Chapter 4: Too Much Love Will Kill You
My Sick, Sad Life: Diary of a Misery Chick: September
September 3rd
Hey,
Things went better with Tom than they did with Trent, I think. Although I did find out about an interesting bit of his history. Apparently he accidentally knocked up a girl in college and she ended up having the kid. He pays child support, so I don't think he's a jerk or anything, but it sort of shook my image of him. Makes him seem less perfect, I suppose.
Anyway, I called Jane and talked to her about how things went with both of them. She was really pissed off at Trent, but I can't really blame him...he always was really emotional, and I think I overwhelmed him. Last night he called me up and said that he was sorry for running out on me and wanted to talk, but I was still pissed off and ended up being pretty cold to him. I should probably call and apologize, but I'm not quite sure I'm sorry enough for that yet.
Jane asked me if I wanted to move back in with her, but I figured I've encroached on her hospitality long enough. Besides, what I really need is to look at this from an uninvolved standpoint, and although Jane is a dear friend, her advice just can't be detached. Trent's her brother and she wants me for a sister-in-law and that's that. Consequently, I'm on my own. For now anyway. But, then, I've never had much of a problem with being alone, so I guess it's probably good for me.
And seeing as I used up one of my sick days at work for the first time yesterday, I'd really better get to the office before everybody thinks the end of the world has come.
Daria
Yawning, Daria shut off the computer. She wished she could have gotten more sleep last night, but she had stayed up until 2 A.M. making up her work, and then hadn't been able to get to sleep. After taking some melatonin she had slept fitfully until 6 A.M., when she woke up and simply couldn't lie still any longer. So she had gotten up and eaten breakfast and made an entry in her diary. She could just tell that today would be a long day at the office, though.
~~~~~~~~
Trent was once again sprawled on Jesse's guest bed, sleepless. At first he had planned on going to Myrna's, but once he had calmed down from the frenzied state he had been in following his discovery about Daria's pregnancy, he realized how that would look to Daria. Because he did want her back. Really, he did. Even if she was pregnant with Tom's kid. He had called her to apologize for running out on her. The conversation kept running through his mind, like a CD on repeat play.
"Hello?"
"Daria. It's me, Trent."
"Yes?" Her voice held no trace of emotion.
"I'm sorry."
"Yes?" She seemed to be waiting for more.
"For running out on you. My mind sort of...overloaded."
"Yes?"
She still seemed to be waiting, but he couldn't think of anything else to say, and he was getting impatient. "Dammit, Daria, is that all you have to say to me?"
"Yes."
I just set myself up for that one, Trent thought. He calmed himself down. "Will you forgive me?" He prayed that she wouldn't deviate from her pattern.
There was a pause. Trent wondered if God had even listened. Then, "No. Goodbye, Trent." Click.
And in that click, Trent heard and felt a portion of his heart being ripped from his body.
~~~~~~~~
Daria looked at her notes, then at her computer screen, then back at her notes. It figured. It was nearly lunchtime and she hadn't written a thing. Taking a deep breath of the filtered office air, she decided that she had better work late to make up for it. She let out her breath in a sigh. Wonderful. But at least it would keep her from returning home, to all the memories that awaited her there...
"Tough day?"
Daria whirled her chair around to face her office door. Eric, her friend and co-worker, was standing in the doorway, looking at her over the tops of his glasses. Tall and lanky, with pale, limp hair and no tan to speak of, he looked very much the part of the computer geek, which he actually was -- network administrator, to be more precise. For the most part he made sure that the computers stayed on speaking terms with each other, as well as fixing problems with individual computers. They had become friends over her first year here. Being the new employee, she had gotten a very temperamental machine.
Daria sighed and turned off her screen. "Hey, Eric."
Eric smiled. "Hey. I was worried about you yesterday. I thought maybe the end of the world had come already."
Thinking of something she had written in her diary earlier, Daria smirked. He often shared the same thought patterns as her and Jane. Come to think of it, she had been meaning to introduce the two of them... "Not quite yet. But I have it from a reliable source that it may be soon."
Eric lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Then you'd better accept my lunch invitation, because there may not be many more left for you to enjoy."
If Eric had been any other guy, Daria would probably have refused. Male companionship was probably the last thing she wanted right now. However, Eric was gay, not to mention a good friend of hers, so she got up. "Well, it's not like I was doing much anyway. I seem to have a bad case of writer's block."
"Cheer up. It's the best cure for writer's cramp. Or carpal tunnel, in this day and age." Eric followed her out the door and they left the office.
"Neither of which I am suffering at the moment, thank you." Daria went through the door that Eric held open for her, and they went out into the brisk fall air, headed for their favorite deli.
After getting their sandwiches while Daria grabbed a table, Eric looked at her. "Are you ready to tell me what's wrong yet?"
"Wrong?" Daria looked at him with what she hoped was a questioning look.
