InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Destruction ( Chapter 208 )

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

"Hey, Marvin, it's me . . . I'm really, uh, I hate to do this over the . . . the phone like this, but . . . But I've decided that I don't want to . . . to marry you.  I'm really sorry . . ." Grimacing, hating the coldness of her words, the sense that she was somehow being a coward, Valerie gritted her teeth, forced herself to continue.  "I care about you—I really do.  It's just that I don't . . . I don't love you—at least, not in the right way, and . . . and I'm sorry . . . I hope you find someone who does because you deserve that.  I'm . . . I'm sorry, Marvin.  Goodbye."

Ending the call with a long, loud sigh, Valerie frowned at the phone for a few moments, tapping it idly against her slack palm.  She leaned forward, scowled up at the rain still coming down hard, but it had lessened somewhat since she'd first left her apartment almost half-an-hour before.  Getting a little wet, running up to the porch wasn't her issue at the moment, though.  Taking a deep breath, she tried to push the thought of Marvin and of the phone call she'd just made out of her mind, especially after Madison's unceremonious visit.  She didn't know what to expect inside that house, but if Madison's mood was any indication, then whatever awaited her was probably not exactly 'good' . . .

Every light in the place was on, or at least, they seemed to be.  The overall effect was almost stunning, really, if Valerie had been in a mood to appreciate it, anyway.  As it was, the light spilling out of the windows seemed to give the place a morbidly festive sort of appearance despite the heavy curtain of rain that was starting to let up a little.  But the cold air that had accompanied the rain hit the warmed ground and raised a light blanket of fog that cast the area in a rather eerie kind of glow, and the odd things that dotted the lawn seemed out of place in the perfectly trimmed grass.  At some point during the day or early evening, Evan must have decided that a little remodeling was in order.  Near the car sat a wrecked heap that might have been the antique armoire that was in one of the extra rooms—the dogs' room, maybe?  A broken chair, a busted frame and a mangled painting . . .? A few more things that she couldn't discern at this distance . . . Windows were opened all over the house, curtains blowing in the wind, and she grimaced when she wondered what kind of mess waited behind the front door.  Just what was Evan thinking?  One thing was for sure, his cleaning lady wasn't going to be too pleased when she saw the carnage he'd left behind . . .

Drawing another deep breath, Valerie fumbled for the door latch and stumbled out of the car then ran across the small patch of yard between the driveway, onto the walk, and up the steps onto the porch.  The question of whether or not to knock before entering was answered before it could even really occur to her since he'd left the front door open a crack.  But the music spilling out of the mansion made her grit her teeth, not because of the actual song—something raw, aggressive that she couldn't place but might have heard before.  The sheer volume, however, was enough to make her hesitate before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

She wasn't sure what she expected to see when she rounded the corner and stepped into the living room.  It wouldn't have surprised her if she walked right into more of the same mess like she'd seen in the front yard.  Nothing was out of place, exactly, and that was a bit of a relief.  Well, there was a thick white bath towel hanging from Dieter's sculpture in the living room, but that wasn't too bad, all things considered, and the only other thing she noticed was Evan's leather jacket, lying over the back of a chair.  The drawers were pulled open on a couple end tables, the windows all opened up, too, as well as the sliding glass doors that were letting the cool, damp air inside, stirring the sheer curtains.

Stepping over to the wall panel, Valerie turned down the blaring music.  Evan was nowhere to be seen, but she didn't doubt that he was here somewhere.  Sparing a moment to take off her coat and lay it over the back of the chair next to his leather jacket, she slipped her phone into her back pocket and started looking for Evan.

He wasn't anywhere upstairs or down—it had only taken her a few minutes to check.  He wasn't in the kitchen or the sunroom, either, and the door to the music room was wide open, too.  Stepping outside, her thoughtful frown widened as she stared at a very large mass of shattered glass—beer bottles, judging from the looks of the smoky shards.  Well, no, some were smoked amber, some were dark green.  Some were clear, but all were from bottles of one kind of booze or another . . . Just how long had he been drinking?

