--Trent--
Trent jerked awake, rudely freed from sleep by heavy pounding on his bedroom door. He collapsed against his bed, groaning in frustration. It was too early to be dealing with this, no matter what time it was.
"Dammit, Janey, tell them I'll be there later."
His door opened, and he turned his head to glare up at his sister. He flushed guiltily when he saw it was Daria. Then he sat up, frowning. Daria's face was drawn with tightly controlled grief, and the expression set warning bells off in Trent's head.
"Daria?"
Her jaw clenched for a moment before she spoke. "Jane's in the hospital."
Trent shot up off his bed. Fear streaked through him, and his chest constricted tightly. "What? Where? What happened?" He stumbled over the mess in his room, searching for his boots and his keys.
Daria opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead her face twisted into a grimace of pain. She closed her mouth and shook her head. He could see her struggling against tears. He found his keys--tucked inside his boots--picked both up and headed for his car. Daria followed, sliding into the passenger seat instead of her parent's car. Whoever had driven her followed him as he shot through traffic, easily keeping up.
He wanted desperately to know what happened, but he knew that even if Daria tried to tell him, chances were he wouldn't understand through the tears. Fear pounded in his veins, cold and unstoppable. His mind turned up image after image of Jane, going through every possible scenario, from the mundane to the most horrific.
"Is she alive?" He had to know.
"Yes." The answer was strangled.
"Is she in danger of dying?"
"N-not any--" Daria paused. He didn't take his eyes off the road, but he could hear her gasping, obviously fighting tears again. And failing.
Trent pulled up to the hospital, parking in the first available spot. Inside he was led to a room.
Jane was hooked up to monitors and devices Trent couldn't even begin to image the purpose of. What he could see of her was bruised and cut. Her eyes were closed, and her eyelashes fluttered uneasily against her cheeks. Trent gripped the bars on the side of her bed, choking back sobs of his own. He didn't know where Daria was and didn't care.
"Excuse me. Are you Trent Lane?"
Trent turned. An older man in a white coat stood next to him.
"Yeah. Who are you?"
"I'm Dr. Morrisson. I'm Ms. Lane's doctor."
Trent ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. He had to calm down. Had to get the fear to go away. He needed to think clearly. Jane needed him, more than she had ever before. He had to get it together. It wasn't coming. His thoughts were scattered, like hens when the fox is finally noticed. Trent squeezed his eyes closed tighter. 'Get it together, man.'
"Mr. Lane?"
His eyes snapped opened. "Yeah? What?"
"Are you Ms. Lane's guardian?"
"Well, I mean, our parents, but they're..." Where they hell were they? 'Dammit, Trent. Focus.'
Daria stepped in then, her gaze cool, her demeanor the calm he was trying for. "Their parents are out of the country and often hard to find. Trent is the closest you are going to get for a guardian."
Ill-concealed disdain laced her voice. Trent blenched, stung. He was trying his best. He just needed a little time. This was his little sister here. God knew what had happened to her. Did they really expect him to not be affected by this?
The doctor regarded Trent closely. He frowned, wrinkles forming on his forehead and around his eyes. He turned back to Daria, lowering his voice, but not enough to keep Trent from hearing.
"I think you should try to get a hold of them. Is there anyone else we could try to contact?"
Daria looked thoughtful. "She has two older sisters and another older brother. They'd probably be better than Trent. Although I don't know how I can get a hold of them either."
Trent felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. Daria didn't trust him to take care of Jane? Didn't she know how much Janey meant to him? He'd practically raised her for crying out loud!
"Hey!" he growled angrily, fisting his hands by his sides. "I can take care of her!"
Both Daria and the doctor turned ice-cold looks on him. Daria raised an eyebrow.
"You?" she snorted. "You can't even take care of yourself, Trent. You're twenty-five, living in your parents' house, no job, and wasted dreams." She laughed, the sound hard and mocking. "Look at yourself, Trent. You're wearing the same clothes you wore two days ago. She needs someone responsible." Daria snorted again, looking at him contemptuously. "You'd probably kill her."
Trent reeled. His mouth opened and closed uselessly. It hurt, almost as badly as seeing Jane lying there. He could take of Jane, he could. He had when she was little...but there was a ring of truth in Daria's words. One that he couldn't ignore. He watched, helpless, always fucking helpless, as Jane slipped from his fingers and was buried beneath tubes and wires. He reached out to her, calling her name. Tears stung his eyes, and his chest heaved.
"Janey!"
Icy water splashed down across his chest and lap, causing Trent to jerk upright, gasping in shock.
"What the hell--"
Jane stood at the end of the couch, a smirk curving her lips, an empty glass held in one hand.
"Sorry, Trent." She smiled widely, everything in her voice and body language contradicting the apology. Trent growled under his breath and pulled off his shirt, wiping at the dampness left on his skin.
"That was fucking cold, Janey."
"Like I said, sorry."
He rolled his eyes and stood up to go change. He paused before he reached the stairs though and turned to face Jane.
"Jane?"
"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow at him. It was rare that he called her Jane.
He fidgeted with his shirt. "You know...you know that I'll take care of you, right?" He looked up at her, his expression pleading and slightly melancholy. "I mean like if something serious ever happened. You know that, right?"
Jane blinked, the amusement fading. "Trent?" she asked, uncertain.
He sighed. "I just--I wanted you to know that I'll be here, Janey. I'll always take care of you. I mean it."
She smiled at him suddenly, looking like she was six again. "I know, Trent." Her tone became teasing. "Of course, I take better care of you."
Trent chuckled. "That you do, Janey. That you do."
~~~~~~~~~~
blanch--to pale
blench--to pull back; to wince
See what you learn when you read the dictionary?
