Against Reason: Chapter 8
Sailor Moon owns Sailor moon.
Serena reeled backward, eyes wide and startled by Darien's sudden invasion of personal space. A slash of pain as her lower lip jarred between teeth; Teeth! Their teeth - his and hers.
God.
What.
Was.
That.
Darien's teeth are touching my teeth?
Her hands raised up defensively - purely instinctive, bracing against the sudden impact, as if a ball had been thrown, a bull charged, a piano dropped from an inexplicable rope/pulley system. Her hands flew up - inadvertently pushing against his chest her feet scrambling uselessly for purchase on the tiled floor.
Preoccupied with the startling, soggy, painful turn of events Serena's reaction to Darien's sudden absence; specifically the absence of his teeth in her lip was somewhat delayed. With a wounded noise Darien, the physical space he had occupied, the weight that he was - was no longer there.
White noise held her still.
He just tried to kiss me.
Idiot. Useless, fucking idiot. Darien, red faced and white knuckled reached and clasped the door handle with mortified fingers and sought escape.
Darien moved fast – Serena moved faster; with strategy.
Serena placed her hand, palm down above the handle, across the door spanning the gap and the metal frame.
She stood to his side, very still.
Her breathing was uneven, his sounded traumatised. His fingers flexed upon the handle – his face determinedly turned from hers, a nervous muscle pulsed by his jaw.
Nothing.
Serena had absolutely nothing to go on, nothing to say; and went with the obvious.
"If you pull," calmly, "you might hurt me."
She watched his hand; she didn't seek out his face, his eyes with her own - unsure if it was for his sake or hers. Some things were simply easier without eye contact.
Serena groped for a direction, something to lead her to the next step.
She was floundering, overwhelmed by an onslaught of information, possibilities, reasons - too many, too fast.
Why was this happening in a toilet!
Grasp; cling, clutch - at anything; anything that may salvage this, salvage this Darien.
And then like a needle, sharp, sure and clinically effective; "No one, - " He began, with a casually empty tone, eye contact still absent, "No one will believe you. They will just say you're doing it for attention, you're deluding yourself – you'll just make a fool of yourself – even bigger than the one you already are, if such a thing was possible; a sad, deluded, little fool. "
Or not.
They both watched her hand on the door flinch at the tearing words; clawing at her self esteem. He couldn't help hurt her, his stomach rolled from it, some part of him screamed against it – a dull gnawing ache he had ignored for so long. But he threw the words at her, part lie, part truth - he couldn't bring himself to yank the door or shove her from him, he would push her away with cruel words, lash out and poison her with self doubt.
"Do you honestly think you can compete with Beryl."
Let go of the bloody door, he begged silently. Just walk away.
They watched her hand curl creep inward in self doubt, her small hand, unsure and insecure above his own, regimented and lifeless as the steel handle he clung too.
Serena began to move her hand slowly from the door, careful not to touch Darien's own.
Or not.
The veins of his hands broke blue ribbons across his knuckles and twisted up his arm to disappear beneath the damp sleeve of his school shirt.
Damp.
That silly little detail caught her; held her and steadied her - clarity. His sleeve was damp because of the water, the water she had used to wash away his nose bleed, the nose bleed she had given him, and like a silly nursery rhyme a strange logical sense twisted its way through her mind. His hand clutched the door handle because he was running away, he was running because he had kissed her...knee bone connected to the...
She ran her tongue along her lip– flinching slightly at the tenderness, bruised but unbroken. He had tried to kiss her - and it had been terrible. A total cock up. Darien was a ...bad ...kisser.
Darien...had screwed up.
Clarity. Her smile was small and sure, her hand flexed and realigned itself above his own.
I think not.
..thigh bone is connected..Beryl's books were on the counter. Soaking wet.
A remark guaranteed to make her angry, to make her lash out; to make her remove her hand and release him, to let him walk away.
And let him ruin this.
That was then this was now. Suddenly she was back in the library - but this time he was the one running - he was the one that was scared, who's afraid of the big bad wolf now Darien? Weighing it all up she took a risk.
She moved forward, keeping her hand against the jar, and leant her forehead against his shoulder feeling a shudder ripple through him at the contact. A small part of her cautioned against getting too overwhelmed by his "response" to your touch, " your soaking wet" – was the pragmatic observation –" he's soaking wet and the bathroom was hardly balmy". Her free hand traced up his side and stole past the defensive arc of his elbow to rest lightly against the lowermost ribs, Darien's jerky breathing stopped completely. He stood still, as if frozen and Serena moved slowly, so slowly moving closer she slid her forehead sideways to rest her cheek between his shoulders. The fingertips of her hand barely feeling the bone and muscle beneath the shirt they rested feather light. In contrast the hand locked on the door was of equal parts lead, steel and granite.
I don't know what I'm doing. What next, what next?
No one will believe you...
"But I will know, and so will you."
No response.
"You have to breathe sometime Darien."
That drew a response, a tragic shuddery breath.
She was touching him.
He stared at their hands, unbidden the image of his palms above hers, their positions exchanged as he held her against the door, any door, a wall – a bed. He would pin her to him, press her small soft body against his, carve himself over her and make her feel what she did to him. Unbidden as the image was in his mind, was the response of his body to it. Shaking his head as though to throw off his thoughts, he jerked back to reality and jerked away from her.
With a defeated sigh Serena loosened her hold, dropping her hand from his body and lifting herself from him. With a mindless panic Darien rapidly scrabbled for her hand entwining their fingers in a clumsy knot and yanking her back against him, with a startled "oomph" her cheek reacquainted itself with his back.
...okayyyyyyy...
Wordlessly, blindly he willed not to pull away. He felt her go still behind him, and he locked his jaw – he didn't know what he wanted, from her, from him; but right now he wanted her hands on him and her weight against him, and warm breath against his right shoulder.
Serena wordlessly resumed her place against him, shuffling forward slighting and his gripped lessened, but his fingers remained tangled with hers, he dropped his head down to watch their hands rise and fall slightly with his breathe, some strange disjointed part of his mind told him to experiment with his breathe just to create a pattern.
Serena once again was speechless.
Dr Jekyll and Darien, in the girls bathroom – take two.