Eric started ticking points off his fingers. "For the past couple of weeks, you've been looking pale and kind of sick. You looked like you were having a dizzy spell early last Friday; I was afraid I would have to run and catch you before you fell. You took the day off yesterday, something you haven't done since you started work here. You weren't doing much today, also something I can realistically claim you've never done in your entire career. And today you didn't even make any sarcastic remarks about how I held the door for you, or got your sandwich for you. You're most definitely not yourself."
Daria almost laughed. "Eric, you amaze me sometimes. For a gay guy, you sure pay a lot of attention to women."
He took her seriously, as usual. "Only to my friends. So, what's wrong?"
Daria took a bite of her sandwich to avoid answering right away. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell him about her love life. Wouldn't he think she was being silly and shallow? But then, he could probably give her the uninvolved advice she had been looking for. "Well, it's about a guy. Two guys, actually."
"Ah." Eric chuckled. "I can identify with this."
Daria did laugh quietly at that. "I'm sure." He didn't seem to think she was being silly, so she proceeded to tell him her story. He seemed a little surprised when she told him about her pregnancy, but he didn't seem to think her problems were trivial. "So right now," she finished, "you, Jane, Tom, and Trent are the only ones who know I'm pregnant. And I have no clue where to go from here."
"Hm." Her friend looked thoughtful. "You say you love them both?"
"Yeah."
"And they both love you?"
"Well, I think so. Although things are kind of different with each of them. Tom, now he's sweet, but he's very intellectual, and likes to think things through. It's what makes him a good businessman. Whereas Trent is very emotional, and has a tendency to let his heart rule his head, to use an old phrase. Being an intellectual myself, I get along really well with Tom, but Trent sort of balances me out. Except I'm beginning to think we're too different." Her expression became chagrined. "I'm sorry, I feel like I'm going in circles here. Is this making any sense?"
Eric nodded. "Would you like my advice?"
Daria shrugged. "It can't mess things up any further than they already are."
Eric tilted his head, as if trying to look at her from a different perspective. "You are letting your head rule over your heart too much. Instead of over-analyzing things, you should just let yourself be. Your heart knows what it wants; it always does. You just need to listen to it. Take some time and don't rush yourself. Eventually, you will know what to do.
Daria considered for a moment. "Maybe you're right." She repeated herself softly, thinking it over. "Maybe you're right."
~~~~~~~~
Getting home late that evening, Daria put her purse down and locked the door. She wasn't sure what exactly she had planned, but she had decided she might as well try following her friend's advice.
She turned on the radio, which was still on one of Trent's favorite classic rock stations. Turning the lights off, she sat down on the couch, closed her eyes, and just let her mind wander for a while, until the lyrics of a song caught her attention.
Too much love will kill you
If you can't make up your mind
Torn between the lover
And the love you leave behind
You're headed for disaster
'Cause you never read the signs
Too much love will kill you
Every time
I'm just a shadow of the man I used to be
And it seems like there's no way out of this for me
I used to bring you sunshine
Now all I ever do is bring you down
How would it be if you were standing in my shoes?
Can't you see that it's impossible to choose?
Oh there's no making sense of it
Everywhere I go I'm bound to lose
Too much love will kill you
Just as sure as none at all
It'll drain the power that's in you
Make you plead and scream and crawl
And the pain will make you crazy
You're the victim of your crime
Too much love will kill you
Every time
As the music went into an instrumental break, Daria abruptly opened her eyes as a stab of pain shot through her midsection. Damn cramps, she thought, flipping the lights back on and getting up to grab an aspirin.
~~~~~~~~
"Hello?"
"Hey, Myrna."
"Hi Trent! What's going on?"
"My wife is pregnant."
"Really? That's great!"
"It's not mine."
"Oh..." Silence for a moment. "Trent, I'm sorry." She sounded sympathetic.
"And when she told me, I ran out on her."
"Did you apologize?"
"I tried to. She wouldn't accept it."
"Oh," was all she said.
"Can I stay with you for a while?"
Another silent moment. "Would your wife mind?"
"She doesn't want me back."
"Did she say that?"
"Um..." Trent thought for a moment. "Not in so many words, but she made it pretty clear."
"When did she tell you this?"
"Over the phone last night."
"Not in person?"
"No..." Trent was confused. Where was Myrna going with this?
"Trent, can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"Do you still love her?"
"Well, yes."
"Do you want her back?"
"Yeah, I guess I do."
"Well, let me tell you something. Unless she tells you, face-to-face, that she does not want to see you again, there's still a chance she will forgive you. And if you truly love her, you should do everything you can to get her back. Otherwise I'll just become an escape for you. I know this from experience."
Experience? "Hm. Maybe you're right."
"Go and talk to her. Face to face. Tell her how you feel. And then, if she tells you straight out that she doesn't want to see you again, you can come over here and I'll do my best to help and comfort you."
"Thanks, Myrna, but...why are you telling me this?"
