Daria
Sad music rang in the background as Daria slumped down onto her floor. She could hear gentle knocking on her door, but ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the blinding whiteness of the wall in front of her. The music was at full volume, drowning out the angry screams Daria had been emitting for the last hour, face buried in her duvet. Her glasses were discarded beside her, but no tears ran down her face. Only lines of pain from the expression of agony invading her normally impassive face.
"DARIA! TURN THE DUMB EMO MUSIC DOWN, WOULD YOU?!"
Quinn's screech echoed over the music coming from Daria's speakers, and a look of anger replaced her pain.
She leapt up, crossing the room in two angry strides and yanking the door open forcefully.
"How about you go and fuck yourself Quinn." said Daria coldly, slamming the door in her sister's face.
Finding herself still angry, Daria turned back to the door and slammed her fist into it.
A shooting pain bulleted from her middle knuckle all the way up to her elbow, gradual being replaced by a painful throb.
Daria's eyes opened from the shock of the initial pain, and she studied her hand, daring not to move it from the clenched position it was still in.
A purple bruise had already begun to puddle around the abused joint, and Daria raised her eyebrows in shock.
"Daria?!" Quinn yelled, evidently still outside the door.
"Go away Quinn!" Daria shouted back, crossing the room and turning the stereo up to full volume with her good hand.
Her room began to physically shake with the force of the music's vibrations, and Daria collapsed into her previous position, drawing her knees up to her chest, burying her head in them and letting out a broken-hearted sob.
"No Jane..God no..why..?!" she cried.
Trent
Trent strummed a few lonely chords on his guitar.
He was home alone, and completely fucking wasted. An empty bottle of vodka lay by his side, coupled with the ash of the four cigarettes he had smoked in the last few minutes. The music seemed empty and void to him, so groaning in annoyance, he slammed his guitar down onto the floor and walked out of his room, flushed with annoyance.
He didn't really know where he was going until he ended up in Janie's room.
God, it still smelt like her.
A musty paint smell mixed with mildewed old books and a distant tinge of energy drinks.
Trent's hands began to shake, and he sat down cautiously on her bed. The covers were pulled up over the pillow, and if he half-squinted, he could almost pretend that Janie was still asleep under the covers.
But Trent knew in his heart that Jane wouldn't be sleeping in that bed ever again.
Feeling a stabbing pain in his heart, the twenty-two year old man curled up on his little sister's bed, embracing one of her pillows and burying his head into it as he sobbed heartbrokenly.
"Why Janie? Why?" he murmured.
Tom
Tom forced himself to return the smile of his mother, shot at him over the dinner table.
The atmosphere was awkward, as the Sloan family all sat round the oversized table, eating dinner. Cutlery clinked as food was cut up, and teeth clanked gently against wine glasses.
Tom pushed his food around his plate with the gold-lined silver fork. The overpriced, overcooked food sent nausea up his spine.
"Thomas, your mother worked on that food. I suggest you appreciate it, and eat it."
His father's voice broke through his stupor.
"You mean the maid worked on this food." Tom replied coldly.
"Thomas, don't talk to your father like that." his mother barked warningly.
Tom scowled, returning his glare back to the food that stared back at him.
An awkward silence settled, until Tom's sister sighed in annoyance.
"Jesus Christ. Is this about that stupid Janet girl? She committed suicide. Wow, Tom. You weren't even going out with her at the time. As I recall, didn't you cheat on her with that Dana girl? Or was it Daria? Whatever. My point is, quit moping. You're spoiling family dinner!"
Tom slammed his fork down, the clatter echoing through the room and silencing the whole table. He stood up, pushing his chair back, and fixed his sister with the dirtiest look he could muster.
"Jane. Jane! Her name i- was Jane!"
Tom's voice cracked a little as he corrected himself to was, but he forced himself to regain his composure. He walked out of the room disgustedly, slamming the door as hard as he could and slowly dragged himself up the stairs. He locked himself into the bathroom and buried his head in his hands, breath coming out of his mouth in short little gasps as he sat down on the toilet seat.
"Why'd you do it, Jane?" he whispered to himself.