Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Wishful Thinking ❯ The Party ( Chapter 2 )

CHAPTER TWO



My relationship with Darien was fairly simple in the early days. He hated me; I passionately hated him. He made my life a living-well, you get the idea.

I have always considered myself to be a gentle person-forgiving, understanding, and utterly lacking in judgment of others. Darien's case, however, was the exception. Within moments of our first meeting, I wanted to kill him. It's been years, but I STILL want to kill him for some of the things he's done to me. Believe me, he deserves it.

He drove me nuts, those first years. He seemed to have something against me, something that didn't even extend from the fact that I'd gotten him into trouble that first day of school. He was as furious with me as I was with him, though neither of us really had a reason for this intense hatred. We'd been rude to each other from the beginning, of course, but all common sense seemed to flee through the window when it came to Darien and I. Something about me just set him off. He constantly berated me, yelled at me, and called me derogatory names. I often did the same to him, though I was never as bad as he was.

He did many things to make me loathe him. He broke into my locker and stole my lunch everyday. He made off with my backpack on more than one occasion, and he picked on my friends. Was it really surprising that I hated him? He was just plain mean to me.

I never told anyone about it, though. Even if I had been able to prove any of the things he pulled on a regular basis, I'm not a tattletale. And it's not like I haven't gotten him back over the years, but I'll confess to those little incidents later. I just wished that he didn't have to be so unpredictable. I never knew what to expect from him, and I hated not being in control of any aspect of my life-especially this.

Darien would also follow me around the school, practically stalking me. I think he was just trying to unnerve me, and it certainly worked. It's hard to think coherently when a very large, very angry young man is following you wherever you go. And always he watched me. Those blue eyes of his were always on me, though I could never read the expression in them. He was just studying me, I think, as a scientist studies a particularly loathsome insect. He scared me, sometimes, with his intensity.

He also followed me home everyday, tailgating whatever vehicle I was in at the time. I'd often take different busses and routes, hoping he'd be confused and leave me alone. It never worked, though. Even if I went to a friend's house, he was able to track me. He always knew exactly where I was, and where I was going. It was creepy, really, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. He was too smart for my rather pitiful diversionary tactics.

He toilet papered my house no less than seventeen times in one year. SEVENTEEN times! It's a wonder that there was any toilet paper left in the whole city. Of course, since my brothers loved cleaning it up (we once toilet papered our own house just so they could have some fun.), it didn't hurt anything. Still, it was simply one more reason to detest the boy.

I suppose that I wasn't exactly a saint in this. I committed my share of atrocities. Little things, mostly, like sending a dozen pizzas to his house or covering his precious car with shaving cream. I couldn't toilet paper his house in return (my accomplices refused, saying that attacking their own house and their own brother was indecent), but I could still hold my own in this strange little war.

I once bribed the office aid into giving me HIS locker combination, though I never took any of his things. I was far too subtle for that. Instead, I would just leave little notes where he would be sure to find them, stuffed into his jacket pockets or the door of his locker, and I always made those notes as creepy as possible. I wanted him to know that he was as much in my power as I was in his, though I wouldn't stoop to his level by stealing his jacket or textbooks as he did mine.

Were we being immature? Undoubtedly, but I couldn't help myself. Darien seemed to bring out the worst in me. To anyone else, I was an angel. Well, maybe I wasn't quite THAT innocent, but I certainly never tried to target anyone as I targeted Darien. He was my enemy, and we both acknowledged this with blunt honesty.

I suppose I could have prevented some or all of this if I'd been nicer to him from the beginning. Darien holds grudges, just as I tend to do, but he might have forgiven my trespass had I groveled to him from the outset. Of course, I've never been one for groveling. Still, I don't think the situation would have escalated so badly had it not been for the incident with the lemonade.

Of all the places that I've lived in my life, I've yet to meet people as wonderful as those in Ohio. They may live in what my dad calls "God's ash tray", but they have such a joie de vie. Maybe they've just learned to appreciate what little life actually thrives in that frigid state.