She sighed and lifted her chin, continuing her perusal for Evan once more.  For a moment, she had considered that he might be in the hot tub, but from where she stood, she could tell that he wasn't.  Surely he wouldn't be out here in the rain, and she was starting to wonder if he really had left, but Bone hadn't mentioned anything when she'd stopped to be let through the gates.

A low groan drifted to her followed moments later by the unmistakable sound of sloshing water.  Narrowing her eyes as she looked off toward the pool, she gasped softly.

The rain had lightened up considerably, now no more than a few handfuls of sprinkles despite the ominous rumble of thunder that sounded off in the distance.  Sighing softly, crossing her arms over her chest, Valerie swallowed a few times to dispel the painful lump that had grown in her throat as she'd searched the mansion for the missing rockstar.

Floating in the middle of the pool on a hideously bright blue blow-up lounger, he was completely naked except for a pair of sunglasses with a lit joint casually dangling from between his long fingers on one hand and clasping a beer besides, while he held his fully erect penis in the other, stroking himself over and over again.  His hair was brown, and from where she stood, she could see that he had more tattoos than usual, too.  In full Roka regalia, or so it would seem.  She didn't know why, but then, it was the least of the questions foremost in her mind at the moment.  She wasn't sure if he knew she was there or not since he gave no indication, one way or another, and she opened her mouth to speak, only to find that she just couldn't do it.

There was a sense of foreboding that hung thick in the air, as though he were simply waiting, just waiting . . .

"E-Evan?" she said, her voice thicker, heavier than she intended for it to be.

He didn't respond.  Instead, he gave another low groan as his hand seemed to move a little faster with a little more purpose.

Valerie sighed, ducking her head for just a moment, closing her eyes as she considered the situation.  She'd seen Evan in many moods.  She'd honestly thought that she had seen them all.  Apparently not; not by a long shot.  This one . . . This was a new one, and to be honest, she wasn't entirely sure how to deal with it—with him . . .

"Evan?" she called again, clearing her throat, forcing herself to speak a little louder.  "Evan, I . . . I need to talk to you."

"Talk later, V," he finally said.  "Busy now, if you can't tell.  Unless you came over to give it another go?  Can't say that I'm all that interested, but what the fuck?  One pussy's as good as another, right?"

Gritting her teeth, ignoring the blush that rose to her cheeks at the obvious and intentional slur, Valerie wasn't about to give up.  "Come out of there and talk to me," she said, taking a hesitant step forward, only to stop when he drained the beer bottle—how he managed without catching his hair on fire, she wasn't sure—and neatly chucked it toward her.  He hadn't been aiming to hit her, though, and it sailed neatly past her, only to shatter on the pavement near the doors.  After taking in the sight of the smashed glass, she turned her attention back to Evan once more.  "Please, Evan . . ."

He uttered a harsh laugh, as devoid as humor as it was full of edgy cynicism, bordering on hostility, and if Valerie had any lingering doubts as to what had set Madison off earlier, she certainly understood now.

"What's the matter, V?  Ol' Mousewin didn't want used goods?"  That laugh again.  "Can't say I blame him.  Gotta say, I was pretty disappointed, V . . . But you did give pretty good head . . . I've had better, sure, but hell, you're here.  Beggars can't be choosers . . . Might as well make use of you, right?"

Pressing her lips together, she tried to remind herself that he was just being nasty because he was hurt.  It didn't stop the tears from stinging the back of her eyelids, but she blinked furiously, managing to keep them in check.

"Anyway, since you're here, I guess I could let you get me off again.  I mean, I'm almost there now . . ." To punctuate his statement, he gave himself a few more rough yanks, groaning obnoxiously as he lifted his hips to meet his hand.

"I . . . Can we talk?" Valerie asked when she trusted her voice to be steady.  "Please."

