Ah, Hell

Chapter 2

Pulling at a Thread

"Trent, go to bed. I need to think."

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to his bedroom door. Daria stood an arm's length away from him, thumbs hooked into the pockets of her jeans, her deep brown eyes focused on his chest. Had she always been this beautiful? The thick auburn mane had been trimmed short, still framing her oval face and her small, full mouth.

The owl-eye glasses he remembered had been replaced by smaller frames, a concession to the weight of the thick lenses her prescription required. They revealed much more of her face, and he noticed that her eyelashes were still as lush as he remembered, all those times when he would carefully take her glasses off to place them safely on the coffee table when she had fallen asleep reading. In those rare moments, he would allow himself to look at her.

She was never what he would have called a happy girl; perhaps 'somewhat disappointed' would have suited her a year ago. Now, though, there was more weariness there, beyond just the stresses of the evening; and perhaps a touch of sadness. It was complicated, whatever the significant events that he sensed she had experienced in the year past. Things with Daria were never simple. She was a rich, complex creature, and she seemed to project that upon the world around her. Somehow, she bent the space around her, and it was something subtle, just on the threshold of perception, that he had always noticed about her.

Those eyes flicked up to his own, and the corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly up. "Go to sleep," she repeated. "I know you can do it."

He gave her a half-smile, but it was just a bit too long in coming. He wanted, more than anything, to reach out and pull her into a simple embrace, and maybe even a little kiss; nothing aggressive, just so he could retreat knowing that he hadn't freaked her out. He knew, though, that it would not be interpreted that way.

She hesitated, not knowing quite what to do.

She opted to turn and step away, pausing a few feet down the hall. "Hell. We'll talk tomorrow. I guess I'm really in no condition to think clearly." Still, she stood there, resolve failing.

"Damnit," she muttered, walking back to him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had stepped forward and put his arms around her. She stiffened, and then responded in kind.

But she didn't kiss him, although it wasn't because she didn't want to.

"So you aren't going to tell your best friend what the hell just happened?" Jane smirked, her usual insufferable self again. "You suck, Morgendorffer."

"I don't know what happened. I'm still trying to sort it all out. It's two in the morning, after all."

"I thought you were over that crush,' Jane said quietly.

"I am. It's not the same thing. Different somehow, and I can't put my finger on it. He actually just came out and told me that he's had a…thing for me, and that he…"

Loves me. What does that mean, really?

What?

And why does that make me sad? Not unhappy, exactly, but sad?

"You need to sleep on it, Daria."

"Yeah, I know," she yawned. "You know, it's a lot more comfortable in Penny's bed, but I kinda miss being on your floor in that old sleeping bag."

"It's still in the corner," Jane smirked, "but you know how cranky sleeping on the floor made you."

"It was nice back then," Daria mused. "I liked the smell of the paint."

"Now you can't get away from it in our cottage."

"I still like the smell." Daria looked around the old house. "This place hasn't changed much."

Jane looked down the hall at Trent's bedroom door. "Is that a good thing?"

Daria knew what she was getting at. "I guess not."

"You know it won't work, not the way he is," Jane said quietly, before retreating into her room.

Daria did not look at Trent's bedroom door as she walked down the hall.

She changed for bed, and put her glasses down on Penny's nightstand.

She shivered as she slipped into bed. The sheets were cold, and didn't smell anything like him.

The bacon sizzled as it hit the pan. He watched ruefully as the grease flew, spattering across the stovetop he had just cleaned half an hour ago. Oh well, he would just have to clean it again sometime.

He pulled down a plate, laying a paper towel down on it so that it would absorb the excess grease. There was a chip on the edge; his mother had made all the plates, bowls and cups in the house.

He reached out, running his finger over the rough spot. Everything in the house was like this to him, beautiful, but flawed or diminished in some way. He grew up in this place, and it was something that defined him. He was comfortable here; he was familiar with everything about the place, every little and some not so little things that needed to be fixed.

This was the family home, but in a way it was also his prison. Somehow or other he had become its caretaker. He poured himself a cup of coffee, shutting off the stove and transferring the bacon to the plate. He laid another paper towel on top, watching as the oil and hot grease spotted and then wicked into the paper.

It had fallen to him to take care of Janey, the day he had turned eighteen. He had graduated from high school, and didn't have any plans for his immediate future, so it became his job to hold down the fort while his parents began taking on more projects and work on the road. It paid better, and they would transfer money into an account that he was to use to keep the payments up. At least, that was the plan, although the machinations of long distance banking sometimes screwed things up.

But he and Janey had always gotten by.

Now Janey had moved on with her life, to Boston Fine Arts College; sharing a little two bedroom cottage with her best friend Daria.

He had made a few changes since then; the basement, for one thing, was cleared out and had been turned into his teaching studio, ever since Mystik Spiral had broken up. Or down. Once Janey was gone, it began to feel pointless, if it ever had one. It became pretty clear that he had just been treading water, marking time; when it finally came to an end, none of the members were surprised. They too had moved on. Jesse got a job at a home improvement store, Nick wound up at a restaurant. Trent wasn't sure what happened to Max, who had moved out west somewhere.

