October 12, 2010
A/N: Thanks to Agirl2Nerdy, StarReader86, pinkminx, and Sun-chan 1 for reviewing. Also a special thanks to Ladie T and StarReader86 for the additional support and great conversation. Thanks for keeping me on my toes.
Recap: Okay, so this definitely needs to be here this time. Whoops. Chapter 3, well Quinn followed through with Jane's "request" to help Daria. Too bad things snowballed from bad to worse. From failing to receive a reaction other than fright when showing Daria her bedroom with the padded walls and anatomically correct body parts to being out shopped at the mall. Of course, those incidents were small in comparison to Quinn's final attempt . . . reconnecting Daria with her good old, fun-loving high school, Lawndale High! (cue gagging) While calming down Stacy on the phone, Daria is invited to a party by two boys, who Quinn is unable to identify past realizing they must have graduated high school at least five years ago! Having been verbally cut down by her sister, in the most loving way, Quinn passes her off to Jane, so she can pack for her cruise with the other former Fashion Club members. After having the scare of her life (seeing Daria showing her new fashion-conscious self) Jane reintroduces Daria to the routine she and Daria had come to follow in high school: Jane paints while Daria contemplates her problem, all while watching 'Sick Sad World.' If only that is what happened. Poor Jane. Unprepared, she apprehensively agrees to go with her amiga to a party - not hosted by Brittany Taylor or Jodie Landon - no, but by two complete strangers. Fun! And so this brings us to another rousing chapter of 'If Nothing Else.' Enjoy.
Chapter 4: Where the Road of Friendship Ends . . .
Daria parted her hair, again. Scrutinizing her every feature, she sighed. While she would have preferred to pull her hair back to expose her expressive eyes and pouty lips, the ostentatious, cotton bandage had to be covered somehow. Subsequently, half her face was shaded; thus, her eyes. But, did it really matter? Even if the bandage was not an obstacle, Daria still had her man-eater glasses to work with, or did she? A campfire whistle streamed and filled the quiet halls of the Morgendorffer house. Her father's cheerful tune gave birth to an idea that had been bouncing around in her brain for days. Checking for any flaws in her wardrobe or make-up, Daria skipped out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the source of the whistling.
-Daria-
Helen tossed her car keys into the key bowl awkwardly. Balancing two full bags of groceries, Helen rolled her eyes at the wall-shaking music coming from her youngest daughter's room. Leisurely, she filed away the food in the pantry and refrigerator. Her mind kneaded over her objective, her heart sinking as less and less time filled the gap in which she would have to waltz upstairs and do something most cruel. Quinn's door was cracked open, light flooding the darkened hallway. "Quinn," Helen called, slowly entering the room. A large pink trunk and matching duffle luggage were stacked neatly in the middle of the room. Quinn, with her back turned to her mother, was currently grunting and growling as she struggled to jam the last of her essentials into her carry-on bag.
Helen played with the antenna of her cell phone. Mrs. Morgendorffer was stirred from her reverie by Quinn, who looked perturbed to be disturbed from her packing regiment.
"Sweetie, we need to talk," Helen broached. Quinn's face fell, seeing Helen viciously turn and play with the antenna of her phone. Something was wrong.
"What's up?" Quinn asked, trying to play dumb, despite her. She turned her music off, so she could clearly hear her mother.
"Do you happen to know where Daria is?"
Quinn's jaw locked from anxiety, forcing her not to answer right away. "Uh, she's with Jane." Quinn refused to meet her mother's eyes, afraid Helen may find out that she was not being completely truthful.
Having not detected Quinn's abnormal behavior accompanying her previous response, the overly-aggressive lawyer moved on to her more pressing business she needed to share with her daughter. Helen drew close, tenderly placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "I know that things have been . . . different." Quinn scoffed; her eyes downcast and unreadable. "Quinn, I have to ask that you cancel your trip. "
Whipping her head to lock eyes with her mother, she nearly screeched, "What?" Her bottom lip quivering, Quinn choked out, "Why?"
"Honey, I just don't think that at this time that going on the cruise is permissible."
"Don't you trust me?" Quinn was near tears. "Is it my grades? I know I got all A's." Quinn had broken free of her mother's grasp; no longer seeing Helen as an ally.
"No, no, that's not it at all, Quinn," Helen breathed. She was not mentally prepared after a long and tiring day at work to now handle Quinn's break down. "Your father and I . . ." Quinn rolled her eyes, knowing that any statement starting with 'your father and I' really meant, her mom decided to do something and her father just went along with it, "with Daria's condition not improving, we feel that she should still be supervised. She could be easily manipulated into something by someone without full comprehension of the consequences to those decisions."
