Chapter Seven
By Sinclair
Standard Disclaimers Apply
"Darien!" she called, laughing and smiling, her jubilance affecting him, making him feel the sun not only warm his shoulders and back, but also fill his veins with potent power, power that made him feel invulnerable to the hurt of the world. She tripped along the sand, and he could sense the purity of her joy, the innocence and the simplicity of her emotions and feelings. He could see it in her smile; and he could read it in her blue eyes, eyes not the sad somber blue of his, but the bright carefree blue of a clear sky.
And as she approached him, he could forget where he was; he could forget the smell of the sea air, the feel of the cold salty water lapping around his ankles. When she wrapped her soft lithe arms around him, he could even close his eyes and forget the past. This was the here and now.
"Darien," she said, snuggling into his body, searching for warmth to ease the chill of the water at her feet. "Don't be sad anymore."
Startled he opened his eyes, which had closed of their own accord to enjoy the feel of her arms around him better. The two stood at the edge of the world, the water moving around them gently and hypnotically.
"Serena." Confusion etched his face, and he gripped her upper arms in concern. She was smiling at him so sweetly, so lovingly. But the words she had said - how did she ever know?
"I'm always going to be here for you. We'll be together, always," she promised as she smiled at him, brushing the hair from his eyes with one hand, all the while holding him close with her other arm.
"Believe me. From this moment, I'm going to be right here for you, and everything is going to be okay." She turned them towards the horizon, where the dark sea met the sunny skies. "You can believe in me, Darien, because I'll never let you go."
He did believe her, and they were happy - for a time.
And then there came that time when he had stopped believing.
"Was that so long ago?" he mumbled to himself confused, half whispering into his hands, his tired ashen face lined with worry and regret. Hunched over in his seat on the couch, he felt like a little child again, as though the couch could swallow his small form, leaving him feeling so alone and empty again; like in the ocean, he thought, ready to swallow up everything and everyone in his life.
Just then, he felt a hesitant hand touch his shoulder lightly, and he looked up startled, forgetting for a slight moment where he was. Lita's large green eyes, swimming dangerously with a mixture of what were undecipherable emotions to him, peered into his dark blue eyes intently. "Darien," she said, her voice low and thick from hours of holding back tears, "you've been sitting there mumbling for the past half hour." He stared back at her, not registering the words she was making with her mouth. "I wanted to know if you wanted to see her now? She's up," she finished curtly, moving away from him to lead him to the room.
He nodded stupidly, his head feeling strangely heavy as he stood slowly from his seat. Andrew who had been sitting across from him nodded, giving him an encouraging smile. He tried to smile back, but his lips and face felt numb and he couldn't form the expression. God, he felt so scared.
His feet moved automatically, moving one right after the other, despite the tremor that ran throughout his body. He breathed in deeply, the air catching in his throat, and he closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves as he approached the doorway at the end of the hall. He pushed it open and stepped in.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Lita who had been waiting at the end of the hall moved wearily to the sofa and fell into it. She rubbed her temple, opening one eye beneath her hand warily to see Andrew studying her all the while from across the coffee table.
"Don't start on me Andrew," she said warningly, speaking before he had a chance. "It's already been tough," she said closing her eyes again, her expression growing angry. "I told you I didn't want Darien here," she said through clenched teeth, waving her hand around her apartment. "I don't think Serena should see him so soon." Now she wished that she hadn't called Andrew the other day to inform him of the 'incident' that had occurred the week before.
"Don't be too hard on the guy, Lita," Andrew said after a moment, forcing himself to look away from her, staring out the window unseeingly instead. "He's pretty shaken up by this, ya know. He – he really cares about her." He hesitated at those words, unwilling to say anything more on that subject, remembering his own conversation with Darien earlier.
"Doesn't he know?" she asked suddenly, startling Andrew from his thoughts. He gazed back at her, the confusion and question evident in his light blue eyes. He ran his hand through his hair, a habit he had picked up from being around his best friend so often, at which Lita narrowed her eyes menacingly. "Dammit! Doesn't he?" she repeated fiercely, pushing the matter.