He sighed.  "If you're not gonna climb in here and wrap your pretty lips around my cock, the least you could do is get naked.  I mean, you are hot.  You've got that going for you, anyway.  Don't gotta do much.  Maybe finger fuck yourself a little . . ." He groaned again.

"I wasn't going to call Marvin to try to make up with him," she plunged on, hoping that he was at least listening between his bouts of nastiness.  "I was—"

His ungodly moaning cut her off.  Before she could say anything else, she watched in mute fascination as an arc of semen jettisoned from his body.  He jerked a few times, involuntary spasms, breathing heavily as his hand flopped into the water like he couldn't control himself.  Wincing at the spectacle he was making of himself, she wished that she hadn't had to see him like this.  There was something entirely horrifying, almost pathetic, about him, and that she had anything at all to do with his current state shamed her more than she could credit.

For a minute or more, the only sound to be heard was Evan's harsh breathing, the incidental sounds of the water in constant motion around him.  Lifting his hand once, he did manage to yank off the sunglasses, only to let it fall back into the pool again, and he seemed to be trying to control himself.  The worry she'd carried since she had spotted the shattered bottles by the doors intensified as she watched him.  Just how drunk was he?  And, more to the point, how in the world was she going to get him out of the water before he managed to drown himself?

With that thought in mind, Valerie took a few hesitant steps toward the pool, and when she spoke, she was careful to keep her tone even, soothing, coaxing.  "Evan, why don't you come out of there?  Let me . . . Let me explain things to you . . ." Encouraged slightly when he didn't resume his caustic tirade, she took another step closer.  "I'm sorry . . . I should have talked to you before I left.  I should have—"

He grunted and managed to lever himself up on his elbows, but the strings of light that ran around the perimeter of the pool didn't reach him, left his face mostly in shadows.  It didn't help that the light filtering out of the living room was stronger where she stood, too. It made the shadows seem that much darker, deeper.  Still, she could see the light reflecting from his eyes.  It gave them an eerie kind of brightness, like a wild animal in the dark.  "If you're gonna keep yakking, do me a favor, and grab a beer for me, will y'?"

"I think you've had enough for tonight," she replied softly.

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Shoulda known . . . Val, the fun-police . . ." Then he rolled to the side, straight into the water, and for a second, Valerie almost panicked until he surfaced, swimming neatly toward the side of the pool.

She frowned.  He had to be pretty tipsy, didn't he?  At least, if the remnants of glass gathered by the door meant anything at all.  Still, if she hadn't seen him drink that beer, if she hadn't seen the mess of glass, she might not have thought that he was even slightly drunk.

It did take him a couple tries to haul himself out of the pool, though.  She heaved a sigh of relief when he finally managed by himself since he was dead-set on ignoring the hand she'd held out to help him.

He also ignored the towel she retrieved from the nearby cabinet, and she barely had time to turn her face when he decided that it'd be faster just to shake himself off instead.  Refraining from comment about that, though, she cautiously looked back at him when the water finally stopped flying.

Evan stood, hands on hips, a scowl on his face, staring past her with an almost stubborn refusal to look directly at her, his gaze fixed on some point behind her.  She wasn't sure what.

"Can we talk about earlier?" she asked quietly.

For a moment, she thought that maybe he hadn't heard her.  He didn't react in any way at all.  When she opened her mouth to repeat her question, he snorted loudly to cut her off.  "I don't wanna fucking talk, Val," he growled without slurring in the least and somehow managing to force more venom into that one syllable than she had thought possible.

She winced inwardly at the absolute reek of alcohol on his breath despite the space that separated them.  "Evan—"

"Listen, if you're not here to fuck, then I got no interest in you," he said.  "Get the hell outta here, will you?  Go back to your Murmis and leave me the fuck alone."

She caught his arm when he tried to storm off.  He yanked it away, and she stumbled.  Completely ignoring the broken bottles littering the ground in front of the door, Evan strode right through it, drawing another grimace from Valerie, especially when she saw the smudges of blood he tracked into the house.

