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Chapter Eleven; Nine In The Afternoon
As Trent arrived home he was met with Jane on the couch eating some kind of instant meal. 'You're up early,' she pointed out, her eyes drifting between her food and the TV periodically, enjoying the laziness of a Saturday more than she could remember. It was probably because she had spent most of the previous night reliving the same feelings she had gotten from Tom when they had broken up – all through Daria. She shouldn't have let them date, but it seemed as if nothing good would have come out of the situation either way.
'Or I'm going to bed late,' he argued, an accomplished smirk faltering across his face.
'What were you doing, anyway?' she asked, not satisfied. At Trent's groan she tutted her tongue. 'Don't you go groaning at me young man,' she managed a fairly good impression of her mother through this, 'for you see, if you hold a butterfly too tight, you'll crush it… you need to let it free and -'
'Alright, alright. I had Monique come over and yell at me, we broke up for real and then I gave Daria a ride home… am I grounded yet?' he asked pointedly, his hands tucked into his pockets.
Jane perked up, eyes switching to Trent as she ignored the ads – usually she believed they were supposed to be seen and not heard, but right now neither was applicable. 'Was she alright?'
'Yeah, her mother freaked out though, when she saw me… she's nice, but she's way too corporate. Like, she sold everything to get the job she got or something…' Trent's cosmic approach to situations never failed to amuse Jane, her elbow coming to rest on the arm of the couch as she watched Trent with particular eagerness.
'Fair point – but she's decent enough. As long as you didn't completely ruin Daria's brain or anything,' Jane half-joked as she returned to the TV. She didn't doubt Trent had managed to muddle up her best friend even more, seeing as Daria was back to crushing on Trent in her geeky, shy way. Both of the Lane's knew quite well about the crush, but Trent had only recently caught on.
'I mean, I kissed her a little, nothing too big… oh, well, except then we went up to her room and – Janey, I'm kidding,' Trent laughed, hiding her smile behind a hand as he coughed. The look Jane had given him could strip paint off the walls. 'I'm gonna go sleep before band practise.'
'The band's been here for twenty minutes now.'
'Oh. Damn, I'm late…' Trent sighed, trudging into the kitchen with resentful focus.
A few hours later, and several arguments afoot, Mystik Spiral called it quits for the day. Trent waved them off from the front door and walked off toward his room, his eyes drooping noticeably. As he was finally in the isolation of his room, he shut his door and tugged out his book for lyrics. His amusement was forefront as he read a few lyrics he'd written the previous night. As per usual, he set to work… he had a few weeks left before the gig – the one at his house, with the high schoolers and Daria; she deserved to be set apart from the teenage nobodies.
Somebody gets it, somebody knows me
Who's gonna get me, who's gonna know me
Who's gonna get me, who's gonna know me
She does, the girl I see behind the glass, behind the glass
Trying to protect herself, what can she do, what can she do
The curse of familiar faces, familiar disgraces
Sorrows unknown, sorrows not shown
Not showing what plagues her heart
Writing, the writing against the wall, against the wall,
All she can do is love and fall, love and fall
Girl behind the glass, what can she do
What can she do… what can she do…
Trent stared down at the lyrics and issued a gruff little sigh. He didn't like what he had written, not even in the slightest. Had he known just a few streets over a girl was suffering the same block, he would have smiled – but for now, he settled into bed and slept, slept because he couldn't feel much else. Something had been spread to him – creative block? He didn't know what to call it.
Several blocks away, Daria was clacking away at her keyboard at an essay for her English class – it wouldn't be long before she was through with the stupid thing, so she decided to take some recreational time. By which she meant working on another piece of writing… As the computer hummed and tried to collect documents, Daria walked downstairs to fetch some kind of refreshment.
'Daria,' Helen chimed, her hands neatly crossed in her lap. Jake was nearby with a sullen look on his face, his eyes averted to the window.
'Hi,' Daria said rather slowly, her eyes shifting between the two. As she drank and placed the glass in the sink, Daria could feel her mother's rather frightened gaze. Had she walked into something? Ignoring the oddity that was her family, Daria returned to her room – not missing the words 'trial' and 'separation' in the same sentence. 'So it's that time of the year again,' Daria softly mumbled, her hands fiddling together as she walked upstairs. As she arrived back in her room, she noticed the document had finally loaded. Daria sighed and re-read the passage several times over, her words muddling together like Brittany trying to talk about Shakespeare.
Morgana slipped between the cracks of society, but couldn't slip through this – the tenuous grip that Tri held on her… it sickened the young woman to the core, to feel her heart so rapt with a man at least four years her senior. With a disheartened gesture, she continued to walk the streets of lower-class New York, no interest in what society would think of an aristocrat delving into the underbelly of the crime syndicate, all for the man she knew as Trent.
'Spelling error,' she chuckled, ignoring the word 'Trent' and replacing it with the name 'Trent'. She growled a little and retyped again 'Tri', shifting her focus to the entire piece rather than the names.
