn't he?  Stands to reason he'd have a big-ass pecker, too, don't you think?  Granted, it's been a long time since I've seen it, but I remember . . ." He chuckled again and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "Hell, I must've been about seven?  Eight, maybe . . .?  We went to the park with my cousins, and Morio—I told you about him—yanks Bubby's pants down, underpants and all, and I swear you not, I just stared.  Think I told him that I wanted to be just like him when I grew up . . ." Trailing off, he heaved a melodramatic sigh.  "God was not as kind to me, though—but I'm pretty sure that I've used mine more than he has, so even if God wasn't kind to me, at least he's shown that he has a sense of fair play, after all . . ."

Valerie snorted and flipped her hand dismissively without moving her arm.  "Ah, bullshit!  He can't have that big of a penis . . ."

"Oh, but he can," Evan contradicted with a grin.  "I swear to God, his balls were as big as fucking tennis balls, and that was . . . twenty five years ago?  I kind of feel sorry for him, though.  I highly doubt he's gotten a good blow job, like, ever . . . What woman could possibly fit her lips around that?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie giggled then snorted then covered her mouth with her hand.  "Poor Bubby," she said.

"Damn straight, poor Bubby," Evan agreed.

She didn't look like she believed him about Bas' penis.  In fact, she didn't look like she was thinking about Bas at all, which wasn't such a bad thing, as far as Evan was concerned.  Suddenly, though, she slapped her hand down on the table, looking completely and utterly disgusted.  "Ugh, turn it off," she insisted.  "Off, off, off!"

Evan blinked and shook his head.  "Turn what off, baby?"

Valerie lowered her chin and peered up at him through her eyelashes.  "That song, Roka," she said.  "Turn it off!"

"What?  You don't dig it?"

She snorted and reached for the nearly empty bottle of sake.  "The song's shit," she muttered under her breath, and to Evan's surprise, her cheeks reddened a little more, "and he's a bastard."

Evan wasn't sure what to make of that.  Sure, Valerie tended to say it how it was, but to call the guy a bastard . . .?  "Jass Martel?  You know him?"

Sloshing sake into her empty glass, Valerie snorted again.  "His name used to be Justin," she said, shaking her head, her hand trembling just a little as she thumped the bottle onto the table and grasped the drink.  "But he's always been an ass.  Kind of fitting, don't you think?  Jass the ass . . ."

"You do some legal work for him?"

A third snort.  Evan was on a roll . . . "Hardly.  I wouldn't represent that little fucker if he was facing the electric chair.  Let him fry, I say—I might even flip the switch if they'd let me . . ." Heaving a sigh, she took a healthy swig of the liquor, and while Evan wasn't sure that he really wanted her to drink more, at the moment, he really wanted her to keep talking.  "I wonder who he's passing around now . . .?"

Evan's frown deepened.  "Passing around?"

Shaking her head, she didn't look like she was going to say anything more, and he pressed his lips together.  He could appreciate that she could keep her mouth shut tight, sure, but he wished that she could give him something—anything—that he could use to start unraveling the mystery of who she really was, where she came from.  So he was more than a little surprised when she lifted her chin and leveled a very even stare at him, the slight redness around her eyes giving away just how drunk she really was despite the gravity in her expression.  "Passing around whoever is stupid enough to date him," she said flatly.  "Letting his damn buddies get blow jobs—or whatever else—they want from whomever he's dating . . . treating her like she's nothing more than a damn blow-up doll or something for their sick amusement."

The first thing that went through Evan's mind was not at all complimentary.  He understood what she was saying, but the thing was, he didn't want to, and the burgeoning realization that was slowly making its way to his brain was one that evoked a slow burning rage that he had to squelch fast.  "Are you telling me that you used to date that motherfucker?" Evan asked slowly, carefully, trying harder to modulate his tone of voice than he was trying to measure his words.

