Against Reason: Chapter 7
Sailor Moon owns Sailor Moon.
Cold rivulets snaked a chilly path past Serena's collar, she took another breath before plunging her burning face back into shallow sink of water; the result of the fifth consecutive dunking was a waterlogged Serena, a flooded counter pane and stodgy pieces of toilet paper running rampant.
The rampant toilet was the by product of a flash of desperate intuition, borne from the need to cool down Serena's burning face. Serena had plugged the drain with wads of sodden toilet paper. Of which sodden refugees deposited themselves haphazardly on her uniform, in her hair and plastered unbecomingly on her face. Serena looked like she had just had a vicious encounter with a snow globe. And lost.
The self induced bouts of near drowning had served its purpose; the puffiness had receded and the violent red splotches were calmer. She should be vaguely presentable in time for the next period, and she had planned to dry off under the hand dryer, she done this before on rainy days when her umbrella was MIA, and it had a notable success rate. Well notable to the extent that it had the happy result of dragging a girl away from that thin line of "Wet t-shirt competition, amateur division" and back towards – "School girl has unfortunate encounter with a puddle."
She took a breath and ducked her head under for one last time, keeping her lips pressed tight against accidental water toilet paper consumption. Her morbid imagination heaved up a quick parody of a eulogy dedicated to Serena, vanquished by sodden toilet paper – 'oh what a loss; she died so young, and filled with so much potential. She perished at the hands of toilet paper, oh what a world, what a world'.
When the ache from the awkward angle became too much she brought her head back up, and dragged her hands down her face, catching up tissue debris. God – it was a depressing sight.
"In the bathroom. Take two."
She murmured, leaning closer to the mirror to assess the collateral damage caused by a violent session of snotty weeping. Overwhelmed by the bleak reality of a red nose and puffy eyes she closed her eyes and rested her soggy forehead against the unforgiving reflection. Serena felt a sodden; tissue-y smudge in the vague shape of her forehead upon its pristine surface was a warranted revenge. Although she was aware of the poetic justice, that she would have to clean this mess up before leaving.
Refuge in a toilet.
Again.
Serena had the scary suspicion in ten years time when the therapist would advise her to "go to your happy place", the reek of chemically enhanced lavender and cool white tiles would feature strongly.
Heavy and fast, the quick, tip-tap of approaching footsteps sounded moments before the heave of the heavy bathroom door. Serena had begun to open her eyes, but the distinct almost "loud" silence of the person, tapped into her natural reserves of trepidation. Her spine stiffened and goose pimples crawl across her damp skin. Whoever or whatever they were; perhaps someone's Tomogochi had gone rogue...corporeal and needed an "actual" toilet break, hadn't made a sound even after the door had closed with a click. Keeping her eyes stubbornly closed and forehead fixed to the mirror she was determined to ignore the presence of the silent person now standing in the girls' third floor bathroom.
Please be Amy.
Please be Rei.
Please be a hall monitor.
Please be a teacher.
Please be anyone.
Please be an alien life form.
Hell, please be Beryl even.
Obviously the universe was very bored today. Bitter, nasty bastard that it was.
"You're meant to be in class."
"And you're meant to be in the boy's toilet."
With a small sigh, moving nothing but her eyelids, she opened them in time to see the misty fog of her breath receded from the mirror. Tall and confronting, Darien stood between the stalls and the counter, and Serena noted randomly, still carried half a dozen textbooks.
"Are those Beryl's text books?"
Serena had no idea why she had just blurted that particular question, given that the circumstance had several more pressing 'questions' to be resolved – although some strange, detached part of her wondered with morbid pointless curiosity, how Beryl would explain her "no book" situation to the teacher.
Which brought her back to her own ..."situation".
Between her and the door, Darien of the white, angry face was back.
"I demand an apology. You insulted me in front of the school, and you didn't even have the decency to talk –"
"- You have a supposedly brilliant mind Darien, how did you miss the girl in a skirt on the door."