"If you mean, does he know why she did it, then I'm not sure. Hell, who even knows why she really did it. Either way, he can be a little – dense sometimes," he replied, smiling wryly at his choice of words, at what he thought was an understatement. Sighing, the corners of his mouth pulled downwards. "Maybe I shouldn't have brought him here," he said, rubbing his hands over his face.
There was so much more she wanted to say, so much more fear-induced anger she wanted to vent, but at the sight of the ever-indomitable Andrew in despair, she balked, her heart breaking at the strangely disturbing sight. She reached over and put her hand on his knee gently. "No," she said, trying to control her emotions, "you were right. I – I guess I'm just so upset, that I blamed him. But, no - it's not his fault." She winced then, because she remembered how he had shown up at her door; and how she had immediately blown up in his face, telling him to leave, telling him that it was his entire fault. "God," she whispered, finally burying her face in her hands and breaking down, not even sure exactly who she was crying for anymore.
Andrew was at her side at once, pulling her into his arms, and holding her as she bawled into his shirtfront. "It's okay, Lita. Everything will turn out fine," he said soothingly, repeatedly murmuring comforting words. He had been trying to stay calm the entire wait, for Darien's sake, and for Lita's as well; but now, he could not help the tears that coursed down his own cheeks, silently weeping, the beautiful brown hair girl he had always adored in his arms. "Don't cry, please, Lita," he whispered.
But she couldn't stop. She hated this feeling, the feeling of waiting for the inevitable ending, because this was by no means, the end of the matter.
A sigh echoed in the darkness, and he waited for his eyes to adjust. Slivers of light broke free from the cracks in the blind, creating a hazy dream-like atmosphere around him, making him feel even more strange, making him feel as though none of this were happening. When he could finally see more clearly, he slowly made his way to the side of the bed where Lita apparently had placed a small wooden stool.
"Serena - "
He meant to be strong, to sound confident; in the long hours of sitting and waiting in the living room, all he could think of was Serena, what he would say, how he would react when he saw her. He had been working so hard to control his voice, to control his emotions, but already at the first word, his voice broke, and he shuddered at the sound.
The figure beneath all the layers of the thick blankets moved slightly at the sound as well, freezing suddenly. At just that slight movement, Darien felt his legs give way, and he slumped into the stool, his head immediately falling into his hands, struggling not to cry right then and there.
She struggled against the blankets caught in the silent movements and silent sound, trying to move them out of the way, but they felt like bricks on her frail body. Her head still hurt, but the warmth of the room and the many covers eased the shivers that had racked her earlier. How long had it been since Lita had brought her home from the hospital? She struggled, too, with the blanket that had been cast over her mind, making her feel as though she were losing her sanity. She almost laughed aloud then, almost proving to herself that she had lost her mind. She could not believe that it had come to this.
Feeling weak and tired, she struggled to sit up, finally catching Darien's attention. Immediately, he leapt from the chair, his energy renewed by the sight of her. He didn't even notice the pale illumination of her skin, nor the pinched cheeks and dulled eyes. He only thought how she could be beautiful even when death lay perfectly still at her feet, waiting for its master's command.
Helping her to a sitting position, he savored the feel of her body in his arms, relishing in the feel of her cool skin against his own, his veins pulsing erratically in fear and shame, as he lowered his head.
"Darien," she whispered, the name cracking between her dry parched lips, prompting Darien to lift his guilty gaze to meet hers. She looked up at him with her large luminous eyes, even as the life began to gently seep back into the blue of the sky, the sight of her only love keeping death at bay for moments longer.
She smiled then, a beautifully pure smile, one absolutely devoid of any loathing, and Darien could not for the life of him smile back. He stared at her disbelievingly. How could she be smiling at him, he thought, the guilt tearing at his soul.
She gazed at him lovingly, too tired to hold back her real thoughts and feelings. She could tell what he was thinking at that moment, just as she had always been able to do. Her thoughts blackened slightly as she remembered that sometimes what she knew only hurt her. Shaking her head ever so lightly, so as not to trigger the pain that throbbed at the base of her skull, she reached for Darien's hand. Mirth shone in her eyes again, as she held his hand, noting how he seemed shocked at the touch, their connection, at even her ability to smile.