She didn't seem to hear his question, lost in her own memories as she poked at the panel beside the table on the wall that controlled the radio station.  "Thought it was funny to get me high then share me with his buddies," she said quietly.  "Guess I should be glad that I don't remember most of it, you know?"  Running her fingers through her hair, she uttered a terse laugh that was more ironic than amused.  "He thought that he was untouchable . . . The looks, the charisma—a lot like you, Roka.  Isn't that funny?"

Evan didn't reply.  In truth, he didn't trust himself to try.  He didn't think it was funny; not at all.  In that one instant, it all made sense, didn't it?  The reason that Valerie had been so ready to condemn him even before she'd ever met him . . . What was that old saying?  Once bitten, twice shy, he supposed.  There was definitely some truth in that, and to be honest, he wasn't sure that he really blamed her for that.  Evan had met the little bastard once before.  They'd hung out awhile after an award show last year.  He'd thought that Jass was an all right guy at the time, even if he did have a habit of being borderline disrespectful to women—grabbing their tits or asses without provocation, just because he thought he could.  Evan, for the most part, had thought that Jass was harmless, even if he was a little like a kid in a candy store, clearly buying into the hype that instant celebrity did to some people.  He had one hit song that the radio stations played to death but hadn't really been able to follow up since then . . . 'That little son of a bitch . . .'

Valerie's expression brightened considerably when she hit the 'shuffle music' button on one of Evan's hundred playlists.  The song that cut off the radio was one of Evan's older ones—one of his first that had laid the foundation of who he was now, and to his undisguised amusement, she started bopping around in her seat, humming the tune under her breath as she reached for her cards again and stuck out her lips as she arranged them carefully.  "Other than that, though, I suppose that he wasn't that bad," she remarked slowly, almost absently.  "I mean, he was better than Duff . . ."

"Who's 'Duff'?" Evan asked, careful to keep his tone as neutral as he could.  "Did he pass you around, too?"

She wrinkled her nose but ignored the menace in Evan's tone.  "No," Valerie shrugged.  "I dated him after Justin," she said, waving her hand in a broad sort of way before snagging the bottle of sake again.

"A jerk?"

Valerie made a face and rolled her eyes.  "You could say that.  He didn't try to pass me around to his friends.  He just thought it was all right to use me as a punching bag sometimes."

"Is that right?" Evan asked tightly, his already smoldering temper flashing hotter as a definite tick started in his jaw.  "He beat on you?"

She shrugged again but didn't look particularly concerned.  "Nothing big," she assured him.  "Mostly slapping me and that kind of stuff . . . He only actually punched me a few times—at least until I figured out that if I kicked him in the balls that he'd be too busy, whining and crying to do much of anything else . . . Besides, I'm kind of glad he was such a bastard."

"Why's that?" he asked—the only question he dared give voice to at the moment.

"Because I started taking self defense classes shortly after I broke up with him." Leaning to the side, she pressed the button that lowered the window beside the table and tugged at the neck of her sweatshirt a few times.  "It's hot in here," she complained with a very distinct pout.  "Why's it so hot in there?"

"Because you were cold, V," he reminded her.

She blinked and shook her head, looking rather surprised.  "I was?"

He chuckled.  It sounded entirely forced to him.  She didn't seem to notice.  "Yes, you were."

She thought about that then nodded slowly.  "Am I too young to be having hot flashes?"

"I think so," he replied in a serious tone.

She snorted and waved a hand dismissively.  "Oh, what do you know?  You're a man, remember?"

He opened his mouth to argue with her then snapped it closed with a very concise nod.  "I am."

Valerie nodded smugly as though she had just won a huge court case or something as she lowered the window as far as it would go.

"So what's he doing these days?" Evan couldn't help asking.  He'd dearly love to find this Duff and show him what it was like to be smacked around a little—or a lot . . . Hitting a woman was completely unacceptable—one of the lowest things that a man could do, as far as Evan was concerned and if had his druthers, the little punk would be fairly easy to find . . .

Valerie shot Evan a rather blank stare.  "Who?"

"Duff."

It took her a minute to figure out who he was talking about, and when she did, she snorted.  "No idea," she said as though she didn't think it was of any real concern to her.  "Probably in prison somewhere."