"Are you kidding me? She's fine!" Quinn hollered. "Haven't I given enough?" Stamping her feet, in a rage unrivaled, Quinn caught her stuffed, green rhino and threw it into her vanity. Dozens of nail polishes and make-up toppled over onto her rug. Helen was appalled by her daughter's behavior; Quinn having reduced herself to throwing a tantrum.
"Quinn! That's enough! Your sister did not ask to be in a horrible car accident and your insensitivity is not helping her. No wonder no improvement has been made. I felt guilty at first, but now – now I think that your father and I were premature in thinking you were old enough to be responsible to go on a cruise with no adult supervision," Helen huffed, all remorse evaporated.
Bubbling with anger, Quinn erupted in frustrated fury. She growled at the news. Unable to contain herself, Quinn blurted out, "I hate you!"
All her hard work, was it for nothing? She had been so serious about her school work, her club activities, and even becoming more mature about her dating habits this year. Sure, compared to Daria, her attempts were juvenile, but damn it! She had worked herself to the bone to get to that mediocre level.
"Get out!" Quinn screamed, pointing to the door.
"How dare you! I am still your mother, and you will not talk to me like that," Helen declared in a shrill voice. Her face nearly matching the color of her burgundy business suit, she clutched her phone to the point of almost breaking it.
"What are you going to do? Ground me? You might as well, since I can't go on the cruise now," Quinn egged on.
"All right, Quinn Ann Morgendorffer, if you're so fond of the idea. With the exception of helping your sister and going to work, you're grounded for the next month." Helen stormed out, leaving Quinn to cry into her pillows.
-Daria-
The doorbell rang and Jane grumbled. The irony of the situation made the artist sick. Finally, Daria willingly wanted to be social, even to the extent of going to a party, but all Jane wished to do was go to bed and dream the world away.
Daria tapped her foot impatiently. Wearing a tight mini-skirt, a mid-drift, she checked her make-up in the powder compact she had extracted from her purse. Trent graciously opened the door, in limbo between sleep and consciousness. "Whoa." Looking at the woman in front of him, he suddenly felt hot and self-conscious.
Trent fumbled his words, his tongue stubbornly not cooperating. Daria was always beautiful, but her beauty was under the radar. So disguised in her classic garb, it could be easily overlooked. His eyes lingered over curves that seemed to have developed overnight. Daria could see how Trent starred, ogling. A mischievous smile crossed her face. "Hey."
"Um, hey," the musician said, returning the greeting.
"Is Jane here?" He wasn't bad looking. His scraggly goatee, aloof eyes, and svelte shape – typical rock star made him automatically desirable. Trent permitted Daria into the house, both stood waiting for Jane to appear. A moment or two of silence and the young Miss Morgendorffer continued, "Do we know each other?" Daria hoped they never had more than friendship. A clean slate was the best slate.
Daria closed the space between them, waves of inferiority rippled through him.
"Trent?" Jane called, thumping down the steps without a care in the world. The artist narrowed her eyes surspiciously at the close proximity her brother and Daria shared. "Let's go." Jane gestured for Daria to follow her to the car she was borrowing from her brother.
Outside the Lane house, Daria smirked, "He's cute, your brother."
"He's going out with someone," Jane said curtly, Daria shrinking back from Jane's acid tongue.
"Who?" Daria inquired, regaining her confidence.
"Monique," Jane replied just as fast, unlocking the car. The artist was uncertain if this was their "off week," but she didn't care. A sea storm of anger rose at the thought of Daria and Trent going out together. The feeling had never formed before, but something inside her convinced Jane whole heartedly that it was a bad idea, now.
-Daria-
Jane and Daria arrived at the address the two men had given Daria. There was no doubting that a party was well on its way. Cars surrounded the large, swank mansion and music pumped into the neighborhood from behind the house. Still taking in the scene and feeling a tinge uncomfortable Jane jogged to catch up with Daria, who was entering the gate that led to the backyard.
They were standing at the side of the house when Daria stopped and with much excitement extracted her thick, bulky frames from her dainty hand bag. Jane was surprised by Daria's non-glasses choice, but nevertheless supported her want to change her look . . . her hair . . . her make-up – from not wearing any . . . everything! Corking her eyebrow, Jane watched intently as Daria's smile broadened. "Look," she urged. "This is the night where I take new steps," Jane's heart pounded, leery of Daria's choice in words. What new steps? "I may not remember who I am, but I feel more in control and free, and to show it, I now christen this event."
Jane nearly fainted. Daria snapped her glasses in half, uncaringly dropping them onto the uncut grass and stomping on them.
"Your glasses!" Jane cried out.
"Don't worry; I bought slimmer frames to wear at night after I take my contacts out. No more hiding my eyes. They're one of my better features."