Ohioans, at least those in my neighborhood, are definitely party people. The people on my street threw block parties for every occasion. "Hey, a birthday! Let's have a block party! Oh, look, somebody's dog just had puppies! Let's have a kegger! All right! It's Wednesday! Where's the beer?" In spite of their constant state of drunkenness, I loved every one of them. Of course, I don't blame them for the keggers, either. If I didn't get sick at the mere sight of alcohol, I'd have gotten drunk on a regular basis just to escape the awful weather of the place.

Anyway, these incredible people threw an even bigger party than usual about a month after we moved in. They claimed that they simply wanted to welcome us properly, but I later learned that they were suffering from alcohol deprivation. They hadn't gotten drunk together in nearly six weeks. Frankly, I'm surprised that they lasted that long, myself.

Thinking that this party would be a chance for me to meet more people my age, I willingly went along with it. I even invited my new friends. (Only later did I realize that I was the only teenager on the entire street, not counting the boy next door who was even shyer than I was. If he so much as glimpsed a girl, he'd run in the house and not come out for the rest of the day. I understand that his mom had the hardest time getting him even to mow the lawn after I moved in. I never understood why this was so. It's not like I'm the type to strut around on my front lawn in a bikini just to catch the male eye. In the four years we lived there, I don't think I spoke to him on more than a half-dozen occasions. I can't think of what I did to make him so nervous.) Levi and Karen couldn't come, but the twins agreed to join me. To my eternal disgust, the girls brought Darien along. Or rather, he brought them.

The party was awful, though the adults thoroughly enjoyed it. There just wasn't anything for me to do there. No one to speak to, no one with whom I had anything even remotely in common. I quickly became bored, though my hosts were nothing if not courteous.

I spent nearly an hour at this party, and the boredom was phenomenal, but my mom wouldn't let me leave early. I had a book that I really wanted to read at home, and my friends were nearly an hour late. I tried to play with my brothers in an attempt to lessen this boredom, but I wasn't having any luck. My four brothers were still in the 'girls-are-icky' phase, and they were more intent on grossing me out than on providing entertainment. After only moments, I walked off and left them alone.

I hadn't gotten very far, however, before I realized I had nowhere to go. I didn't feel like speaking to the other adults, and my parents were deep in conversation with one of our neighbors. Even if I was willing to interrupt their conversation, I knew they'd only tell me to mingle. They've always had this strange need to force me to be sociable.

I stood in place for several seconds, wondering idly how I could sneak off before my parents noticed. They were seated at a table directly in front of the only true exit, and they would defiantly see me if I went past them. I glanced around, noticing that the fence was not high enough to prevent me from climbing it if I so wished. I could probably get away with this without being noticed, but the skirt I was wearing wouldn't allow me to hop the fence and still maintain even an illusion of dignity. I was almost willing to try anyway, though, as bored as I was. Still, what would my parents do to me if I ditched? They're firm believers in the idea that suffering through social boredom is good for me. But what did they know? They were enjoying themselves.

But I wasn't about to spend the next three hours with these people. Who knew how long the party would last once the alcohol began to flow? As I considered this dilemma, I glanced up, coming eye to eye with the black- haired boy from my art class.

I had, naturally, become more acquainted with Darien as the weeks passed. I had stayed away from him as much as possible, but the art room had never been that large. Besides that, he seemed to seek me out. He enjoyed teasing me, I think, and I must have provided a never-ending source of amusement for him. If I had not had Lita to bolster my confidence, I might have come to believe something was seriously wrong with me. Darien, I understand, has that effect on people.

Our relationship had been rocky from the start. He was callous, often cruel, towards me, and I was nothing less than completely rude. Granted, I might not have fought with him so often if he had not begun each class by insulting me, but I was just as cruel as he, at times. Again, Darien has that effect on people.