"Where did you meet these guys?" he muttered, irritated that he wasn't going to get any real answers from her in regards to where Duff was now.  It didn't really make him feel any better that she didn't know where he was, either, when all he really wanted to do was to beat the guy stupid.

"A friend introduced me to him," she said, oblivious to Evan's irritation as she poured more sake into her empty cup.  "He was the singer for a local band—an older guy, you know?  And by 'older', I mean that he was eighteen or nineteen.  I think I was about sixteen, so it was really cool.  I mean, I was hot shit, right?"  Uttering a dry laugh, she shook her head.  "I thought he was so cool . . ." She laughed again, and this time, it was far more abrasive.  "You'd think I'd have learned sooner, wouldn't you?  Hell, my first boyfriend was a wannabe drummer . . . but he was just a jerk."

"How so?"

Her eyes glossed over like she wasn't really listening to Evan, but she smiled sadly and flopped against the back of her chair.  "Oh, you know, the normal stuff.  I started sneaking out to see him when I was thirteen—I think he might've been about sixteen—and ended up having sex with him before I really knew what was going on . . . spent the next month, scared to death that I was pregnant because he came inside me without a condom . . . I wasn't, thank God, but all he really wanted from me was sex, anyway.  Every time I'd go to see him, we'd have to do it right off the bat, even if we were at a party or something, he'd drag me off to the bathroom or wherever to have a quickie. . ." Trailing off, she shook her head and sighed.  "Used to tell me that he loved me, and I was stupid enough to believe him.  I mean, I ate that up with a spoon, you know?  After all, no one else did . . . so I thought that he was the one.  I was thirteen.  Of course I believed him."  She laughed again, and she actually did sound somewhat amused as she downed another big swallow of sake.  "I thought it was the end of the world when I had to move away from him."

And it really didn't help that Evan could remember feeling about the same way when he was that age.  Sex was a huge deal to him back then.  The difference was, Evan never had told anyone that he loved them, least of all just to get into their pants.  Even if he was opposed to the little punk on the basic principle of the thing, that boyfriend's bad behavior could be chalked up to immaturity, maybe, but playing with Valerie's emotions?  Well, that was something different, entirely, as far as Evan was concerned.

"Why would you date guys like that?" he heard himself asking, unable to contain the absolute disgust in his tone.

Valerie blinked and sloshed more liquor into her glass, drinking it down before she bothered to answer.  "I was young, Roka.  I was stupid . . . Live and learn, right?"

He wasn't entirely sure that he agreed with that.  "Why would you let anyone treat you like that?"

Rolling her eyes, she suddenly laughed, waving a hand dismissively as she shifted in her seat and stretched her legs out onto the table again.  "I wasn't a victim, you know," she pointed out when her laugher finally wound down.  "When I broke up with Justin, I slit the tires on his—well, he called it a motorcycle.  It might have been, but it certainly wasn't a Harley . . . and I carved the word 'dick' into the seat, too . . . and when I broke up with Duff, I told everyone that I knew—and some people I don't know—that he had the world's smallest pecker . . ."

Evan nodded slowly.  Valerie had a little bit of hellion in her, didn't she . . .? As far as he was concerned, though, that wasn't nearly enough, not by a long shot . . . Those guys had hurt her far more than she was willing to let on, possibly more than she even realized herself—enough so that she had completely written off any other guy who might have chosen to be a musician, after all . . .

That aside, the thing that Evan simply could not tolerate was the blatant disrespect for any woman.  That they'd all disrespected Valerie in those ways . . . well . . .

Evan narrowed his eyes, his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth together.  If he ever ran into any of those guys, they were going to wish to God that they hadn't, damn it.  Beating on a woman was absolutely unforgivable.  Women were made for men to cherish, to coddle, to worship.  For a man to raise his hand against her was akin, in his mind, to raising one's hand against God, and that other little fucker . . .? It wasn't to say that Evan hadn't ever shared a woman with one of his buddies, but the difference there was that the woman in question was never, ever forced or coerced.  There was a huge difference between consensual sex and a young girl who wanted someone to love her badly enough that she'd go along with her boyfriend's idea of a good fucking time because it didn't matter what Valerie said: Evan didn't believe even for a second that she'd thought it was all right at the time.