Jane flubbed her words, noted by Daria's scrunched face to understand her. Hearing the loud music and static of people chatting and having a good time; Daria glided to the deck and began mingling. The artist cautiously picked up one of the shattered frames, starring at the eight little hers that reflected back in the broken frame. Jane was surprised to see a single tear chase down her face. Abandoning the broken glasses, she moseyed on over to the heart of the party.
-Daria-
Quinn took refuge on the side of her bed farthest from the door. Every few seconds the high school graduate would peer over to the door in anticipation of her mother checking in. Returning to the conversation she was having on her cell phone (thank God for cell phones!), she deflated, hiccupping, "No-o, my-my mom grounded me. I'm not allowed to go because of-of Daria."
"That's horrible, Quinn," Stacy sympathized. "I guess we could go another time if we explain to the travel agency . . . we'll probably have to make up a story, though," the pigtailed girl mused, biting at one of her fingernails.
"No!" Quinn hollered. "You should go. You -you deserve this. Plus, I'm grounded for the n-next m-month so I won't be able to s-see you guys anyway," Quinn reasoned, her voice shaking.
"But that's half our summer. We'll all be going to college in the fall – away from each other. You're going the farthest, all the way to Pepper hill," Stacy whined.
"I know," Quinn conceded lamely; her hiccups dissipating.
"You're eighteen, they can't do that!" Stacy argued.
"They can if they're paying for my tuition," Quinn sighed, "It's a crappy card to pull, but my mom is a lawyer. She always finds a way to win."
"Yeah," Stacy agreed solemnly. "I don't want to go just with Tiffany or Sandy, though. I mean Tiffany is all right, but Sandy and I don't get a long. The reason we can all hang out is because of you, Quinn," Stacy said, her voice rising in pitch, a sign that the former secretary of the Fashion Club was about to engage in a panic attack.
"You'll be fine. It's a big boat. Relax Stacy," Quinn ordered.
"This sucks," Stacy announced.
Hearing the powerful stomp of her mother ascending the stairs, Quinn quickly ended the conversation, shutting her phone seconds before Helen arrived.
-Daria-
The night was warm, a mild breezed swirling in as to make its presence known to the party goers. Paper laterns swinging in the wind, festive table clothes, and an "A +" disk jockey set the tone. This was no average party; though, pulling up to the palace nearly two hours ago already spoke that to the artist. The pool that touched the makeshift dance floor shimmered from the floodlights installed at its bottom. Jane side stepped a man just barely, watching him tackle another man into the pool. Shrill, fake screams blinked on and off from young women in skimpy bathing suits dodging hormonally-drunk men from throwing them in.
The artist rolled her eyes, watching the almost animalistic mating ritual of men fighting for dominance to mate when she backed into someone.
"Tom!" she cried out.
"Jane?" Tom Sloane, ex-boyfriend of Jane and Daria, titled his head, perplexed. "What are you doing here?" Jane ceased to answer, still surprised to see him at the party. "Jane? I'm surprised to see you. I thought you hated these social elitists' things – rich kids who had things handed to them on a silver platter."
Regaining her thoughts, no longer stricken with shock, Jane fumbled. "Um, I am – it's just that I was invited by a friend."
"You know Andy and Ricky," Tom asked.
"Who?" Jane's head began to pound; the feeling of nausea sizzling in her stomach.
"They're the hosts of this party." Tom inched closer, seeing Jane scrunch her face up. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Fine." Jane took a calming breath.
"If you weren't invited by Andy or Rick, then are you here with someone else?" Tom looked about, the darkness of true night making it hard to see faces. Jane laughed to herself, as Tom quickly sought out the man he thought was her date.
Having had enough fun watching Tom sweat, Jane explained. "I'm here with Daria. She was invited."
"Daria knows Andy and Ricky?" Tom immediately regretted the way his question came out, watching his ex-girlfriend glare at him. "I didn't mean it like that. I just . . ."
"I know what you meant," Jane eased, tapping her foot to the music. Tom had cut his hair short, spiking it up into a little patch of grass. His hair was blonde now, as light as a shrouded cloud in front of the sun. He was wearing a black tailored shirt with a white t-shirt underneath, and matching blue denim jeans. Jane felt awkward and unnerved in his presence. Not to say the change was either bad or good, but Tom had changed where Jane hadn't. She was wearing black, torn jeans, her classic boots, and a long, tight, red tee. Her hair and attitude were the same; she was practically for all intense purposes . . . the same?
Breaking the silence that filtered, Tom asked, "You said Daria was here, right? I haven't seen her."
"I doubt you would recognize her," Jane remarked lowly to herself.
"Excuse me," Tom queried, having not heard Jane clearly.
"Nothing," she affirmed. Not comfortable with the silence she swished her drink around in its red cup. "What did they put in this punch? Paint thinner."
His laugh brought a melting familiarity and Jane finally released the tension in her shoulders. His looks had changed, but perhaps not his personality. "Whoever spiked the punch did a lousy job. You're not supposed to taste the alcohol."