Darting after him, she caught up just inside the door, and when she grabbed his arm this time, she hung on tight when he tried to shake her off.  "Sit down, Evan, please.  Let me see your feet."

Whipping around to pin her with a fierce glower, started to say something, only to be brought up short as he stared at her.  "What happened to your face?" he demanded.

Valerie brushed aside his concern since she really wasn't sure how he'd react if she told him the truth of it now.  Given his present mood, she just didn't want to find out, either.  "I slipped," she lied.

He didn't look like he believed her, but he must have figured that he wasn't going to get any other answer out of her.  Or maybe he simply didn't want to get side tracked by becoming concerned.  He accepted what she said at face value instead, and, shaking his head, he grabbed one of her wrists in his hand, tightening his grip until she let go.  The moment he was free, he jerked away from her and stomped over to the end table, digging around inside until he'd found what he was looking for—a joint.

"You don't need that," she insisted, crossing the floor to take it away from him.  He was faster, using his shoulder to block her as he raised it over his head and spared another moment to scowl at her.

"What I do is none of your damn business," he growled.  "Damn, you're a drag!  Dunno what I was thinking!  Guess it was what everyone said it was: lust.  Anyway, now that I know that it wasn't nothin' special, it's over, you know?  I'm over it—totally over it—over you.  So why don't you get outta here, because all you're interested in doing is ruining my fun, right?"

"No, that's not it at all!" she insisted.  "This isn't you!  You're not like this!"

He suddenly grinned, but it wasn't his usual expression.  No, this one was full of anger, of bitterness, and maybe even a little hatred though who, exactly, that hatred might be aimed at, she wasn't entirely sure.  "What's the matter, sweetheart?  Don't like what you see?  Well, that's all there is. This is the big show, like it or not.  It's what every-fucking-body pays to see, ain't it?  So sorry to disappoint you, Val, but you should know better'n anyone, right?  It don't get better than this."

She swallowed hard.  Damn, but he could be intimidating when he wanted to be, and apparently, at least at the moment, he wanted to be.  It was that emotion that stilled her tongue, that kept her from rebuffing him.  That grin took on a derisive sort of mocking feel, but he lowered his arm, and she grabbed the joint, crushing it in her fist before he could stop her.  "Now, what the fuck did you do that for?" he complained, rolling his eyes as he stomped away from her.  "Fucking waste of a perfectly good joint!"

"I think you've already had more than enough for one day—or more," she shot back dryly.

"I hate to tell you, Val, but I don't need you to pull my fat out of the fryer anymore, remember?  Your terms are history.  Finished.  Done."

"This has nothing to do with that," she said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What-the-hell-ever," he muttered.

With the increased distance between them, the feeling of being slightly cowed diminished, and she shook her head stubbornly, ready to stand her ground, ready to make him listen.  "You don't need it," she insisted.  "Will you please just lis—What are you doing?" she asked, cutting herself off mid-sentence as he yanked on a ripped pair of jeans that looked like they had seen better days.

He spared a moment to cast her a look that stated quite plainly that he believed she was being dense on purpose.  "What's it look like?  Since you're so fucking set on being a downer, I'm going to go find some fun somewhere else."

"No!" she blurted, darting over to intercept him before he could make good on his statement.

"Back off, goddamn it!" he snarled, waving his cell phone in her face to punctuate his words.

She yanked it out of his hand to keep him from inadvertently smacking her with it.  "No, Evan!  I'll . . . I'll do whatever you want, okay?  Anything, all right?  Just don't leave . . . Just promise you'll listen to me first."

He snorted indelicately and stepped around her, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of a chair as he headed for the door.  "Had enough of making promises to you," he tossed over his shoulder.  "See ya."

Smothering a growl of pure frustration, Valerie darted around him, slamming herself against the door just as he had started to open it.  Muttering about a million curses in the space of a few moments, Evan rolled his eyes, tossed his hands into the air, turned on his heel, and headed back the way he'd come.