Darien's lips thinned and he took a step towards the counter, towards Serena. She saw his jaw clench and his hand, the one not carrying the books clench till the knuckles whitened.
A small feeling of doubt was beginning to creep in. Not unlike sea sickness, a queasiness of uncertainly and unease unfurled low in her stomach. A chilling thought suddenly whispered through her, "How well do you know Darien? Really?"
He was very angry, unjustified or not, at her and they were alone.
"Really... how well do you know him?"
Pulling herself away from the mirror, and turning towards him she reached for books and deliberately forced herself to hold them at her hip, not clutched defensively to her chest, hoping her sudden uncertainty wasn't obvious. The voice of an ABC presenter came to her, "Animals can smell fear".
Right. What would David Attenborough do, besides rolling in banana leaves with mountain gorillas?
Show no fear.
"Seriously Darien, get out of the Girls' toilets. "
Darien flinched when his fingernails carved crescent moons into the palm of his clenched hand when it contracted involuntarily at her bored tone.
Bored!
She was completely unapologetic. Not only had she embarrassed him in the library; lied about Amy's study sheet and then physically assaulted him in the hallway because she was flinging herself around like a demented stork – he felt angry, hot, uncontrollable anger flood him. She was doing everything wrong – EVEN NOW. She was staring at him like he was diseased. The wants flashed one after another through his mind like, a shrink on speed flashing violent splats of ink blots. He just wanted to tear her down. Wanted her to admit that she did everything wrong. She always misunderstood everything he said. Deliberately.
She was wrong. She was Ungrateful.
This was in her best interests.
He had stormed through the door without thinking. He winced inwardly when he realised that he had just walked into a female toilet – although, he couldn't help feeling resentful of the fact that she kept pointing it out. She had humiliated him, and even now, just as he had said she was skipping class – there, right there, he point was proven. He had a point! And he flung himself on it like a rabid mongoose.
"Skipping Class, Serena? Just like I said, 'wasting everyone's time."
Affecting a low drawl, even going so far as to lean back against the stall's wall, one foot crossed over the other, Darien took the time to flick his mirrored self a confirming glance. Confident he had effectively masked his relief with a cool, collected expression, fist was released and jaw relaxed.
Her repeated references to their current locality had thrown him out of his usual stride.
Why did he just look at himself? Serena took the time to shoot a glance back over her shoulder to mirror to confirm that it was just a mirror. Just him and a mirror.
She was confused and gobsmacked. She was literally Gobsmacked. She read about it – never knew what it meant really, but knew then and there she was experiencing it.
Smacked of the Gob.
He had followed her into the toilets to have a go at her? Into the toilets! What if had been cramps? Or a tampon emergency?
Her bloody tailbone still ached.
BASTARD!
The surge of anger slammed into the wall of her self-preservation, the two warred it out; one screaming, "Grab your books and run!" the other, "Destroy him – what have we done to him? What is his bloody problem? Hold his head in the sink and bury the body in the flowerbed."
Serena's inner war was short and vicious, the wall of self preservation was engulfed by the tsunami of anger, however it held firm on one point like an outcrop of granite; raise your voice maybe someone will come looking and find him standing over your body in time be a witness at the trial of your murder –
"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?"
"Keep your voice down" He advanced with a hiss and a sharp, severing motion with his hand.
"I WILL NOT KEEP MY VOICE DOWN! YOU- " and because he had moved into striking distance, unknowingly Serena's hand had chosen to develop a mind of its own in the manner of ghetto-tastic and stab itself painfully, for both parties, against his breast bone. "YOU", with another poke, "tried to publicly humiliate me. YOU KNOCKED ME OVER!" Serena could feel the tell tale furry burn on her sore eyes, her voice was breaking, she was angry and her bloody weak body was betraying her. She grasped at her anger, just a little more – to get her out of this with breaking down in a blubbering, snotty mess.