Jane nodded in concurrence. "This coming from experience," she teased.
"Not personal, but yeah," he answered, a grin adorning his face.
Taking a sip, even though most of it was already gone, Jane's face contorted into one of agony. "I can't drink anymore of this poison. I think I would rather have the paint thinner." She dumped the remaining contents of the drink onto the grass.
"So, back to my unanswered question: where is Daria?" Tom asked, again.
Another wave of nausea rippled from her stomach. "I'm not sure," Jane strained as she tried to wish away the rolling sea of nausea that was currently churning in her stomach.
"Whoa, you sure you okay?" Tom huddled close to Jane, who had her eyes tightly screwed shut. "How much have you had? I mean if this is your first time drinking –"
"It's not, but it is my first time drinking something so horrible. God, I feel sick." Jane leaned against the railing that fenced in the pool. "How am I the only one that wants to puke?"
"Most people pre-gamed and so they can't taste this sewer punch. Did you eat?" Jane shook her head, clutching her stomach. "Come on, let's go somewhere quieter."
"That sounds like a good idea," she copped.
"Jane," Tom exasperated. "I'm not trying to get in your pants, just help you. Can't we be civil?"
-Daria-
Jane would never admit it openly, but she was glad Tom had bumped into her. He was right. Sitting in the gazebo on the side of the house, away from the music and cheesy decorations that were strewn about the deck and lined the pool, Jane felt slightly better. Tom rubbed circles on her back, trying to soothe her.
"Please stop," Jane asked forcefully.
"I was only –"
"I know, but you're rubbing my back is making me sway, which reminds me of waves, which reminds me of the ocean where boats are, in conclusion – you are making me seasick." Tom desisted on the spot, opting to just watch and wait for Jane to feel better. However, Jane knew she wouldn't feel better until she threw up. Not long after, the artist whirled around to lean over the side of the gazebo. Tom looked away, the sound of Jane vomiting enough to make him sick.
The duo finally returned to the party a half hour later, almost rounding midnight. "I really need to find Daria."
"I'll help," Tom insisted. Jane objected, in her mind, not wanting the two to reunite on these terms.
A low, but feminine voice sang a greeting. A voluptuous blonde approached; her gait wobbly as she slung an arm around Tom. "Who's this, Tommy?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at Jane.
Tom stammered, no audible answer leaving his mouth. Feeling she owed him, Jane piped up. "I'm Tom's ex-girlfriend's best friend from high school. My name is Jane." It was a mouthful, but it was the truth – not the whole truth – but the when did that matter, except for when being prosecuted.
He mouthed a 'thank you.' Gripping her waist to support her better, Tom introduced the giggly woman as his girlfriend, Jade.
"Well, you seem to have your hands full, I'll best be leaving." Jane shook her head at the helpless look Tom threw her as he tried to contain his girlfriend.
Jane had floundered into the house. Overly crowded, Jane easily figured she had entered the make out room. Couples piled on the couches, chairs, or pressed against the walls feeling each other up and showing different forms of expression to each other. Jane instinctively looked away, but then realized that Daria may have been one of the participants. Scanning the room quickly she concluded that was not so and moved up the stairs onto the main floor.
Music from a surround stereo played inside, different people dancing and chatting. Jane spotted Daria mingling with a tall, toned man, his shirt unbuttoned. He had shaggy, light brown hair that was contained by his backwards baseball cap. He looked like a surfer, wearing swim trunks and flip flops. As Jane approach the man split, heading for the kitchen. "See ya, Andy," Daria waved coyly at him.
"I've been looking all over for you," she declared.
"You found me. Now I'll count to ten and you go and hide," Daria retorted. Jane wanted to strangle Daria with her bare hands. Smelling the alcohol on her breath, Jane was astonished.
"Your mixing alcohol with meds," she chastised in a hushed voiced.
"Don't be stupid, do I look like I want to die on an overdose," Daria returned in the same manner. "I skipped taking my medication today."
Jane slapped herself, dragging her hand down in face. Even though Daria was making logical and safe decisions they were equally just as stupid and immature. Daria hiccupped, cupping her hand over her mouth to hide the fact. "I'm fine," Daria asserted. While her speech was still intact, Jane worried for her friend's safety.
"Jane!" The artist turned in the direction her name was called. Tom jogged to her, slightly red in the face.
"Where's your girlfriend?" Jane mused.
"She's fine. I dumped her on some friends of hers." Seeing Jane cocked and eyebrow, he assured her, "She'll be fine. Have you found Daria?"
Jane looked at him, confused. Why would he ask such a stupid question when clearly she was standing right next to Daria . . . unless . . .