The crunch of broken glass galvanized her into motion once more.  He was going out the back door and probably still barefooted.  For a moment, she considered following him, but the only way off the property was through the front gate, and she was closer to that than he was—for now, at least.  "That man gives 'stubborn' a whole new meaning," she muttered under her breath as she yanked the door open and darted outside.

The wind had picked up, and as she ran toward the side of the mansion to intercept Evan once more, she skidded to a stop when a hint of movement caught her eye.  Toward the far side of the fence—the area she'd scaled to check up on him on that night so long ago—she saw him just as he dropped off the top over the side.  Whether he'd realized that she would chase him or not didn't matter, and with a few curses of her own, she ran toward the gate.  How the hell had he managed that?  Shaking her head, she dismissed the question instead of trying to figure out the answer.  At the moment, there were far more urgent things on her mind, like how she was going to catch up with him, and wondering about his physical abilities would have to wait.

Bone saw her coming and opened the gate.  She didn't even take the time to acknowledge him as she ran straight through.  Down the sidewalk to the corner, and for a moment, she thought she'd lost him.  Then she saw him.  He wasn't even bothering to run, just affecting an arrogant swagger as he strode down the street away from her.

She started to break into a run when the cell phone in her hand nearly scared the life out of her.  With a frown, she glanced at it, only to realize that she was still holding Evan's phone—the one he had waved under her nose—and that the name on the caller ID was one she knew.

"Evan?  Hey, it's Bas.  Mom wanted me to give you a call."

"N-No, it's Valerie," she said.  She could sense Bas' surprise that she had answered Evan's phone.

"Oh . . . Valerie . . . Uh, is Evan around?"

Still ahead of her, she could still see him, and she grimaced when he turned into a corner pub at the end of the next block.  For the briefest of moments, she considered lying, getting Bas off of the phone, but common sense stopped her.  Even if he wouldn't appreciate it later, she had to stop him, and even though she knew damn well that it was likely going to make him even more angry, she was afraid that she couldn't actually stop Evan, at least, not without some assistance . . . "Bas, I need help," she blurted, ignoring the stabbing feeling that she was somehow betraying Evan.  "I . . . Evan and I . . . Well, it's my fault—really, it is.  He misunderstood me because I didn't take the time to explain some things, but now he won't listen to me, and he's drunk, and he just went into a bar . . ."

Bas didn't answer for a long moment, but when he did, his tone was matter-of-fact.  "Drunk."

"Yes."

Bas sighed.  "Just drunk?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'yes', but she made a face.  "I think he's been smoking some stuff, too . . ."

Bas sighed again, only this time, it was long and rather irritated.  "All right.  You're following him now, right?  Try to get him back home.  I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you."

"Not a problem."

"Bye."  Valerie wasn't sure if her words were enough to convince Bas that she needed help or if maybe it was the desperation in her voice that did it.  What did it matter, though?  The bottom line was simple: Evan wasn't about to listen to her, and even though she couldn't really fault him for that, she had to make him do it, one way or another.  Try to convince Evan to go back home?  She wasn't at all sure she could do that, but she'd try . . .

She heard him inside the bar long before she saw him.  The place was packed, probably brought in by the stormy weather—the night crawlers, the people from the better neighborhoods, sure, but they always seemed to be looking for something.  Meeting friends or co-workers, or just searching in the owlish way that they all seemed to possess, all with the same emptiness in their gazes, granted, in varying degrees . . .

Evan stood over by the bar with one girl under each arm and holding a beer, another one pawing at his chest as he rumbled out that intimate little chuckle that she thought he only used with her . . . It hurt, didn't it?  Seeing him let those girls paw at his chest, whisper in his ear, as familiar as a lover . . .

"Hey, hon, better move it."

Valerie blinked and glanced up at the man who had spoken to her.  A huge, hulking bear of a man decked out in full biker regalia, complete with a long braid on both sides—his waist-long hair in the back and mountain-man beard in the front—who looked sorely out of place in this neighborhood.  Valerie heeded his warning, though, scooting over toward the wall as she tried to keep her eyes on the errant rockstar.  "Sorry," she muttered.