"And you didn't even HELP ME UP!"
Darien felt a twinge of guilt at her call, he had been too surprised to react when they had collided, too angry, too hurt and her words in the library. Ugly. Bully.
Some part of him knew this was wrong, he could see she had been crying and was about to cry again. But it wasn't his fault. Couldn't be his fault. Denial. She was wrong all the other times, mostly; and he - he was the good guy, the good student, the tutor, the student council member, never late, never failed –
Denial.
"YOU walked away!"
Serena stared up at Darien with horrified scepticism. They were talking about the same thing, weren't they? The same day? The same hallway? Her words came out slowly, disbelieving,
"Have you got a split personality?"
She continued on, before he had a chance to reply, "You knocked me over Mr Selective Memory. You didn't help me up and then called me a waste of space in front of half the student body."
He shook off her claim with a shake of his head, arms still crossed he gave dismissive wave of his fingers, "You're exaggerating, and you fell over because you were flinging yourself around dementedly, with no concern for other students using the hall." Darien felt himself finding his metaphorical feet, this was a well worn path to him – he could walk it blindfolded. "You have no respect for anyone, or anything and when someone-a school senior, tries to impress a point on you – you childishly throw a public tantrum and run off –"
"GET OUT OF THE BLOODY GIRLS TOILETS DARIEN!"
Serena flung her hand out, pointing to the exit, she felt, literally felt, the shriek rip from her throat. She hated him. She HATED HIM.
"Not until you listen to me and apologise about your behaviour at the library and lying about Amy's help. " He concluded his righteous speech resting his shoulders back against the stall partitions; Serena stood still and silent, clutching her textbooks as she watched his face-searched his face. He had talked over her, ignored her, and belittled her – again. His face had lost the honesty of its uncontrolled white tinge, locked jaw and thin lips.
Smug, controlled Darien was back.
A sense of sudden defeat swept over her, she had deluded herself from the beginning. Why would a guy like Darien like her, with girls like Beryl, Lita and Rei to choose from? Guys like that didn't hang around long enough to look beneath the surface, and that Darien she wanted didn't exist anyway. She had heard somewhere that beautiful people dazzled you, like sunlight on the water – you're so struck, so stunned that you don't take the time to see what's beneath the surface- Sharks and rotting wood.
Before, she had thrown that word at him thoughtlessly, "Rotten", perhaps her subconscious was more clued in then she was consciously.
He was mean. Or she just wasn't worth being nice too.
"Fine, if you want to stay, enjoy the ladies facilities Darien – I'm leaving."
Darien reacted without thinking, the sudden panic of her leaving – He reached for her, with a sudden, jerky movement grabbing her wrist.
Fuelled by pain, hurt, anger and a little fear - without thinking Serena twisted around, pulling his arm around her and pushing her back in the curve of his body. She heard his sudden gasp of surprise moments milliseconds before bringing her right foot up and slamming her heel down on the exposed instep of his right foot. As Darien doubled over with a yelp, Serena flung her shoulder back into his face wincing at the crack of impact and the sudden flare of pain as the ball of her shoulder met the bridge of his nose.
"ZESUS THUCKING DRIST THERENA.'
Serena spun around to find a hunched over Darien clutching his face whilst desperately trying to stem the flood of blood pouring from beneath his fingers.
Mortification.
Absolute mortification, welled up, she had never hurt anyone in her life-so much blood.
"Darien! Oh my God- I am so sorry, so sorry. I panicked. I Panicked."
She reached for him and he pulled back sharply.
"VELL BO. BTAY THWAY."
Backing away from her into the wall, truly alarmed. This girl could inflict real damage.
"Really Darien, I didn't mean to do that – I panicked and Lita's defence training kicked. Please Darien, you have to hold your head back and stem the flow, it happens to Sammy all the time."
Inconceivably the fact that he was gushing blood, just had his arse handed to him by girl half his size and his face fucking hurt – not to mention his foot, Darien zeroed in on one point.