Jane looked behind her to see that Daria had slipped away. Cursing under her breath, she whirled back around to face him. "Not anymore!"
"Huh?"
"You let her get away!" Jane accused. Tom opened his mouth to object, but decided it would be futile. Instead he proposed they work together to find her. Jane agreed. Two people searching were better than doing it alone. Her stomach growled and Jane halted.
"You're still feeling sick?" Jane nodded, grabbing at her stomach, praying for her nausea to leave. "Let's stop and get a soda," Tom suggested.
"No, I'll get it by myself. You go outside; she may have made a u-turn and headed for the pool. I'll go look upstairs. We're losing time."
"Why is it so important we find her?" Tom asked, concerned as to why Jane was to persistent they find Daria.
"I don't want her to do something she'll regret." Still seeing Tom looked befuddled at the urgency, she promised, "I'll tell you later." Tom moved to go back to the basement that led to the outside, when Jane stopped him. "She wearing a mini skirt, a mid drift, and no glasses." Tom nearly tripped over his feet; he did a double take before continuing his pursuit, his mind running a hundred miles a minute with questions.
-Daria-
"How could you do that?" Quinn whined.
"Quinn, Mr. Sorentino called asking for help and I volunteered you; since you have all this new free time." Quinn sunk, her shoulders slumping, her mother was not going to revoke her decision.
"That's not fair! How am I supposed to take care of Daria and work?"
"I'm sure you haven't forgotten those useful tips Dina Decker gave you," Helen said in a malicious cheeriness.
Quinn would have thrown a second tantrum, but exhaustion had claimed the redhead. Quinn nodded numbly. Helen spun around, leaving the room with force, her voice echoing into the hall as she contacted someone from work (most likely Eric).
Sinking into her bed, once more, she wept. "I'm like Cinderella with no fairy god mother." Unable to go to the cruise, forced to take care of her sister, and a cruel and relentless mother, what was she to do? The red head sighed. She looked at her fur-covered phone, but was too depressed to make any calls. Plus, she had already talked to Stacy and if she were to call anyone, it would have been Stacy. Rising from her bed, she selected some pajamas to change into. Passing the stock of suitcases and bags another flood of tears arrived as she realized that her ability to go was stripped from her.
-Daria-
Leaning on the balcony iron railing, Daria batted her eyes. The young man who led her to the beautiful view tilted his head and leaned in. Reflexively Daria stepped back. Her heart raced and she fought the urge to run. Why would she run? He was gorgeous. His light washed denim jeans resting on his hips, his button down shirt open to reveal his tan, chiseled six pack, his bedroom green eyes – so inviting and warm – and his light brown, shaggy, soft hair begging to be combed through, why would she hesitate?
Her chain of thoughts was broken by his silky voice. "I don't bite," he whispered into her ear.
Swallowing her fear, she closed her eyes as he kissed her on the lips. His lips soft and his breath warm, she loosened up. Just as she began to meld to the touch of his hand cupping her face, she became very aware of his hands moving to her hips and her body levitating off the ground. "Andy," she laughed, having been hoisted up onto the small table provided for the homeowners to enjoy tea while watching the vast greenery of the rolling hills in the morning or late evening.
Daria didn't get much more out as he reconnected his lips with hers. Daria trailed her hands from his bare chest to rest around his neck naturally after he had closed the small space between them. His one hand creeping up and up, closer to her breast, Daria pulled away. Keeping eye contact, she returned his straying hand back to its spot at her hips.
"I believe dinner and a movie are to provided before you can even think about going there," she smirked.
"Hey, I invited you to a party with food. I think that should count," he countered, cheekily.
"The fact I came should be enough." Daria guided his hand back to her hips, again; a look of frustration forming in the corners of her mouth.
Kissing her again, he breathed, "And what if it's not?" He pressed her to him, locking lips with her before she could answer. Forfeiting the idea of moving his hands upwards, he let them slide to the hem of her skirt, a sole digit digging under her skirt. Daria snatched his hand, her self-confidence waning. Suddenly, she was no longer sure of having followed him up to a vacant room – no longer sure that she should have left Jane – no longer sure that she should have had any drinks. A voice that sounded trusting, monotone yet feminine, screamed inside her mind to flee.
His hand had slid over her skirt and to her butt, and Daria stiffened. When had be broken from her grasp? She was vaguely acute to him having mentioned of going to somewhere more comfortable; Daria's heartbeat faster and faster.
-Daria-
Jane thumped up the stairs, a soda in one hand as the other braced the young artist using the banister. The whole upstairs hallway was carpeted in a soft green. Angry, Jane was greeted by two long corridors going in opposite directions. Choosing to go right, first, Jane deliberated if it was a good idea to knock on the closed bedroom doors. There was a reason they were closed. Before knocking on the first door on her left, she spotted a room with light that was filtering through a small crack left by an unclosed door down the hall.