Darien was, by now, an accepted part of my life. Not a pleasant part, but accepted, nonetheless. He was rude, obnoxious, and boorish-and each day brought new reasons to justify my unreasonable hatred of him. I expected to see him everyday, but I never expected to see him at this monotonous party.

I admit that I gaped a little. Okay, maybe I gaped a lot. Even though I thoroughly detested the man, he looked VERY good. I still remember what he was wearing that day: a white dress shirt and black slacks that clung to him like a second skin in all the right places. The shirt outlined his muscles, letting me see everything I could ever have wanted. Not that I did want to see, I hurried to correct myself. He was still Darien, after all. Still, I couldn't help staring. He may have had a zero personality, but the guy was HOT.

Darien, of course, was as expressionless as ever. I think the only emotions he ever showed were anger and annoyance. He rarely smiled, and he had certainly never smiled at me before. Today was not like other days, though.

To this day, I don't know how long he'd been watching me. I hadn't seen him arrive, so I couldn't gauge his time at the party. I'd been surveying the exit for at least ten minutes, though, and I would have seen his entrance if he'd just come. He must have been there for quite a while, watching me without my noticing. See? I told you he was creepy.

I hadn't yet been able to shut my mouth, and I was, uh, practically drooling over him. In my defense, he WAS gorgeous. A jerk, maybe, but an extremely good-looking one. I've never been one to have my head turned by a handsome face, but Darien was more than simply attractive. He was positively striking. I don't think I blinked for an entire minute.

Darien was still watching me, reading my face. My features are entirely too expressive for my own comfort, and I'm certain he realized exactly what had been going through my mind. He grinned when he saw my expression, causing even more devastation to my respiratory system. I don't think I was breathing at the time, and he saw that, as well. "Catching flies, shortie?" he teased viciously in reference to my open mouth, and his blue eyes were alight with mischief.

Naturally, his reference to my diminutive stature made me mad. I know that I'm tiny, reaching a paltry 5' 2", while this guy was at least 6'4". It's always been a sore point for me that I inherited my mother's short genes when my father and other siblings are so very tall. My vertical impairment has rankled my entire life, and Darien had just pushed the one button that would truly send me over the edge. I was seeing red before the words had even finished spilling from his lips.

Seeing how this subject was so sensitive to me, Darien really shouldn't have made that comment. At the very least, he should have made certain that I wasn't near anything small enough to throw. Of course, he didn't know *then* about my penchant for tossing heavy objects at people's heads when I'm mad. I have terrible aim usually, but make me angry enough and I can hit a moving object from several meters away. The pitcher of lemonade on the table next to me was no exception. Before Darien had time to react, the pitcher was already flying for his head. It hit him dead on, spilling sticky lemonade down his nice shirt. Luckily for me, the pitcher was plastic. Otherwise, I'm sure it would have broken as soon as it impacted with his hard, stubborn head.

Darien was staring at me, open-mouthed with shock and fury. I don't think he expected me to behave that way, but he knows better now. I've noticed that ever since that day, he was more careful with his timing. He learned to wait until I was without feasible ammo before insulting me. Better timing or not, though, he was still a jerk to me.

My parents had been watching the entire thing, of course. My mom immediately started laughing her head off. That's one of the qualities I've always like about my mother: whenever somebody gets mad or hurt, she just starts laughing. She's not insensitive, just unsympathetic.

At least she never blames me when I lose my temper, especially since I inherited that temper and my tendency to throw things from her. My dad was a little more concerned with my lack of decorum, but he knew better than to get in my way when I'm mad. It doesn't happen often, and it's rarely directed at him, so he doesn't usually care when I erupt. In this case, though, he insisted that I take Darien back to our house and clean him up. This surprised me, since my dad was infamously paranoid about males and I- he's one of those fathers who guard their daughters with a loaded shotgun. He must have been REALLY embarrassed by my less than sterling behavior.