"Bho's Bammy?"
"What"
"Bammy? Bho Vis He?" Muttered Darien.
"Bammy? Oh Sammy! He's my little brother."
Darien tried to ignore the flood of ludicrous relief. "Give him nose bleeds regularly do you?" he remarked dryly, his words now discernable as he tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"No!" Serena realised she really couldn't pull off the righteous indignation given the current circumstances. "He's prone to them – here come over here, sit back against the sink. Keep your head back," Serena half pulled half guided Darien backwards against the ledge of the basins. Darien allowed himself to be guided backwards, pushed back against the ledge outcropping of the sinks, back to the mirror head still tilted back he kept his legs spread wide for balance as he rested against the edge of the counter.
It took only a moment to feel the damp inch through the think weave of his school pants.
Serena looked over from dampening some of the more sturdy hand tissue she'd torn from the wall dispenser, when he rose. He looked down at the spreading dark water mark on his hereto spotless grey pants and then looked pointedly at Serena, his glance travelling down her damp hair, the patchy blouse and fading tracks of watered ink crisscrossing her fingers.
Serena gave him a stricken expression the fact that she had just placed Darien directly in her recently created deluge and thus caused him to look like he had just peed his pants, seem to be like heaping the sprinkles of insult to the sundae of injury she was serving up. She braced herself for 'Krakatoa, The Sequel'.
Darien rose silently and placed himself on the far end of the counter.
Serena silently squeezed the paper towel of excess water and cautiously moved towards Darien.
She suddenly had another flash of David Attenborough, pronounced vowels murmuring in her minds ear to approach the frightened animal, 'slooooooowly'.
Serena moved to his side and reached up to remove his hand, he jerked away instinctively and warily stared at her, one obnoxious eyebrow raised questioning.
"Stop it. I am really, really sorry Darien – Please let me help."
Leaning up to him on tip toe, she steadied herself with one hand on his shoulder while the other gently pried his fingers clinging defensively to the bridge of his nose. Keeping his head tilted had lessened the flow considerably, and she knew from past experience the cold of the improvised compress would bring it to a complete stop. But it had to hurt like hell.
Beyond the point of slowly the burgundy cascade, she really had no idea what she was doing. She had experience cleaning up her little brothers odd nose bleeds but this was a result of violence. What if something was broken, what if SHE had broken something. She was looking at expulsion. She was looking at plausible assault charges. Not to mention the social ostracism that would result from damaging the premium product that was Darien. Hell she'd be lynched.
She'd be expelled.
Darien remained silent and still, watching the disconnected Serena press the cold towel against his aching nose and then without even thinking, take a corner of the damp towelette and begin wiping the bloody trail from his face. Unthinking, unhesitating and seemingly unaware she moved sideways in between the v of his legs to gain better access.
Darien's pain, guttered, flickered and died his body clamouring to acknowledge a completely different sensation. He barely suppressed a shudder as Serena, briefly steadied herself with one hand to his knee, moving even further between his thighs the curve of her body, aligned with his own. The touch of small hands on his face, Darien's body was undistractedly aware, very aware, of Serena's presence between his legs, chest to chest – and wearing a partially see through blouse. When she leant forward to wipe the towel across his upper lip, he swallowed hard and loudly, reached up and grasped her wrist, tugging it almost harshly away. Serena jerked back from dark thoughts of her immediate demise – suddenly returning to the present of the girl's toilets.
"Did I hurt you?"
And suddenly realised that she was standing practically on top of Darien; between his legs.
She went very, very still. Inches apart they stared at each too silently and for too long to be insignificant. Darien knew his breathing was too shallow, too rapid to go unnoticed and that his body was about to betray how much he wanted her there, wanted her closer. He could see every freckle across her nose, each eyelash and the slight dip of her lower lip. Serena really take in that he heat from his body, the heat from the hand, its long fingers wrapped around her upper arm and the slight movement of his breath touching her skin, the slightest hint of mint and coffee. The silence was broken only by the constant drip of water and their breathing.