Each line she read made her head spin a little. Narrowing her eyes in focus, she found the work bore no resemblance to her own writing… it wasn't her own. She couldn't put a finger on it, but she couldn't think of any way to fix it. Deciding against trying any further, she saved the file and withdrew herself from the computer. With this fresh defeat in mind, she slumped onto her bed and started watching TV.
---
'I am so sick of this! Who keeps putting the K cereals in front of the B cereals? It throws off the entire order of breakfast! It makes me late! I'll lose a client again, and it'll all be thanks to these –'
'Jake, it's a Sunday – and the cereals aren't in any kind of order,' Helen dismissed her voice a low, dapper tone without coffee. Daria and Quinn were sitting at the table, eyes averted to their plates. Bacon and eggs for Daria, and a slinky piece of toast for Quinn.
'Mhh, this bacon sure is delicious…' Daria happily cited, examining a piece before eating it.
'Stop it Daria! You know as vice-president ofthe Fashion Club, I have to partake in the monthly purge-week. I can't eat icky anything or else I'll, like… be reliable-lable and stuff! I'll have to wear clothes like you to hide all the weight I'd put on!'
Daria felt her face fall, watching Quinn as she delicately nibbled at her piece of toast. She cursed mentally, quickly finish breakfast before returning upstairs. She didn't feel like socialising, nor did she feel like being alone. A subtle hint of confusion cropped up as she examined her padded walls – she always wondered why there had been padding in this room, not to mention bars on the windows…
'Are you Quinn's – oh, it's you, hi Trent' Helen could be heard voicing, her tone faltering for a moment, 'Daria? She's upstairs, but – excuse me, I could have you arrested for breaking and entering -' the threat was hollow.
The languid form of Trent entering Daria's room with a smile embedded in his features was concerning to say the least. 'Hey Daria, I had an idea.' He took the shock as an invitation to slump onto her bed, happily placing her hands behind his head – it was reminiscent of the first time he'd ever been in Daria's room, when he had needed to escape his family.
'And… this is why you've come to my house at 9 in the morning?'
'Woah, I thought it was later than that… I guess it's what I get for not sleeping last night…'
'So what was your idea?'
'What idea?'
Daria gave a bemused frown, her arms tightly crossed.
'I'm kidding. Look, I remembered last night about how I didn't make that music for your school project, right?'
'I seem to recall that disappointment,' Daria nodded, kind words failing her for the moment.
'I wanted to prove I can stick to deadlines… so… how about you and I collaborate again, for the gig – for your birthday party?'
'So I can have the party at yours?' Daria realised she had never actually asked Jane what the answer had been, a small detail she realised was rather imperative.
'Yeah – but,' he seemed a little annoyed, 'we should collaborate… I wanna prove I'm not a total deadbeat. C'mon Daria,'
'I don't think -'
'Just write a song for me, alright? You're an awesome writer from what I've heard, so… your lyrics, my guitar skills, we've got something – right?' he cracked a grin and stood up. He stood with his ringed hands settling on his hips, eyes focused on Daria.
'Something is right,' Daria muttered, nodding a few times, 'I'll write some lyrics, but you can't miss this deadline this time…' Daria stressed, knowing she would regret giving Trent another go. Though, the idea of acting as a creative party with Trent seemed to amuse her, as much as possible at least.
'Just make sure they're from your heart and make them inspired…' he rubbed his chin for a moment, deep in thought.
'So you thought all this up last night?' Daria asked.
'Something like that – I was suffering from writers block pretty bad and I kept thinking about life.'
'Same…' Daria's tone faded as her eyes dropped to the floor. Trent crossed the space from Daria's bed to her doorway.
'So make this your method of breaking out of the block,' he mused, his fingers twitching nervously as he examined Daria. He felt a few things come to mind, a few things he wanted to say and wanted to talk to Daria about, but found himself failing – failing really badly, actually.
'Thanks.'
'I haven't done anything yet,' Trent smirked, his voice giving a small rasp toward the end. The two remained a fair distance apart, neither wanting to properly invade the other's domain, not for the moment… not since the other day when they had been interrupted by Daria's mother. The nerves seemed far too raw to even be discussed, let alone dealt with. With this sentiment in mind, Daria walked over in hesitant attempts to see Trent out. Until, of course, he placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her, his eyes focused down into her own.
'It'll be my best work, I bet,' he said with a genial nod, leaning down to give her a kiss – but faltered halfway and remedied it with a ruffle of her hair, quickly turning to exit her room. He didn't know why he faltered, but he had. Daria remained in the room for a few moments before following after Trent practically lost in her thoughts. He supposed it was because it wasn't 'right'… Daria was worth more than a crazed groupie or guitar-toting Monique-esque musician… It'd take a little more than a casual kiss or two to get her attention, he knew it.
Helen watched pointedly as Trent left, once again gardening. Trent looked over to Helen as she poised a pair of garden hedge clippers and began hacking at a bush with a very loud swallow, quickly diving into his car and driving away. Something else told him he'd have to survive the parents who were probably not going to be wrapped knowing some 22-year-old was hitting on their 17-year-old daughter.
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