Evan bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as he struggled to contain the overwhelming sense of rage that frothed deep within him.  Three musician boyfriends, and all three of them apparent losers?  He was watching the odds stack higher and higher against him, wasn't he, even as he was getting some of the answers to his unspoken questions that he'd so desperately wanted.  He was starting to think that maybe he didn't want to hear about any more of Valerie's ex-boyfriends . . . Except for their names, of course, and their addresses, if she had them . . .

"They don't matter to me," she went on.  "Water under the bridge."

"You sure about that?" Evan asked quietly, narrowing his eyes, trying to see into her head, trying to discern whether or not she was hiding something from him.  "I mean, you know, right?  A real man wouldn't ever treat you like that."

She laughed, her eyes sparkling despite the overlying glassiness inspired by the alcohol.  "You think I don't?" she countered, completely amused by his words of reassurance.  "No man is ever going to treat me like that again."

"Is that why you're with Orwell?"

"I'm with Orwell because he's a gentleman," she insisted haughtily.

Evan wasn't so sure, though he was somewhat amused that she hadn't actually corrected him.  "So you go from dating little punk bastards to dating the most boring guy you could possibly find?"

"He's not boring, and you're just being mean," she said briskly, sitting up straight and turning her attention to her cards once more.  "Anyway, Roka, it's all ancient history, right?  So let's move on and see what you've got."  Then she giggled, apparently anticipating seeing more than just his cards.

Evan sighed and slouched down in his chair.  The change in topics was abrupt and a little unsettling, especially when he was still having trouble controlling his desire to hunt down all three of the aforementioned exes and kill them all—and maybe maiming Merckle, just for the hell of it.  If he thumped him over the head a good one, maybe he'd get amnesia and forget where the hell he lived—and that he had a woman like Valerie waiting back home for him . . .

He sighed, not particularly pleased about the idea of letting the subject drop, but knowing that Valerie would probably blow a gasket if he kept hounding her on it.  She'd given him more than enough information to start with, hadn't she?  He'd just have to make sure that he did a little more research on his own when she wasn't paying attention . . .

Besides that, there was another issue that was pretty important at the moment, and he needed to focus on it, didn't he?  Down to his jeans with nothing on underneath them while traveling with a drunken Valerie?  It wasn't a good situation, any way he looked at it.  Fortunately for him, though, he also knew how much Valerie hated losing, and while she might go along with losing one or two articles of clothing, there was no way in hell she'd keep going if she were in danger of showing the goods, right?

Right.

She giggled suddenly and waved her empty hand.  "What do you call a blonde in a basket?"

Evan shook his head and tossed two cards into the pile before dealing himself a couple more.  "What?"

She giggled harder then snorted.  "A hot air balloon."

He blinked once, twice, a hint of a smile toying with the corners of his lips.  He couldn't help it, considering.  He'd never heard her tell a joke before, and what she'd asked sounded suspiciously like one to him . . . Besides, her laughter had a tendency to calm him, didn't it?  Even if he didn't really want to be calmed . . . "V?"

"Hmm?"

". . . Did you just tell a dumb blonde joke?"

"That's right," she replied, and 'right' had come out with a distinctly southern kind of drawl.  "Now read 'em and weep."  Spreading out her cards with a flourish, Valerie looked positively exultant.  She had a full house, all right . . .

"Queen full, eh?"

She shot him a questioning glance.  He chuckled.  "Queens full of fours . . . queens over fours . . ."

She snorted and waved a hand dismissively.  "Whatever, Roka.  Your pants are mine."

"Not so fast; not so fast . . ."

Cocking an eyebrow, Valerie didn't look impressed.  "Why?  You got a better hand?  I mean, I guess you're due for one, considering you haven't won all night."