Trent jerked awake, rudely freed from sleep by heavy pounding on his bedroom door. He collapsed against his bed, groaning in frustration. It was too early to be dealing with this, no matter what time it was.
"Dammit, Janey, tell them I'll be there later."
His door opened, and he turned his head to glare up at his sister. He flushed guiltily when he saw it was Daria. Then he sat up, frowning. Daria's face was drawn with tightly controlled grief, and the expression set warning bells off in Trent's head.
"Daria?"
Her jaw clenched for a moment before she spoke. "Jane's in the hospital."
Trent shot up off his bed. Fear streaked through him, and his chest constricted tightly. "What? Where? What happened?" He stumbled over the mess in his room, searching for his boots and his keys.
Daria opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead her face twisted into a grimace of pain. She closed her mouth and shook her head. He could see her struggling against tears. He found his keys--tucked inside his boots--picked both up and headed for his car. Daria followed, sliding into the passenger seat instead of her parent's car. Whoever had driven her followed him as he shot through traffic, easily keeping up.
He wanted desperately to know what happened, but he knew that even if Daria tried to tell him, chances were he wouldn't understand through the tears. Fear pounded in his veins, cold and unstoppable. His mind turned up image after image of Jane, going through every possible scenario, from the mundane to the most horrific.
"Is she alive?" He had to know.
"Yes." The answer was strangled.
"Is she in danger of dying?"
"N-not any--" Daria paused. He didn't take his eyes off the road, but he could hear her gasping, obviously fighting tears again. And failing.
Trent pulled up to the hospital, parking in the first available spot. Inside he was led to a room.
Jane was hooked up to monitors and devices Trent couldn't even begin to image the purpose of. What he could see of her was bruised and cut. Her eyes were closed, and her eyelashes fluttered uneasily against her cheeks. Trent gripped the bars on the side of her bed, choking back sobs of his own. He didn't know where Daria was and didn't care.
"Excuse me. Are you Trent Lane?"
Trent turned. An older man in a white coat stood next to him.
"Yeah. Who are you?"
"I'm Dr. Morrisson. I'm Ms. Lane's doctor."
Trent ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. He had to calm down. Had to get the fear to go away. He needed to think clearly. Jane needed him, more than she had ever before. He had to get it together. It wasn't coming. His thoughts were scattered, like hens when the fox is finally noticed. Trent squeezed his eyes closed tighter. 'Get it together, man.'
"Mr. Lane?"
His eyes snapped opened. "Yeah? What?"
"Are you Ms. Lane's guardian?"
"Well, I mean, our parents, but they're..." Where they hell were they? 'Dammit, Trent. Focus.'
Daria stepped in then, her gaze cool, her demeanor the calm he was trying for. "Their parents are out of the country and often hard to find. Trent is the closest you are going to get for a guardian."
Ill-concealed disdain laced her voice. Trent blenched, stung. He was trying his best. He just needed a little time. This was his little sister here. God knew what had happened to her. Did they really expect him to not be affected by this?
The doctor regarded Trent closely. He frowned, wrinkles forming on his forehead and around his eyes. He turned back to Daria, lowering his voice, but not enough to keep Trent from hearing.
"I think you should try to get a hold of them. Is there anyone else we could try to contact?"
Daria looked thoughtful. "She has two older sisters and another older brother. They'd probably be better than Trent. Although I don't know how I can get a hold of them either."
Trent felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. Daria didn't trust him to take care of Jane? Didn't she know how much Janey meant to him? He'd practically raised her for crying out loud!
"Hey!" he growled angrily, fisting his hands by his sides. "I can take care of her!"
Both Daria and the doctor turned ice-cold looks on him. Daria raised an eyebrow.
"You?" she snorted. "You can't even take care of yourself, Trent. You're twenty-five, living in your parents' house, no job, and wasted dreams." She laughed, the sound hard and mocking. "Look at yourself, Trent. You're wearing the same clothes you wore two days ago. She needs someone responsible." Daria snorted again, looking at him contemptuously. "You'd probably kill her."
Trent reeled. His mouth opened and closed uselessly. It hurt, almost as badly as seeing Jane lying there. He could take of Jane, he could. He had when she was little...but there was a ring of truth in Daria's words. One that he couldn't ignore. He watched, helpless, always fucking helpless, as Jane slipped from his fingers and was buried beneath tubes and wires. He reached out to her, calling her name. Tears stung his eyes, and his chest heaved.
"Janey!"
Icy water splashed down across his chest and lap, causing Trent to jerk upright, gasping in shock.
"What the hell--"
Jane stood at the end of the couch, a smirk curving her lips, an empty glass held in one hand.
"Sorry, Trent." She smiled widely, everything in her voice and body language contradicting the apology. Trent growled under his breath and pulled off his shirt, wiping at the dampness left on his skin.
"That was fucking cold, Janey."
"Like I said, sorry."
He rolled his eyes and stood up to go change. He paused before he reached the stairs though and turned to face Jane.
"Jane?"
"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow at him. It was rare that he called her Jane.
He fidgeted with his shirt. "You know...you know that I'll take care of you, right?" He looked up at her, his expression pleading and slightly melancholy. "I mean like if something serious ever happened. You know that, right?"
Jane blinked, the amusement fading. "Trent?" she asked, uncertain.
He sighed. "I just--I wanted you to know that I'll be here, Janey. I'll always take care of you. I mean it."
She smiled at him suddenly, looking like she was six again. "I know, Trent." Her tone became teasing. "Of course, I take better care of you."
Trent chuckled. "That you do, Janey. That you do."
~~~~~~~~~~
blanch--to pale
blench--to pull back; to wince
See what you learn when you read the dictionary?