"Call me a hopeless romantic. If you're in love with her, and there's a chance she still loves you, it shouldn't go to waste. True love is a rare thing."
~~~~~~~~
Trent gripped the steering wheel of his car. This wasn't going to be easy, he knew that much. But Myrna was right. It had to be done. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she could still love him. And if she rejected him...well, he'd deal with that if it happened.
He pulled into the driveway of their house and killed the engine. He had no clue what he was going to say, but he certainly hoped he could sort out his thoughts in time to verbalize them.
Sliding his key into the lock and opening the door, he called her name. "Daria?"
No answer.
He came in and closed the door behind himself. "Daria?" he called again. "I need to talk to you."
Still no answer. Only the noise of the radio softly playing one of his favorite stations.
Trent was becoming a little alarmed. Where was she? At first he thought she wasn't home, but it wasn't like her to leave the lights and radio on. "Daria?!" he called again, this time more than a little frantically.
"Trent..." It was a nearly inaudible sound, but somehow he heard it.
Suddenly, his feet felt like they had weights lifted from them, and he sprinted across the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen, where he saw Daria collapsed and lying on the floor...in a pool of blood.
"Daria!" Time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time. He ran to the kitchen phone and dialed nine-one-one. "I need an ambulance at this address quickly! My wife's bleeding to death!" he yelled, before reeling off their address and slamming the receiver down. He got down on his knees next to her then and grabbed her hand. "Daria, I'm sorry...I should never have left you..."
"Trent." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "You came back for me."
"Oh, God, Daria, I'll never forgive myself."
"Trent..." Her voice was becoming even fainter. Trent had to put his ear close to her face to hear. "I...love you. Always...have."
Then her eyelids fluttered and she lost consciousness.
~~~~~~~~
It had been an extraordinarily long night.
Trent sat in the chair in the hospital waiting room, eyes closed, head in hands, half asleep yet unable to lose himself fully to the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness. Daria had regained consciousness finally, but she had miscarried again, hemmoraged, and lost a lot of blood in the process. The doctors had told him that her best hope was a blood transfusion, but she had O type blood, which was the hardest kind to match.
He had sat through most of the night with her, watching the machines monitor her vital signs. Sometimes he had talked to her, apologizing for his behavior, or just about whatever was going on. At other times, he had simply sat there in silence, listening to the beep of the ICU, watching her face for any signs of wakefulness. When she had finally woken up, though, she had weakly asked him to wait outside. Trent had the feeling she didn't like to have him see her like that.
A familiar voice penetrated the fog that surrounded his brain just then. "I don't care if she said no visitors, dammit! I'm her sister-in-law and her best friend and she can go stick her "no visitors" up her--"
"I'd like to see her too," said a less familiar voice, effectively cutting Jane off. "I'm her...close friend."
Trent frowned mentally. He knew that voice, somehow...but didn't he know all of Daria's friends...?
"Wait a minute. You're Jane Lane?" Trent heard the nurse's voice then. "She said you could see her. I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait here."
The other voice sighed, defeated. "All right." Trent heard him sit down in a chair across the room.
Suddenly it clicked. That was Tom. The bastard who had caused all this was sitting across the room from him. How could he have the nerve to show up here, after what he had done? Trent moved his fingers apart slightly, enough to see through them. It was hard to believe, not having seen him for years, but there was an older version of Tom Sloane sitting in a chair, flipping absent-mindedly through a magazine.
Trent got up and walked over to where he was sitting, not sure what he was going to say or do. "Tom."
Tom looked up at him. "Yes. May I help you?"
Then Trent did something totally out of character.
He punched Tom.
He wasn't sure how it happened, but all of a sudden he felt a surge of energy and his fist connecting with Tom's face. There was a cracking sound and Tom's nose was suddenly bleeding. Tom looked up at him with confusion and more than a little hostility. "I'm sorry, have we met?"
Part of Trent was amazed that he was capable of this, but most of him was beyond the reach of rational thought. Things were out of control, and he needed a scapegoat. Feeling more anger and adrenaline surge through him, Trent grabbed the lapels of Tom's expensive business suit and hauled him to his feet. "HOW could you DO this to MY WIFE?!" he yelled, shaking him for emphasis.
Tom pushed him away and swung at him, connecting with the side of his head. Trent kneed him in the stomach, and from there things degenerated into a brawl where all he knew was that he wanted to get his hands around Tom's neck and squeeze or claw or bite or severely hurt him--
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" he heard another voice yell.
Abruptly Trent came to his senses. He picked himself up off the carpet, all thoughts of the fight or Tom leaving him. "Janey?" Trent said urgently, going over to her. She looked pale, like she had been crying. "How is she? Is she okay? What's going on?"
Jane looked at him, fresh tears in her eyes. She suddenly wrapped her arms
around him, sobbing quietly into his shirt. As one, he and Tom looked from
her weeping form to the grim-faced doctor standing in the doorway.