He man grinned at her and scooted past in the narrow aisle before plopping down at a table a little farther up with a couple other guys that made the entire booth creak and moan loudly enough to be heard over the din of the pulsing music coming from the room just off on the far side, and the steady drone of voices.

Turning her attention back to Evan once more, she wondered whether or not he actually saw her.  But that would be a little hard to do, wouldn't it?  Strictly speaking, he had to know that she had followed him.  Her suspicions were verified a moment later when his eyes met hers, and even in the dimly lit bar, she could see it, the hardening of his emotions, the anger in his gaze despite the mocking little grin on his face.  He stared at her for another moment before very deliberately shifting his eyes away, murmuring something to the trio of girls that made them giggle.  The one on his left pulled him down for a long, slow kiss, tangling her fingers into his hair, tongues flicking against each other when their lips parted long enough for them to come up for air.  Valerie ground her teeth together hard, despising the blatant show she was getting, yet powerless to look away.  The whole time he sucked face with her, his free hand around the other kept squeezing and releasing the one on the right's breast.  Valerie had seen enough.  Pushing herself a few feet closer with every intention of dragging Evan out of the bar by his hair, if need be, she stopped abruptly when he broke contact with the girl and marched them through the bar, right past Valerie.

"Why's she staring at you?" one of the girls asked, jerking her head in Valerie's direction.  "You know her?"

"Nope.  Never met her before in my life," Evan lied.

Ignoring the indignant heat that exploded under her skin, Valerie started to open her mouth to ask Evan to come home, but stopped when he leaned down, kissed the girl in another lewd show of tongues and touch, allowing her to run her hands up and down his chest, bare under the leather jacket, before turning his head to kiss the other girl, too.  The third girl pouted until Evan noticed her, too, and she slipped her arms around his neck, ignoring her friends as well as everyone else in the bar who were now staring at the spectacle, as she ground her hips against Evan's, and that miscreant slipped his hand up her thigh, under her skirt, grasping her g-string clad ass for all to see.  "Why don't we take this party to my place?  You ever wanted to fuck a rockstar?" Evan drawled without sparing Valerie as much as another glance.

"I don't know," one of the girls said in a mock-teasing near-purr.  "You got anything good at home?"

"Fuck!  I'm Zel Roka!  You think I don't got good shit?"

The girls giggled, much to Valerie's chagrin, and she started to step forward to shove them away from Evan, but he was faster, escorting them out the door and onto the street.

Trailing along behind them, ordering herself not to cry, Valerie could only tell herself that it would be fine, it would be all right, that he was going home, and that was where she wanted him to go.

Glancing at her watch when Evan stopped at the corner, long enough to pull one of the girls into another kiss, Valerie gritted her teeth, tried to keep herself from coming completely undone at the sight of it, of him, of that girl with her hand so happily pumping him through the rough fabric of his jeans.  He was going along with it, too, and even though she tried to tell herself that he was just upset, just angry, just hurt, she couldn't repress the sob that she had to choke back.

It was like every nightmare she'd ever had, every doubt, every worry come to life, and yet . . . Yet she still didn't have it in her to be mad at him, not when she knew why he was acting like that.  Swallowing hard, she said nothing as she followed him.  He didn't seem to be in a hurry, which she would have preferred since the pace at which he was going included a lot of near-pornographic pit-stops that she would rather not witness.

How the hell had things spun so far out of control?  More to the point, how the hell was she going to get him to listen to her?

With every passing moment, she couldn't help the hopeless feeling that was growing larger and larger in her gut.  'Hurry, Bas,' she thought as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming, only to gasp softly as the ragged flesh tore open once more, filling her mouth with the coppery taint of her own blood.  For a brief second, Evan seemed to turn his head, to glance back at her, but maybe that was all in her imagination, because he didn't stop, didn't acknowledge her presence.  Valerie sighed, veering to the side to spit the blood in a trashcan as her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.  'Please hurry . . .'