Jane moseyed over, entering slowly and begging not to be interrupting anyone. The room turned out to be some type of study or small library, which is why it was probably empty. No lights were on, so the light that was peeking into the dimly lit hallway was coming from outside. The study was illuminated by two glass veranda doors that opened to a balcony. There, Jane discovered two people making out rather intensely.
Her facial recognition kicking in, Jane dropped her soda on the champagne colored carpet. Not caring about the forming stain, she made a beeline to Daria and the guy she was with. Upon getting closer, Jane could hear them faintly.
"I don't think . . ." Daria mumbled.
"Hey, don't be so tense," coaxed the young man, guiding Daria's legs to wrap around him for leverage. He was about to lift her off the table when Jane stepped out onto the balcony.
"Hey, there you are," she said with a faux southern accent. The couple turning to Jane, two different expressions greeted her: relief and annoyance.
Daria untangled herself and scooted off the table. Her petite frame hit the cement balcony with a small thump. Unsteady, both the man and Jane caught Daria. Daria watched the room teeter-totter for a couple seconds before leveling.
Jane quickly jerked Daria from the guy's grip, addressing her friend. "We need to go. It's getting late."
"I'm not ready to leave," she said with a whine.
"You don't have to leave." The light haired, young man made a motion to retrieve Daria when Jane maneuvered herself between the two.
"Andy, I think I'm going to get some air. I'm not feeling well," Daria absently added. "Maybe we can pick up later, 'kay?" she mused lightly like a small child.
Jane watched his shoulders slump from their predatory pronouncement of puffing his chest out to a softer relaxed position. Jane knew running wasn't an option. Daria was in no state to run. And it was too high to push the guy over the balcony without killing him. Why couldn't they have been on the first floor?
"I'll roll the windows down in the car," Jane muttered, taking steps backward with Daria into the study. Like watching a hungry tiger, Jane's eyes never strayed from the young man.
"Hey, don't make her go home if she doesn't want to. The party is still going," he cooed.
Jane's muscled tightened in fear. She didn't know him. But, Tom knew him so he couldn't be the asshole-creeper he was posing to be, could he?
Jane collided into to Daria and she was forced to see why her friend had stopped moving. There, another man stood, identical looking to the one they had been conversing with.
"Ricky, let'em go," the new comer demanded. Jane looked dumbfound. Who was Ricky?
"We're just talking," Ricky explained, ending with a charismatic smile.
"Why don't you go refill the snack table, we're running low on chips and stuff," the young man, who had just arrived, continued without missing a beat.
Jane watched the two guys, which she determined were identical twins, glower at each other. Caught between the brothers' stand-off, Jane felt more uneasy than when she was alone with Ricky.
"Why don't you, Andy?" Ricky retaliated.
"I'm helping Daria's friend get her to her car, dumbass. She doesn't look so well," Andy countered, raising his voice.
Snorting like an angry bull, Ricky blew past the trio. He turned back at Daria's interjection. "Hey, you aren't . . . Andy? You're an asshole!" Chuckling at Daria's outburst, Ricky left the study. "He is," Daria persisted, looking between Jane and Andy as if they needed to be convinced.
Jane starred in disbelief at her compadre. Were you on another planet this whole time? Jane thought, looking at Daria, who looked extremely vexed at having been fooled by Ricky into believing he was Andy, completely oblivious to having been almost taken advantage of by a stranger.
-Daria-
Andy proved kind enough, helping Jane walk Daria down the steps to the main floor. "He's not a bad guy, my brother," Andy told Jane.
Jane shrugged. She knew that as his sibling he needed to justify Ricky's actions. Jane understood that because she felt that way about the Lane Clan, always needing to explain her brothers and sisters to people.
They were in front of the large, mahogany wood, front door. "Thanks," Jane said grateful. She released her grip on Daria, testing if her friend was okay to walk on her own. Daria stood, still in a cloud.
He opened the door for them, Jane waved leaving first. Hearing her footsteps only, she turned around to see Daria kissing Andy. Climbing back up the front steps she yanked the young Morgendorffer away.
"Chill," Daria commanded. "I was just saying good-bye," she slurred.
Andy stood dumbstruck, his lips having been part of a hit-and-run French kiss. Waving absently, Andy watched the girls cross to the front lawn, a goofy, love struck smile plastered on his face.
Daria wriggled her hand free from Jane's clasp. "I don't want to go."
"Are you kidding me?" Jane complained. "We're leaving."
"All right, checkmate, whatever. I get it – bad choice on my part. But, I got some air, and I want to go back in. I was having fun," Daria argued. Jane was near ripping her hair out. Her speech impaired, her walk undignified, and mind numb from the booze, Jane wanted to shake the sense back into Daria. Still, Jane restrained herself.