"It's nice to see you, Darien," she said politely, her voice still small and uneven. He nodded, swallowing hard the pain that rose in his throat, unable to answer. She lay there, fragile and small, and he stood above her, like a crumbling tower; neither said a word as the silence grew oppressive.
And then - "Why?"
Startled, Serena lifted her head abruptly, now feeling the pain in her head that she had been trying to avoid. "What-?" If there was a single prayer she lifted to the heavens, she had hoped –no wished, that he would not ask her this.
"Why did you try to leave?" he chocked out finally. Unknowingly, he pressed closer to her, trying to read her expression, see into her soul, even as his own tears created a mist that he could barely see through.
Silent tears streaked down her own face, though her face held no discernable reaction. "I didn't leave," she said quietly, letting go of his hand. He stared down at the blanket, breathing harshly.
"You did!" he spoke roughly, his chest heaving at the pending sobs threatening to break free. "I remember there was a time, when you said that you wouldn't leave!" He felt out of control, knowing how childish he sounded, knowing that he was no better than what he had been as a child, knowing that he had never improved.
"God," he whispered, not even waiting for an answer as he read the stricken look on her otherwise silent face. He stood up abruptly, almost jarring Serena from the action. He paced the length of the floor like a madman, his hand brushing violently through his hair. His soft beautiful black hair, Serena thought to herself despairingly, feeling familiar emotions rushing through her veins as she gazed at his hands wistfully. To feel him again, holding her close, she thought, closing her eyes.
"What dreams are made of," she whispered. But in dreams only, she amended to herself.
"What?" he turned to her, startled to hear her speak. But she had spoken too quietly for him to catch those words. He edged closer to her, the half-crazed look gone from his face, though pain still lingered upon his knitted brows. She opened her eyes to smile at him again, a sweet half-smile, almost lazy in its innocence, and he pulled back as though he had been shocked. He moved away, not seeing the pain flit fleetingly through her eyes.
"You always forgave too easily," he said, quietly. It was her turn to wonder at his words. What did he mean? Her eyes bore into his back intently, as he turned from her, to move to the blinds. "It's dark in here," he then said indifferently. Without waiting for an agreement, he pulled the blinds, drawing the morning sun into the room, as it swept through the room, purging the dreariness that clung to space, touching even the darkest shadows that lurked at the corners.
She squinted at the harshness of the light, but she didn't care. She let it wash over her, feeling the heat on her skin instantly. Looking towards him now, it was difficult to read his expressions, because the light silhouetted him from behind.
"Darien," she called, hesitantly, as though he were far away from her, as though she were afraid that she would be lost in the light. He came to her at once, seating himself in the chair, pulling it closer to her. Somehow the warmth of the sun, and the absence of the dark dreariness that had penetrated the room earlier, gave him courage.
"I'm sorry," she said, with such quiet finesse, that only she could pull off because she was always so sincere, so loving and forgiving. He shook his head violently, and her face turned sorrowful, that he would not accept her apology.
"No," he said, his voice cracking again, and he closed his eyes for the feel of the sun again, wishing for that potent power that he felt so long ago with the bright girl before him. "Don't say that, Serena, please," he said, his voice growing with quiet strength. He bowed his head in repentance. "It's –it's all my fault." There was no mistaking the misery and dejection in his tone.
Her eyes grew large, as she tried to understand what he was saying. As much as it hurt and shamed her, she went through the events of the last couple weeks through her head. Nowhere could she herself place any blame on his head. She had been the fool, the unthinking idiot who had gone and dragged along everyone else to suffer with her, she thought remorsefully, thinking of the two who were now waiting patiently in the living room. Just as violently she shook her head, now welcoming the pain that throbbed in her skull.
"Stop it, Darien! Stop blaming yourself for everything!" she cried, her throat aching and protesting at the sudden outburst. "You didn't make me do anything," she added, in a more subdued voice, the sadness tinting the edges of her eyes, eyes that had once been the color of a clear blue sky, Darien remembered thinking at one time. "Besides, things change, don't they?" she asked plaintively, though her voice tried to remain light and cheerful. "And people change. What people say so long ago, they can't always be true to the end." Her voice wavered dangerously, and she stopped speaking.