My first impulse was to refuse. I didn't want to spend any more time with Darien than I had to, especially when Darien was both sticky and angrier than usual. But my father was almost livid with fury, and I knew better than to oppose him. I knew my easy-going father would calm down if I did as he asked.

To escape my father's lectures, I grudgingly walked Darien back to my house. Since the party had been only a few houses away, the walk was mercifully short. He walked behind me, and I could just feel his angry blue eyes on the back of my head.

I ignored him, though I was still trying to come up with a reason for his presence. I didn't yet know where he lived, but I didn't think he could have been invited to the party. Even after only a month, I already knew what my matchmaking neighbors would have made of him, had they known beforehand of his existence. They would have been preaching his virtues to me for weeks before the actual party. I thought it safe to assume that they didn't know any more of him than I.

So what was he doing there? As I'd said before, I was the only teenager on the block. I know that *I* hadn't invited him. Who else could have?

I finally gave into my insatiable curiosity. I stopped walking, turning on my heel so suddenly that he almost crashed into me. "What are you doing here?" I demanded rudely, crossing my arms over my chest and narrowing my eyes. He glared at me, not answering for a long moment. Finally, he shrugged and rolled his eyes, not meeting mine. "My sisters wanted to come," he answered coldly. "I had no idea you would be here."

I stared at him, wondering why he was blushing. Of course, I might have just been imagining the color staining his cheeks, but I didn't think so. Still, I didn't really care about whatever thoughts were running through his head. I didn't like him well enough to care. I turned and resumed my walk, Darien following behind like a particularly rabid dog.

My house was not far. It was a gray-painted, sprawling building, surrounded by the unlovely garden I had yet to replace with my own plants. The outside was rather sparse, the grass killed by the previous owners. Even the trees were limp, and I always felt rather depressed by the lack of greenery. This, of course, only made my anger deepen. I have little respect for those people who plant for the sake of appearances but don't respect life enough to maintain their gardens.

I truly hated walking through that yard. It depressed me immensely, furthering my anger towards all things in general. I knew I couldn't even try re-landscaping until the next winter had come and gone, but I wasn't too eager for the wait. My frustration with my garden only incensed me further, and Darien was the unlucky sop destined to catch the edge of that anger. By the time we entered the front door, I was practically growling.

I grudgingly allowed Darien to enter my home. He stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him. I scrutinized his face, watched him scan my home with those intense eyes of his. He was staring, face stunned.

I'm honestly not bragging when I call my home beautiful. The previous owner, though incapable as a gardener, had spent hours designing the house. He'd hand-carved the banisters and mantles, placed stained-glass windows on the sides of the house that would catch the most light. The interior was spacious and airy, delicately colored and painstakingly crafted. The place was positively lovely, and I was somehow proud to see the wonder in Darien's eyes. In spite of his many other faults, at least the man had taste enough to appreciate the inspiring beauty of my home.

The light was hitting those incredible windows as Darien glanced around, faint surprise clear in his eyes. The colored glass tinged the light pouring through the window, filling the entryway with every shade of the rainbow. I snuck yet another quick glance at Darien. I could see the admiration on his face, and I couldn't help but grin at his expression. He was impressed.

I couldn't blame him. Even after a solid month in this house, the rainbows still dazzled me, as well. Had he not insulted me with his next breath, I could have forgiven him everything just for the look of amazement in his eyes.

He finally tore his eyes away from the glittering light, turning to look at me with that same surprise in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking: after my crude treatment of him, he was more or less shocked that I lived in such a lovely place. He had, I think, expected my family and my home to be as low-class as my behavior towards him had been.

Once again, I could not blame him. I had, at times, treated him with more ill mannered contempt than I had previously thought myself capable of. I was, I think, as guilty of uncouth treatment as he. I would have been ashamed of myself had he not returned my disdain with as much fervor as possible. He made my life far more miserable than I did his.