"You weren't having fun, you were getting trashed!" Jane corrected, moving to grab Daria's arm and drag her to her car.
Moving at the last second for Jane to miss, Daria fired back, "You go, if you want to leave. I thought artists loved to go to parties." Daria made a startling discovery, voicing it aloud. "I don't have my purse."
"Of course you don't, you had me stow it in the car hours ago," Jane informed her, making another go to get Daria back home.
"I told you to just go," Daria hollered. "I feel fine, and if I don't, I'll crash here. Andy will be fine with it."
I'm sure he will. I'm also sure he'll be fine with you or his brother sharing their bed with you, Jane thought to herself, her anger flaring. "I can't!"
"Why not?" Daria asked, flailing her arms back.
"Because you're my best friend!"
"But, you're not mine!" Daria's eyes popped. The Raft student shook her head, trying to take it back. But, it was too late. "Jane . . ."
Jane stopped breathing and her world froze. She put a hand up as she tried to swallow the small ball of tacks that had collected in her throat. The oppression of sadness filled the space between the two college girls. The light that came from the house still casted it's brilliance on them and that's when Jane and Daria caught on to the fact that Andy had not shut the front door, yet.
On display for Andy and the small crowd that had gathered were Daria and Jane. Mortified, Daria looked away, red from yelling and now, from public humiliation.
"Let's go," Daria murmured. Losing her balance, she stumble a couple of feet before standing to full hilt again. Wordlessly, Jane complied and led the way to Trent's old, blue, beat-up car.
Unnoticed, Tom Sloane watched his ex-girlfriends leave the party; so puzzled by the scene and Daria's new image that Tom's feet refused to move until his mind resettled and functioned at its correct rate.
-Daria-
The ride was deathly silent. Jane focused on the yellow tandem lines on the road. Street lights dotted the car passing underneath. Daria looked out the passenger window, searching to see if anyone would be awake this early in the morning. Her nausea and dizziness having dissipated, Daria glanced at the small digital clock. Two-thirty in the morning. Jane sat stoic in the driver's seat. Mechanically, relying on her auto-pilot memory, she returned Daria back to the Morgendorffer residence.
Because you're my best friend!
But, you're not mine!
Those words replayed themselves over and over in Jane's head.
"The party wasn't over," Daria said, tentative. The eldest Morgendorffer had been dragged away from the party, most unceremoniously and for that, Daria expected some type of apology. "I mean we couldn't stay after the whole scene, but . . ." her words died out as she glimpsed Jane's eyes. As trained as Jane thought she had muted her expression, Daria could feel the pain and hurt her words had caused.
The BFAC student stopped the car, its brakes squealing. Daria opened the door and stepped out. She turned to talk through the open passenger's window. "I'm sorry. Um, thanks for the Ricky-thing, too." Daria knew that what she said was spoken from a moment of heated frustration and anger, but even so, she regretted hurting someone who didn't deserve it. "I know you were helping, but . . . maybe we should take a break or something."
For the first time, Jane faced her long time friend. She's breaking up with me? A kiss off after all I've done. Fine.
Daria shut the door, turning back to see her friend leave. Her wave good-bye went limp as Jane hit the accelerator so hard that the back wheels spun before launching the car forward. Daria winced as the car raced off. She zigzagged unsteadily to the house, with as much poise as she could muster.
-Daria—
Palming along the wall, Daria slowly ascended the stairs. The house was quiet and dark, the ticking of the kitchen clock resonating into the front hall and up the stairs. Daria continued to use the wall as a guide and leverage. Unfamiliar with the house layout, still, she lost her balance at one of the bedroom doors unprepared for the wall to stop momentarily. Stumbling until she caught herself on her hands and knees, Daria gasped at the sound of someone moving. Behind her Quinn poked her head out of her room. Relieved she had only woken her sister, Daria appreciatively accepted Quinn's help to stand.
"Hey, what are you doing home so late? Do you know what time it is?" Quinn hissed.
Daria wobbled, finding her balance she turned to Quinn. "Sorry, Clogsworth, but let's not tell Beast," Daria hushed, putting her finger to her mouth for emphasis. Even when trying to be serious, Daria couldn't stop a few bubbles of laughter from escaping.
Quinn put her hands on her hips, not amused in the least. Helping Daria to her bedroom, Daria shook her head, pointing to the guest bedroom. Quinn made a noise of disgust and redirected her. "Did you seriously go to that party?" Quinn pressed.
"No, Bat Girl had a stomach virus and so George Clooney asked me to stand in," Daria retorted. She grasped the door handle, feeling the room unexpectedly tilt.
"Haha," Quinn snorted, crossing her arms. "You know because of you I'm not allowed to go on my cruise."
"Why?" Daria asked, genuinely intrigued.