Suddenly Darien moved, wordlessly used the arm he still held to push her gently away from him; turning from her to hide his body's reaction against the sink. No control; he never had any fucking control when it came to her.
"Darien?"
Still silent he turned and moved to the sink, turning on the tap he cupped his hands and began to wash the remaining blood from his face. The bleeding had stopped.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you. Again."
"Please Darien." Her tone was etched with remorse.
Water in his eyes and dripping from his hair, he reached for the paper towel dispenser blindly; she hurried over and grabbed a torn hand full and planted them in his grasp. He patted his face down, and ran his hand quickly through his hair, carving it back towards his neck and off his forehead. He finally looked up, exasperation, disbelief and certain morbid sense of humour came to him as he saw their twin reflections, his bent over the porcelain, her concerned face hovering over his shoulder. Both wet, both tangled and water stained, her uniform with tinged with ink, his with blood. A matched pair. He had fallen to her level.
"Why did you do it?" He asked quietly, watching her face.
"Your nose?"
"Yes, my nose?"
She didn't reply. She wasn't sure anymore. She couldn't hold his eyes.
"You said you 'panicked'-what did that mean?"
He rested his hands on the counter and leant forward, still watching her face, he watched her hesitate. But he didn't anticipate the answer she finally gave with averted eyes.
"You scared me."
Darien went very, very still. His voice was quiet, his tone flat.
"You thought I was going to hurt you. " It wasn't a question.
His defeated tone brought her eyes up, straight to his face, His expression calm, almost mask like, but the eyes were raw and wounded.
Her throat constricted and she couldn't form the words. She nodded, mutely –and almost apologetically.
He looked down and away, turning the tap back on hard and both hands reaching under the almost violent pour, but not before she saw his face crumple.
She felt like a puppy killer.
She had just made Darien cry.
And the simple realisation occurred to Serena. Darien was just a human, a bloody teenage boy – that she had cast in the two dimensional role of Villain or Hero. He was meant to be mean, cruel, thoughtless a bully or the Popular, stoic over achiever. Whatever served her purpose, and she had disregarded the human beneath the veneer.
And that human was breaking apart, over a paper clogged sink, in the girl's bathroom.
Because of her.
She moved without thinking, unmindful of the slippery floor she plunged at him falling into his side and wrapped her arms around his bent shoulders. He flinched away, but she held on, and with her closest hand reached through his arms and turned off the streaming faucet.
"Darien! I'm sorry; So, so, so sorry." She whispered peering round his shoulder, trying to catch his eyes, "Of course you wouldn't, But I just don't know you that well and you were so angry! You're always so angry at me! Darien! Look at me please! Please, look at me!" She pleaded, tugging at his body, trying to see his face.
His shoulders shuddered slightly, his head remained tucked into his chest, he wordlessly shook his head as his hands continued to grasp the counter and small trails of water ran down from his hair and over them both. She could not tell if there were tears amongst the water tracked across his cheeks. She pressed herself more insistently to his side. A moment ago he had felt heat, a surge of unconditional warmth and now he felt cold, a tainted dripping chill through him.
"Come on Darien, talk to me."
"You thought I would hurt you?" His voice breaking on the final word, the pitch choked.
Serena's managed to pull him up, "Yours always so angry at me." She practically begged him to see reason, she couldn't be the cause of this – this pain, and she didn't want to be. He would see her reasons; and with this determined wrench she pulled him around, his face finally to hers as they both leaned against the counter. His hands clenching the counter, knuckles white from the force of his grip.
"Why are you always so angry with me, Darien?" She demanded, inches from him.
He closed the gap, and pressed his mouth against hers – teeth clashed and Serena felt the sharp slice of pain on her lip. She jerked away, startled letting him go her hands coming between them warding him off. He made no noise as he avoided her face and stumbled past her to the door.