I knew the thoughts running through his mind, but I still asked, "What's wrong?" as he continued to stare at me. He blinked, abruptly wiping the expression from his face. "Nothing," he answered, but the damage had already been done. Once again, I was furious. Still, I said nothing. The fact that he thought poorly of me did not concern me in the least, and so I kept my mouth sealed on the scathing words rising to my lips. Insulting him, I felt, would only enforce his lack of faith in my refinement. My temper, however, is intense. Had Darien and I not been interrupted, I might have lost what little control I still retained.

Though my parents had obviously failed to teach me proper manners, they had succeeded in teaching their children the importance of responsibility. Since I was a small child, I've always had at least one pet to care for. It's been difficult, at times, to maintain their health when we've spent so much time moving around, but I've learned to manage. At this point in my life, I had in my care a cockatiel who was, incidentally, absolutely insane.

As with my own, my pet's brain must have a loose connection somewhere. From her behavior, I would almost have to say that she's schizophrenic. At times, she's perfectly calm, perfectly amiable. At others, she'll work herself into a frenzy over nothing, beating herself against the cage until she becomes stunned and drops to the bottom. I've taken her to the vet repeatedly, but there doesn't seem to be anything clinically wrong with her. She'll simply go nuts, and I can never anticipate her crazy spells.

Anyway, I've never been quite able to decide if my pet is intelligent or not. I know that she's either very stupid, or very smart, depending on my viewpoint at the time. After her actions with Darien, I've decided that she's utterly brilliant...or at least a wonderful judge of character.

This bird of mine has a nasty little habit of getting free of her cage. I've yet to learn how she breaks free, though I've watched her for hours at a time, trying to learn her secret. Perhaps she simply has skills of which I'm not aware. Who knows?

When she does break loose, she'll fly around the room, looking for me. She won't go to anyone else, and she always knows when I'm in the house and where I am at any given moment. She must have a compass for a brain, after all.

As I've said, my pet is insane. I swear that she gets jealous of other people, because she'll bite anyone who comes near me. Unfortunately for Darien, she'd gotten loose again. I had not seen her when we entered, so intent had I been on Darien's reaction to my home. I still did not see her as she flew towards me, perhaps because I was too concerned with controlling my anger to pay attention. My pet, however, was more observant. She saw Darien, and she went straight for his eyes.

My bird was never meant to be a huntress. She made the mistake of crying out as she attacked. Darien and I heard her, and we whirled to face this kamikaze bird. She made a pass at his head, but he reacted with razor- sharp reflexes as he ducked with a faint exclamation of surprise. She missed, barely, but immediately swung around for another attack. He was not quite so fast as before, and she struck him across the face.

He yelped as her sharp beak slashed his cheek, his hand instantly flying to the shallow cut already welling with blood. I gaped stupidly at him, not really feeling bad but wondering if I should do something to control my pet. I finally shrugged, lifting one hand high into the air as my pet prepared for another dive. She came obediently, landing gently on my outstretched palm. She ruffled her wings once as I brought my hand down, letting her hop onto my shoulder.

Darien swore violently. I'm certain the cut stung, but I honestly had little sympathy for any of Darien's suffering. I maintain the protest that he had done everything to deserve the bird's attack, and nothing to deserve my concern. Still, I was, perhaps, overly heartless as he turned to me, eyes blazing. If looks could kill, I would be dead.

The bird might have been able to sense his fury, for she spread her wings and began to hiss at him, snapping her sharp beak as though wishing she could have another shot at his eyes. Darien reflexively moved back, though I know he was not in the least afraid of my little pet.

He did not, however, see the thick rug spread across the tiling of the entryway. He tripped over it, falling to the floor with a painful thump. To his credit, he didn't cry out at the pain the hard floor must have caused when it connected with him. Of course, it wouldn't have been quite so bad if he'd fallen on his head. At least then he wouldn't have had to worry about injury.

