Aftershocks

Jane woke slowly. The insistent drumming she heard made her think the Spiral were practicing again, but the shaft of sunlight peeking around the curtain told her there was no way they would be awake, much less able to function. She concluded that the drumming was in fact, a pounding headache. The addition of a fuzzy metallic taste in her mouth added to the evidence the problem was her and not the result of a practice gone late, which roused the hazy memories of the previous night. Bit by bit, images swam into coherent order.

The doorbell rang. Jane knew who was on the other side and glared at the paint chipped interior of the front door.

"Jane?" Daria called. "Jane, please open the door. We have to talk about this."

There's nothing to talk about you…you backstabber! You were my friend, my best friend! My only friend. How could you, Daria? How could you? Words she longed to scream rang in her head, but Jane said nothing.

"Jane, I'm sorry!" Daria's usual monotone actually sounded…pleading. "Please!"

Jane glared harder, wishing Daria could feel the white-hot anger bore through the door. Daria's last plea ended on an almost whimper, which Jane hated to admit had found a chink in the armor of betrayal she'd wrapped round herself. She opened the door.

Jane remembered a distraught and confused Daria, trying to explain how she had thought they were going to talk about her, Jane, of all things, when she got in that disaster that passed for Tom's car. Daria even admitted that while the first was Tom's idea, she had gone back for seconds purely of her own desire. Perhaps it was the raw honesty that pulled at her, the fact that Daria hid nothing. And felt such self-loathing at the act. Jane had to admit that even her own rage and betrayal might not compare to the misery and blame Daria was heaping on herself.

"This situation calls for some reinforcements." Jane got up from her bed and disappeared down the hallway, much to Daria's consternation. She returned quickly with a three-quarters full bottle of cheap vodka.

Daria eyed it. "I thought you were ordering pizza."

Jane smirked. "I think we need something stronger this time."

Jane felt her hesitation, but Daria relented and took a swig, coughing as it burned a path down her throat. Laughing at her discomfort, Jane took a hefty swallow of her own.

Recalling the source of the current pounding, Jane had to wonder if Daria's encounter with Tom was the first crack in the armor that allowed her to start to act less inhibited. If she hadn't kissed Tom, would she ever have given in to Jane's insistence she loosen up and take a drink? Was that it? Or was it the weight of guilt she carried that forced her to submit to Jane's command, against her better judgment? Either way, she'd hardly put up a fight.

Jane tested the movement of her arms, gingerly at first, afraid to anger the drummers in her head further. When there was no increase in tempo or intensity, she attempted her lower limbs. Her headache remained low and throbbing, but was joined by a new sensation. She was sticky.

They cried and talked in high-pitched screechy wails of feminine anger as they progressed through a recap of The Incident In The Car and the remains of the vodka. When it was over and they were talked out and thoroughly drunk, Jane grabbed Daria in a furious hug.

It was then Jane realized Daria was still next to her. She cautiously turned her head. The sunlight that had managed to sneak around the window shade had found itself tangled in Daria's auburn hair, glinting off the soft strands. Jane wanted to imagine Daria looked peaceful laying there in the early morning light, but it was impossible.

Daria's eyes widened in shock, Jane could see her reflection in the mirror. Jane imagined she would have looked just as surprised if she had only hugged her.

However, she figured it was the fact that she'd just stabbed Daria between the ribs with the steak knife she'd been using to add texture to her latest project that had her looking so surprised.

"Jane?" Daria's voice sounded childlike in its confusion.

Jane let her go, pulling the knife out as Daria fell back on the bed. There were a million things Jane wanted to scream and howl and whisper, but she was silent as she plunged the knife down again and again.

In the gentle quiet of the early morning Jane lay, remembering the events of the night before, wondering how she felt now that rage and alcohol no longer fueled her. Lying in sticky, blood-soaked sheets, Jane decided she felt... satisfied.