InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Boredom ( Chapter 28 )

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

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO -

'I don't know just what to do with myself
I don't know just what to do with myself
Baby, if your new love ever turns you down
Come on back, I will be around
Just waiting for you
I don't know what else to do …'

'I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself' written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David.


The strangest sound woke Valerie from a semi-catatonic sleep: an odd sort of buzzing-slash-rattling-slash-shaking that almost became an earthquake in her slumber-hazed mind.  With a quiet, albeit plaintive moan and a muttered curse, she tried to bury her face deeper into her pillow in an effort to evade the sound.

It didn't work.

The buzzing-slash-rattling-slash-shaking somehow managed to grow louder, and to her dismay, it sounded as though it had sucked a sheaf of paper into the shuffle, to boot.

'It's . . . my phone . . .?'

She reached out, groping for the device—she'd set it on 'vibrate' before she'd gone to bed, hadn't she?  With a tumultuous sigh of complete exasperation, she grabbed the phone and blinked rapidly as she tried to make out the caller ID.  'The . . . what . . .?' she thought, shaking her head as she blinked again and forced her eyes open a little wider.  'The hEVAN', it said—little 'h' and capital 'E-V-A-N'.

She snorted and flipped open the device.  "This had better be good, Roka," she snarled, glancing at the clock and stifling an inward groan since she was quite sure that the numbers read '1:56 a.m.'

"Well, hey, V!  You still awake?"

She considered chucking the phone across the room, but figured she'd regret it—eventually.  "Why does my phone say 'The hEVAN' when you call?" she demanded.

He chuckled.  How the hell he managed to sound that sexy at such an ungodly hour was entirely beyond her.  She snorted at her own ridiculous thoughts.  "I fixed it when you left it on my coffee table," he replied a little too innocently.

"Oh, my God," she half-moaned, half-whined.  "You're demented."

"So . . . whatcha doin'?" he asked suddenly, his voice dropping an octave to a husky drawl.

Valerie shivered, telling herself that it was because of the slight breeze filtering through the two-inch crack between her window and the frame.  "Sleeping, Evan, and you're not invited."

Damned if he didn't chuckle again.  "Well . . . I've got a . . . little problem . . ."

She stifled a sigh.  "You've got big problems," she corrected mulishly.  "I'm tired!"

"Yeah, but it won't take long . . . See, I got a little bored . . ."

"Oh, God . . ."

". . . And, well . . . Hey!  Why don't you look out your window?"

"Because I'm in bed.  Sleeping.  Alone.  And I don't want—" She sat up suddenly, her eyes flashing open as another thought intruded.  "Why do I want to look out my window, Evan?" she demanded sharply.

And, of course, he chuckled yet again.  "Did I mention that I got bored?"

She grimaced, uttering a strangled little whine as she tossed the warmth of the blankets aside and stumbled out of bed and slowly padded toward the window.

She frowned.  All she saw was the brick wall of the apartment building beside her; the darkened and opaque windows of her neighbors.  As she approached the window, she could feel her own sense of foreboding rise.  "There's nothing out—A-a-a-ah-h-h-h-h!" she shrieked, springing back, waving her hands, her feet pistoning up and down as she felt her heart stop for one dizzying second before it slammed back into overdrive when the blasted idiot sprang up on the other side of the pane of glass.

He was laughing—almost crying, actually—as he wedged his fingers through the crack and forced the pane up then crawled inside.  No sooner did his feet hit the floor than she stomped forward, smacking him with the flat of her palms against his back: a barrage of hits that didn't even faze the man.  "What are you doing?  Why are you such a jerk?  How did you get up here?  Do you know how far off the ground this is?" she hollered.

Evan tried to stop laughing, which only irritated her more.  "So-Sorry, V," he gasped out, wiping his eyes as he grinned unrepentantly at her.  "Holy Jesus God, your face!"

She growled low in her throat as she glanced around wildly for something—preferably something heavy—to heave at the odious cur.  Then she spotted her cell phone, lying in a broken mess near the wall where it had impacted when it had flown out of her grip moments ago.  "Oh, I hate you!" she snarled.

He pushed the window closed once more then suddenly made a face at her.  "Ugh, V . . . How fucking hot is it in here?"

She sniffed haughtily, lifting her chin a notch in defiance.  "It's only around seventy-eight degrees," she replied.  "I like it just fine."

He snorted.  "Keh!  It's enough to boil your balls off."

"Good thing I don't have balls, then, isn't it?" she retorted rather dryly.