He looked up at me, glaring fiercely. I suppose my lips were twitching. I wasn't exactly pleased that he'd been injured, but I was amused by the look on his face. He was furious, I knew, but this didn't bother me as I'd hardly ever seen him without anger in his eyes. Once again, I was grateful that human expression couldn't be fatal. He tried to get up, but he slipped once more on the rug and returned to his uncomfortable position on the floor. His glare intensified.

I couldn't help it; I started to laugh so hard that I thought I was going to cry. I grabbed my sides and just howled. The tears of laughter were streaming down my cheeks, but I didn't have the strength to wipe them away. I surrendered myself to the laughter, feeling some of the tension caused by that awful party being released.

The bird added her voice to mine, and Darien was becoming more furious by the minute. Can you blame me, though? The guy looked absolutely ridiculous, on the floor and covered in lemonade as he was. It was funny. I still chuckle when I think of it. Darien's face was priceless.

The doorbell rang as I stood there, still struggling to breath against the intensity of my laughter. I placed a gentle hand over my pet's wings, not wanting her to escape through the door as I tried to control myself long enough to open it.

To my surprise, the twins were on the other side. I was still laughing too hard to speak, so I simply motioned them inside with my free hand. They stepped in, and I closed the door, still laughing. They stared at me as though I had gone insane, their eyes moving to Darien's prone form.

The laughter disappeared as the twins stared at Darien in patent disbelief. "Darien?" Raye exclaimed, obviously surprised. "What are you doing here?" She moved to help him to his feet, and he accepted her offered hand without comment or protest.

My eyebrow shot into my hairline. "You know this jerk?" I demanded, once again forgetting the common courtesy I owed a guest in my home. The girls turned to stare at me, consternation clear on their faces. "Darien?" Mina echoed. "He's our brother."

I gaped at them, my mouth falling open in a rather embarrassing parody of a simpleton. "Your brother?" I repeated, still feeling rather dense. "This jerk is your brother?"

Once again, I did not seem to understand the concept of tact. I, perhaps, ought not to have insulted him so clearly, at least not in front of his sisters. I know that I would never tolerate anyone else insulting my own siblings, even if I'm angry at them myself. Frankly, I didn't expect them to tolerate my words, even though I was a friend.

"I'm sorry," I hastened to apologize, not wanting to force them to make a choice between defending their brother or expressing their concern for me. I had been steadily complaining about Darien since I moved in, but I don't believe I had ever mentioned his name. Up until that moment, I had not even known his last name, anyway, so I could not have made the connection between them.

Okay, so I wasn't really sorry. Darien *was* a jerk, and I certainly didn't feel bad for insulting him thus. He had hurt me time and again, over the course of our brief acquaintance, with his words and his actions. Besides, the man had a heart as cold as ice. He wouldn't feel anything that I said to him.

The twins, at least, accepted my apology without protest. I was their friend, after all, and they knew I would not continue to malign Darien. He, however, was not so easily convinced. Still, he said nothing, bending instead to straighten the rug. There was an awkward silence, followed by an even more pregnant pause as Raye finally questioned the fate of Darien's shirt.

Once again, Darien should be given a small measure of credit. He didn't accuse me, didn't even look at me with blame in those incredible eyes. He simply shrugged, glancing with irritation at the bright stains on his shirt.

I was, admittedly, surprised that he hadn't placed the blame on me, as he should have. I was, after all, at fault. He met my gaze, shrugging again and looking away. I finally collected myself, turning with sudden frankness to the twins. "I'm afraid it's my fault," I confessed. "A pitcher of lemonade interfered with a discussion we were having."

The girls stared at me, confused. "Oh," Mina finally said. "Did you drop the glass on him or something?"

I laughed. "Nope," I grinned. "I threw it at him." I turned to Darien, and my glance was appraising. "I have great aim, don't you think?" I quipped cheerfully.