"Because mom thinks you need to be babysat," snipped, realizing that perhaps her mom was right, based off what Quinn was seeing right then. Watching her older sister sway, Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Are you drunk?" The future Pepperhill student made a move to come closer, but desisted as she watched Daria covered her mouth.
Daria dropped her hand, the wave of sickness gone. "No, now if you're done with questioning me, inspector, I'm going to bed." Daria opened the door enough for her and her only to enter. Slamming the door behind her, Quinn heard Daria throw up. Quinn quickly searched and listened for any movement that her parents might have woken from the bang of the door closing or Daria puking.
"Daria," she called through the door.
"I'm fine," Daria said, adamantly. "I made it to the waste basket. I'm fine, Quinn. Go to bed."Quinn hesitated before leaving. Is she asking me to go because she wants to be left alone or so I won't get caught if she does? Quinn pushed aside the boiling feeling of anger and confusion down. Daria was safe – sort of – and at home; more importantly, her parents were still sleeping.
-Daria-
Still early in summer, the cool air hung with the one-time track star. Jane started down Williams Street, trotting to a stop when she saw a slender redhead. "What are you doing up so early? Won't this interfere with your beauty sleep regiment?"
Quinn had parked herself against a blue convertible. Wearing a Pepperhill hoodie, Quinn said evenly, "You let her come home wasted."
Jane stopped bouncing from one foot to the other, having been an ill attempt to keep her heart pumping. At the mention of the night prior, Jane looked irritated. Walking over to Quinn, who stood away from the car, Jane sneered. "I didn't let her come home wasted. I could have left her there," Jane pointed out.
"What if my parents found her like that? I would have been to blame because I knew about the party," Quinn continued, ignoring Jane. Jane was panting, trying to calm her breath. The crisp morning filled their lung with prickly oxygen, small swirls of white heat twisting up to the sky as they each spoke.
"So, you shouldn't have to babysit her," Jane said flatly.
"Listen, you don't – what?" Quinn began. Quinn watched Jane, a look of skepticism sketched on her face.
"She knows right from wrong. Trust me," Jane confirmed, wiping away some sweat that had coated her forehead. Quinn could see a flash of hurt and knew that the artist meant something beyond her comprehension. They were not friends by nature and so Quinn didn't press Jane to explain exactly what she meant.
Silence filled the air, the sun progressing into a bright morning. "So, what do we do now?" Quinn asked.
Jane stood, crestfallen at the reality of their situation. Jane no longer wanted to be a part of the quest to help Daria. She was still working through the night before her.
BECAUSE YOU'RE MY BEST FRIEND!
BUT, YOU'RE NOT MINE!
It was like an unwelcomed mantra. Jane tried to brush it away, but the words hammered away the thick lie Jane had scaffold her mental barriers with. Jane was not "this" Daria's best friend. The Daria, who wore contacts instead of glasses, was a different person. A fear so strong struck Jane; the artist momentarily stopped breathing, choking in reflex. "We?" Jane strained, recovering from her faint dizziness.
"Yeah . . . do we . . . just give up?" Quinn posed, her voice softening. The redhead stuffed her hands into the pouch of her hoodie, trying to keep warm. Although, it was supposed to be sunny and hot, right now it was frigid and lonely.
"I don't know," Jane lamented. She looked at the tar, scuffing her running sneakers along the street. She didn't want to share what happened last night. She just wanted – she just wanted to run.
Quinn's eyes bulged. This was Jane Lane. Quinn felt her hope crumble into a pile at feet. Her parents were oblivious and Daria was no help, since she was the problem. Jane was older and smarter. She was supposed to have the answers. Since when was Quinn to sit on the pedestal by herself? In a tone of commanded, she planted herself, "We can't give up."
Jane's head shot up, as if seeing Quinn for the first time. Sighing, Jane tossed out, "What do you suppose, captain?"
Quinn tucked in her bottom lip to chew. She hadn't expected to be given leadership – frankly, she didn't want it. Uncertain, she spoke, "This isn't working – working solo." Jane listened intently. Quinn continued, "So, maybe we need to work together." Jane crossed her arms over her chest, incredulously. Quinn didn't even seem confident in her own idea, but yet, Jane was supposed to blindly follow and possibly put herself back in the line of fire? Jane was leery, to say the least, of Quinn's plan.
Quinn looked at Jane expectantly. If Jane refused to help then Quinn would have nothing. Her hope and faith that she would right everything was contingent of the artist. Minutes passed as the two of them stood there silent.
Jane closed her eyes. Could she really continue to drag herself through this? Wasn't there some type of clause in the Contract of Friendship that she was exempt from due to emotional distress?
Jane sighed, "All right, I'll help."
~ End Chapter 4
I hope the length made up for the lack of updating.
Also, please leave a review. I greatly appreciate the feedback given.