Evan chuckled.  "True enough, V.  I've only got a couple of pairs."

"A couple of pairs?" she echoed with a shake of her head.  "A couple of pairs of what?"

He shrugged.  "Threes."

She waited for a moment then shook her head.  "And?"

His grin widened as he spread out his cards for her to see.  "And threes—four of a kind, V.  I just emptied out your full house, don't you think?"

She blinked and stared for a full minute, then she suddenly laughed.  "Okay, okay," she allowed with an offhanded shrug.  "What do you want?  The shirt?  The pants?"

"Pants, V," Evan said, figuring that it was probably the safest thing to ask for.  The sweatshirt was one of his that she'd commandeered back when they were doing the 'follow-the-rock-star-around' bet, so it was quite large on her, and the hem hung to mid-thigh, easy.

Valerie shrugged and giggled as she kicked off the sweatpants a little unsteadily.  She gave a kick, and the pants landed on his shoulder.  "Hurry up and deal," she said as she flopped back into her seat again.  "I'm feeling lucky!"

"Oh, are you, now?" Evan challenged, draping the pants over his neck and tossing one leg over the other shoulder like it was a scarf.  He shuffled then dealt the next hand.

"So did it hurt when you got your penis pierced?" she asked, thumping her hand on the table impatiently.  She giggled suddenly then snorted then giggled some more.  "Well, of course it hurt, but did it, you know, hurt-hurt?"

"Wouldn't know," Evan quipped with a grin geared more at Valerie's uncharacteristic snorting than her question, grabbing his hand and tapping the edges against the table.  "I was very, very drunk . . . and quite possibly a little stoned, too."

"And you got it pierced just because you think women like it?" she pressed.

"Hell, yeah," he insisted.  "Same reason I got my tongue pierced."

She blinked and shook her head, her face already pink from the liquor.  "They like that, too?"

He laughed.  "Baby, I've gotta tell you the women love that.  When I eat pussy?   Are you kidding me?  More than one has come just from one little flick."

He was pretty sure that the heightened color in her cheeks had nothing at all to do with the sake she'd imbibed and had everything to do with his outrageous statement.  "Right, right," she said, obviously not willing to believe him.  "You can't tell me you actually like doing that, anyway.  It's . . . It's kind of weird."

"What is?" he asked, shaking his head since he wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about.

"Oral sex," she replied with a shrug.  "What if someone's . . . dirty?"

Evan blinked and choked out an incredulous laugh.  "Are you kidding me?  There's nothing dirty about it."

She wrinkled her nose and pulled her cards off the table, taking her time as she arranged them in her hand.  "Not the sex, Roka . . . What if someone isn't clean?  You can't tell me you'd do that if your partner hadn't bathed in awhile."

He leaned forward, pinning her with a wide grin.  "Baby, I'll take a big ol' mouthful of pussy brine over soap any day."

She still didn't look like she was buying, and Evan sat back, his grin not fading.  "You're twisted," she muttered, shaking her head as she tossed three cards into the middle of the table.  "Give me three."

Evan laughed as he dealt her cards.  "Nothing twisted about it, V.  What's wrong with enjoying sex, anyway?"

Valerie shook her head then chortled, covering her mouth with her hand.  "There's a difference between enjoying sex and mutilating your body for it."

Evan chuckled and shrugged.  "Piercing is a form of self-expression."

"If you say so," she said in a tone that sounded entirely humoring of him as she laid out her cards on the table.  "Now read 'em and weep!  Two pairs—eights and fours!"

She looked positively triumphant, and Evan grinned as he slowly spread his cards out for her to see.  "Sorry, V—I've got a straight which means you lose—again."

"What?  Nuh-uh!" Valerie blustered, pretty well lying on the table with her face about six inches above his cards.  "Three, four, five, six, seven . . . eight . . . get out!" she exclaimed.  "Did you cheat?"

"No-o-o," he drawled slowly, his grin widening by degrees.  "Now hand over those socks . . ."