Evan grinned, jerk that he was.  "Well, damn, baby . . . Spoken like a true smart ass.  Nice."

She didn't take the bait.  Rubbing her face rather furiously, she indulged in a moment to count to twenty before leveling a formidable glower at him.  "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

She didn't miss the way he stared around at her bedroom, either.  "Simple.  Elegant.  Totally you, V," he finally said with a satisfied grin.

"What are you doing here?" she asked once more, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her toes in a completely expectant sort of way.

"Relax," he told her with an offhanded shrug.  "I was just out, bummin' around, and I figured I'd stop by to see why you were calling me."

Valerie blinked and slowly shook her head since she'd called him hours ago, mostly to make sure that the deviant was at home, like he was supposed to be.  He wasn't, but she'd given up when he hadn't answered his phone, mostly because she really didn't have a clue where to find him, anyway.  "Are you kidding?"

He shrugged again.  "Nope."

"How did you get onto my balcony?"

Planting his hands on his hips, he frowned in a completely exaggerated sort of way.  "I climbed," he deadpanned.

"Climbed?"  She shook her head.  "Climbed what?"

"Your fire escape, V."

Letting out a deep breath, she could only stare at him.  "The fire escape is a good fifteen feet away," she pointed out.

He grinned.  "So I jumped."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"I don't know.  Have you lost your earring in my bushes again?"

"Evan, I'm serious!" she hissed.  "You could have fallen!  Don't you ever use your brain?"

Evan laughed.  "Have I told you how hella sexy you are when you're being all pissy?" he countered.

Furious that he simply wasn't going to acknowledge the kind of risk he'd so carelessly taken, Valerie still couldn't help but blush at his words.  "Why can't you listen to me?" she grumbled.  "You just don't think about anything at all, do you?"

She gasped suddenly when he stepped forward and drew her against his chest into a warm hug.  "It's okay, V.  I'm fine.  Sorry if I worried you."

"You . . . You jerk!" she snarled, shoving against his chest in an effort to put him off.  He didn't budge, and that only served to irritate her even more.  "I wasn't worried, damn you!  Let go of me!"

Evan swept her off the floor and into his arms before moving off toward the bed, effortlessly ignoring her struggling to regain her freedom.  Only when he'd reached the bed did he let her down long enough to settle himself next to her before pulling her down beside him.  "If you keep wiggling around, I'm not going to promise to be good," he warned her in a somewhat husky tone.

She craned her neck to glower at him.  He had his eyes closed, as though he were trying to concentrate on something that she was better off, not considering.  "Get out of my bed, Evan Zelig," she insisted through clenched teeth.

"I'm tired," he replied, tossing a leg over hers for good measure.  "Night, baby."

'One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .' She heaved a sigh and shoved at his arms, to no avail.  "I'm not your baby, and I don't think—"

"I think I'll really like this sort of thing once we're married," he continued in a slow drawl.

She snorted and tried to shove him away again.  "We're not getting married," she bit out.

He smashed his hips against her butt with a low groan and an unmistakable shiver.  "Sure, we will," he murmured quietly, huskily, in her ear.  "It's just a matter of time."

She heaved a sigh and grimaced, entirely too aware of exactly how close his body was to hers—and entirely too aware of the fact that, unlike Marvin, Evan had the power and the stature to make her feel just a little vulnerable.  She was almost six feet tall, and she had to admit that it wasn't easy to make her feel blatantly overwhelmed or even remotely fragile.  So what was it about Evan Zelig that had the ability to do exactly that, and then some . . .?

'Don't be stupid, Valerie,' she told herself sternly.  'It doesn't matter what his real name is.  He's Zel Roka, remember?'

"You smell nice," he remarked, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deep.

She heaved a sigh, as much from the trill of indefinable emotion that roiled through her as from the haze of his breath on her ear.  "Evan . . . you need to go home."

"You are my home, Valerie," he replied.

Valerie shook her head and gave one last push against the soft but complete hold he had on her.  "This could be considered forced entry," she pointed out reasonably, calmly, despite her tumultuous thoughts and trying in vain to ignore the impropriety of it all, given the fact that she was only wearing the oversized sweatshirt she'd worn to bed and a flimsy pair of silk panties.

Evan chuckled.  "It could be," he agreed easily enough.  "But I'm warm, right?"

She sighed again: a longsuffering sigh designed to let him know that this particular discussion wasn't over; not by a long shot.  Too bad he was right: he was warm, and that warmth . . .

It was entirely too welcoming.


'She feels . . . perfect . . .'

