Daria told Trent. She whispered, blushed, even giggled a bit, but she told him. He just stood there blankly, until it occurred to him that it was a good thing. I wonder if he knew before. He seems to know things sometimes, even if no one tells him. He's psychic, I think. Or maybe he's just psycho, like the rest of this family.

Daria is so obvious. Whenever he's around, she turns eight shades of red, each making her look more beautiful than the last. As pretty as she is. it disgusts me. It's not just that it's my brother, it's that it's Daria and my brother. Trent just isn't meant for her. It's wrong for the two of them to be together.

I know it sounds crazy. Daria and I have been friends for ages, and stayed friends through everything; even through Tom. Sometimes, some days, I wonder if we crossed a line; the most sacred line, between friends and lovers. A brush of her hand, a tight embrace, a few kind words in an unkind world; I guess that's all it took for me to fall. I fell for Daria hard, and completely. And that's exactly how she fell for my brother.

Don't get me wrong, Trent is a great guy. He's an even better older brother. He just doesn't belong with her. She needs someone deeper, some one closer, someone more... awake. Daria deserves someone just right. She's rather like Goldilocks, actually. Minus the animal control cases, of course.

I guess what I'm saying is that Trent doesn't deserve her. Daria deserves someone who doesn't "have sex" but instead, "makes love."

I know this is absurd, and sounds so much like a bad romance novel, but the two are completely different things.

Sex is a matter of "this goes here, that goes there." It's so cold, so blindly mechanical, a mere biological function.

Making love is so much more. It's about a sacred transition from two to one, connected emotionally, physically and sexually. Fluidly, each moving against the other.

Kissing Daria is like making love, I know it. It unites mind, body, heart and soul, into one force in the space of seconds. All my thoughts become clouded, blurred into one, as the forces had become one: I love her. Three words never said so much before.

We kissed just once, drunken and on a dare. When we pulled away, a sense of loneliness washed over me, even though she was just inches away. That was a year ago. We haven't spoken of it since.

I hope to God, if there is such a being, that Daria is happy with Trent.

I hope he means it when he says "I love you." Words like that are too strong for little boy games. I hope he holds her hand, and shows her the way. Even Daria doesn't know everything. I hope he savors it when he kisses her, the distinct flavor f Daria Morgendorffer on his tongue. She's special, she's different. She's his.

Most of all, I hope he holds her at night. I hope he wraps his wiry arms around her, and makes everything right. Daria deserves to feel safe and secure, even if my whole world falls in on itself.

I turn away, tasting the saltiness running down my cheek. I'm crying; damn. this shouldn't happen; I won't cry. I'm Jane "fear not pain" Lane. At least, that's what I used to think.