He regarded her in silence, confusion marring his features. He knew that what had happened (he refused to acknowledge that she had indeed tried to take her own life) had to do with what he had done to her. He was an idiot for not having seen it earlier, but he could see it now unequivocally. He had been – well he had been worse than what Andrew had accused him of being.
"Serena," he began again, noticing how she seemed so drained. He had no desire to strain her at a time like this, but he had to know; he had to know if Andrew had been right all along. "Please," he said, his voice pleading with hers, "please tell me why?" He knew he was pushing too soon, but he felt he had no choice.
Sighing, Serena fell back against the pillows. "You know," she began conversationally, as though she did not hear his question. "I loved you the day I saw you in that hospital room all those years ago," she said quietly, her eyes trained only on her fingers, as they fiddled with the blanket absently. "And – I just never stopped." She closed her eyes, her fingers stopping their motion.
Darien drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm himself, as he too closed his eyes. Did he ever doubt in that love? He must have at one point, he thought to himself. But Raye – he loved Raye. . . didn't he?
"Serena," he began, trying to form the thoughts as they came to him.
"Don't, Darien." She cut him off, her eyes still closed, her voice low. She knew what she would say; she had all the time in the world to think after all, and perhaps that was a dangerous thing for someone like her. But her voice sounded heavy and increasingly more tired, and he was alarmed at the sudden drain in energy. "Of course, there's Raye," she said, her voice grew smaller, though there was not even a trace of malice in her voice. "But I think – I honestly think that before you love anyone, you need to love yourself most of all. Because otherwise, Darien," she said, her voice urgent at the same time impossible low, "you can't love at all." Despite her world-weary tone, she lay there peacefully, as though she would close her eyes and never wake again.
Tears burned at his eyes as he listened to her words, and it pierced his heart, making him shake almost uncontrollably. To hear it from her hurt the most. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, again.
"I'm sorry, Darien," she said, her voice struggling to maintain an audible level. "Would you mind closing the blinds? I'm awfully tired…" The words drifted as her breathing grew slower.
He moved automatically, like a robot, though his heart began to pound wildly in his chest, threatening to burst. The darkness cut the sunlight from the room, and he felt it settle around him, suffocating him, making it hard for him to breathe. He grew frightened at how still Serena seemed to grow by the second, standing by her side in the darkness, afraid that the rhythmic, hypnotic rate of her breathing would cease altogether. With the tears now burning streaks unchecked down his cheeks and the occasional sob breaking free from him in shuddering racks, he clenched his hands to curb the cold tremor that ran through him.
". . .you can't love at all. . ."
It was a long while that he stood alone in the darkness before he turned towards the door.
The door opened slowly, creaking gratingly on the hinges, as the ominous note of finality hung precariously in the air. At the sound Andrew looked up from his seat. He watched as Darien stepped out, as though in a trance, his head lowered, his eyes shaded. When he reached the edge of the room, he looked up, his eyes bloodshot, his lip trembling in the slightest.
"Where's Lita?" he asked quietly, hating how the silence had to fill the room, as it filled his heart. But he only vaguely noted Lita's absence from the room, not even really caring.
"Darien! What's wrong?" Andrew shot up from his chair, knowing that something had gone wrong.
"I – I'm a little tired, myself," Darien said, looking everywhere but not anywhere in particular, his hand in his hair again. He avoided Andrew's concerned eyes.
"Darien," Andrew began, his voice low and quiet. Darien held up his hand, nodding as though he had heard it all before, his eyes trained on the floor. Ignoring what he knew to be a sign, a plea, for solitude, Andrew moved to Darien, placing his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.
Darien stiffened, and pulling away.
"C'mon, Dare," Andrew said coaxingly, his own eyes pained at the sight of his friend's agony.
Darien suddenly made a strange choking sound. "God," he breathed finally, as his face broke into one of anguish again, his resolve to remain stoic in front of another crumbling utterly. "She – she said – oh god, what if she doesn't make it -" He broke off, unable to finish the thought, as though voicing it would make it real. He only felt the hopelessness wash over him, feeling like a child again. Andrew put his arms around his best friend of so many years, and did what he always did when they were children. He let him cry.