Evan smiled wanly, pulling Valerie just a little closer—as close as he dared—and breathed in the scent of her.  'Yeah . . . she does.'

'Do you think she noticed that we were staring at her?  Actually, more like leering at her . . .'

He shrugged inwardly.  No, he really didn't think she had noticed that, not at all, especially since she was busy screaming her beautiful head off at the time.  But the memory of her, standing there in that ungodly large sweatshirt—it was either gray or light purple or something—he couldn't rightfully tell in the shadowy darkness—was enough to make him want to moan.  Damn, but the woman had a hell of a shake to her . . .

He'd tried to stay away from her; honest, he had.  Wandering the streets of the city, he'd ended up standing outside her building about five times before he'd finally given into the urge to see her.  There was something about her that just compelled him, wasn't there?  Something that he simply couldn't ignore . . .

'Better redirect those thoughts, Zelig,' his youkai pointed out ruefully.  'If you don't, there's a good chance that she's going to try to maim you for real.'

Evan grimaced, carefully shifting just enough to keep from poking the woman in the ass with the very blatant result of the memory.  'Point taken,' he allowed.  "So tell me something, V," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed as the absolute silence, broken now and again by the intermittent sounds of the city that managed to permeate the quiet, lulled him, "why did you want to be a lawyer?"

She sighed quietly.  "For the money.  Why else?"

He chuckled.  "You mean you didn't want to change the world or some odd shit?"

"Hardly," she replied.  "If I wanted to do that, I certainly wouldn't be working at a firm that caters to spoiled rock stars, now would I?  Besides . . . I'm not nearly as noble as all that."

"So you're in it for the money?" he reiterated.

"Isn't that as good a reason as any?" she countered mildly, almost defensively—and quite groggily, too.  "Why did you want to be a rock star?"

'God . . . she really does feel perfect . . .' he thought with a wince and the sudden realization that he had never, ever felt quite this way before.  Every contour, every angle of her body fit against him perfectly: absolutely completely.  "Wasn't so much that I wanted to be a rock star," he remarked with a shrug.  "I just wanted to play my music."

She snorted half-heartedly.  "So it wasn't for the women or the money or the legions of fans?"

"Well, those are more like perks," he quipped.  He could feel her pulse resonating through him, and he smiled just a little.  "Nah, I wanted to change the world and all that happy shit."

"You're so full of crap," she chided.  Her voice was staring to take on the hazy fog of sleepiness.

He chuckled quietly, unable to resist rubbing his cheek against the downy softness of her hair.  "Yeah," he allowed.  "I am."

"I don't understand you," she ventured at length, unconsciously snuggling a little closer to him.

"What don't you understand?"

She yawned and burrowed a little deeper into the warmth of the blankets and his arms.  "Anything about you," she replied as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Me?  I'm easy to figure out," he said.

"You're not," she countered.  "You're . . ."

He smiled as her voice trailed off, the unmistakable sleepiness in her voice hard to ignore.  "Go to sleep, V," he told her.

She frowned slightly, as though she were fighting off the side-effects of sleepiness.  "Evan . . .?"


"Did you . . . Did you sing to me before?  When I . . . was sleeping . . .?"

His smile widened, unaccountably pleased that she remembered the last time she'd fallen asleep with him: the day she'd pretended to be his girlfriend . . . "I suppose I did," he admitted.

"Mm," she intoned.  He could feel her slipping away as waves of sleepiness crashed over her.  "Nice . . ."

"Nice," he repeated, leaning in to kiss her temple.  He could feel her breathing, could sense her unabashed surrender to the welcoming oblivion.  "Yeah . . ."

The darkness invoked a quiet sense of awe, a lethargic sort of magic that clung to her and shrouded her in a timeless beauty, and somewhere in those moments, he could feel himself slipping further away, into her, around her, until everything converged deep within, and the song that rose to his lips was little more than a hushed promise that would fade away with the first rays of the sun's light.

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'I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself' was recorded by a number of artists, the first being Tommy Hunt on his 1692 album, And I Never Knew.  It has also been recorded by Dusty Springfield, Isaac Hayes, Marcia Hines, Elvis Costello, Demis Roussos, The Photos featuring Wendy Wu, Linda Ronstadt, Steve Tyrell, Trijntje Oosterhuis, Tina Arena, Smokey Robinson, Nicky Holland, and others.  Song written by and copyrighted to Burt Bacharach and Hal David.
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Thought from Valerie:
Bored, huh?
Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Subterfuge):  I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga.  Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al.  I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.