Jamie at Dega Street Music had hired him on part time; Trent was good with people, and Jamie was glad to have him. He began teaching guitar to teenagers at home. The money was pretty good, and he would send Janey most of it for her school expenses.

Going to the Zon last night was kind of weird. The girls wanted to visit the place, since they kind of thought of it as part of their Lawndale universe. Without the Spiral, though, it wasn't the same. They had always gone to Trent's gigs; he wasn't sure if they were regulars because they kind of liked the music or if it was just out of obligation, or maybe just something to do. There were a few songs that he knew they actually liked. Whatever it was, they had been faithful followers until they had left for school.

With them gone, there was no point at all for Trent. Mystik had played another two months, and then disbanded, an event that went pretty much unnoticed.

There was a box of pancake mix around here somewhere. Daria and Janey had gone shopping before they showed up, sure that there wasn't any food in the place. Hey, he was planning to stock up, but lately, he seemed not terribly interested in buying anything that would have been out of place in one of those fallout shelters from the cold war. Stuff in cans was good enough, although he was aware of the need to prevent the onset of scurvy.

He pulled out the cartons of eggs and milk, and followed the directions on the side of the box.

"Hey," Daria murmured from the doorway. "You're up early."

He slid the mixing bowl aside and reached into a cupboard, pulling down two more coffee cups. He poured her cup, leaving room for the milk he knew she favored. Handing it to her, he sat a small warming carafe of milk, a saucer and a spoon on the table.

"Morning, Daria." He warmed up his own cup and joined her at the table. "If you like, I can fix you pancakes now."

"We should wait for Jane. She's going to be up soon."

"Daria, I'm really sorry for last night."

She stirred her coffee quietly, and then placed the spoon carefully on the saucer. "Don't be."

Trent thought this over, and then took a sip of coffee. "Look, I know I was out of line. It's just that I realized that we don't have forever to work things out, and I just had to let you know. I'm not expecting anything from you. You've got your own life and I know I don't fit into it anymore. So can we just move on?"

"Move on?"

"You know, not like pretend nothing happened, or that I didn't say anything. I did, and I meant it. It's just that you don't have to do anything but what you want, whatever that is. I'm not making a claim or anything, I just said what I had to."

"Thank you for being honest. I won't be less than that to you, and the truth is I don't know how I feel about this. I do love you in some ways, but weather or not it's the same as how you feel about me, I don't think so. You're really important to me. You always have been."

She brought the coffee cup to her lips. As she tipped it back, he noticed the letter T scribed into its bottom, and smiled as he watched her lips on its rim. His mother Amanda had made cups for her children, looking at their hands as they grew. The cup that Daria held was made for him when he was about twelve.

"At first it was because you're Jane's cute and sexy brother that I had a crush on for years, and then it was because I learned that whatever our differences are, you're a pretty special guy. Yeah, you're a really close friend, but it's not just that. I can tell you anything and I know you won't ever use it against me. I know I can trust you, and that's not something that comes easily to me."

She took another sip of coffee, pushing away the morning fuzzies.

"You know, I am seeing other guys now, I'd even go so far as to call it dating, but so far there's nobody that I can trust more than you or Jane. And you know, that's really strange, because I actually slept with someone that I trusted less than you."

She stopped, wondering if she had said too much, if she had unintentionally hurt him. She looked at him, resigned; shaking her head almost imperceptibly. It was too late to take back now.

"If you're worried about how I'm feeling, don't, Daria." He said this calmly, without rebuke or resentment. "I don't own you. And truthfully, I hope it was a positive for you."

She looked sad even as she took his hand. "Thank you, Trent."

"Are you still happy with him?"

"I'm not seeing him anymore. I don't know what I was thinking. The first time it hurt like hell, and then later it was just pleasurable. But after awhile, I realized that I didn't…want to do that anymore. He was a new experience, but I wasn't in love with him. It began to feel like a lie."

"I always knew you were a romantic under that cynical exterior."

"I guess you're right. Don't take this the wrong way, but I always thought my first time would have been with you."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out that way."

"Stop apologizing. Jane, you can come in now, I know you're out there."

A black bobbed head appeared in the doorway. "Sorry, but I smelled bacon."

Daria looked over at Trent, who was smiling and shaking his head. He had gotten up to start the pancakes. "Are you going to be home tonight? I want to keep talking, but I need to get over to my folk's place and show up."

"Name the time, I'll be here." He smiled serenely.

It was then that Daria noticed the wristwatch he was wearing, hidden under what she guessed was a hemp fiber wristband. "Ten thirty, thereabouts."

"You may as well stay over, then," Jane said around a mouthful of pancake.

"Guess so," Daria said, still staring at the thing on Trent's wrist.