Undone by Diane Long

Daria tugged at her sheer black nylons, trying to get the sags around her ankles to smooth out. She sighed, if her legs had any shape at all she wouldn't be having this damned problem. There, they looked OK, but would probably be sagging again in five minutes. She shifted her attention to the rest of her outfit. A daringly short pleated black skirt swayed around her mid-thighs as she fidgeted. A carmine, crushed velvet turtle neck fit closely around her torso and hugged the top of her hips, emphasizing her subtle figure as well as complimenting the skin tones of her face. Daria couldn't believe it: She looked very nice, maybe even pretty. She sent a wordless pulse of goodwill out to Quinn, who had put this entire outfit together with only a day's notice. Things had been improving with their relationship and this clothing triumph was further proof that two paradoxical siblings could ultimately find common ground. Daria dug through the rest of the care package Quinn had FedExed her for tonight. She found a plain silver hair barrette clipped to a piece of paper that bore simple instructions: "Please use this. A simple ponytail will make your face look longer, and your glasses look smaller. Trust me." Well Quinn, would know. Daria brushed her hair back and clipped the barrette around it at the base of her neck and looked in the mirror. Wow. Quinn was right.

The last item in the package was a large chunk of orange amber set in silver and dangling from a black silk cord. Daria slipped this over her head and checked out the whole effect in the mirror. The pendant hung just below her breasts and pulled the whole outfit together. It looked impossibly stunning. Daria doubted that she would ever look this good again, but that didn't matter. It was tonight of all nights that she wanted to look her best. It was the opening night of Trent's first musical and the media would be there. She kept praying that no one would take her picture, but wasn't very hopeful. Besides, she wanted to look just a good as the rest of his creative team would look tonight. She wanted to make him proud of her, particularly after how hard the last several months had been on their relationship.

Sighing, she sat down on their bed and wondered if there was any hope for the two of them. The words of 'My Favorite Mistake' running through her head, Daria wondered if she was fooling herself. Things had been slowly falling apart for months, and she had latched on to the idea of this opening night as the panacea for all of their problems. It was easy to tell herself that Trent had just been caught up in the production of the show, that things would return to normal after opening night. That was the real reason for the new outfit. It was the physical embodiment of the hope she had for the future, a magical charm. If she was pretty tonight, the evil spell would be broken.

Trent rushed into the bedroom obviously looking for something. He barely spared her a glance before he kneeled down and stuck his head under the bed and began rustling through the hidden debris, cursing quietly.

Daria got to her feet quietly and stared at him. She knew what he was looking for. "Your lucky guitar pick is in the top drawer of your nightstand," she murmured, standing stock-still, waiting for him to see her. To notice how nice she looked.

Trent jumped to his feet and looked in the drawer. He smiled when he found the pick. "Thanks, Daria! See you at the show." He rushed back out of the room.

Daria's heart dropped down to the bottom of her stocking covered toes. He hadn't even seen her. So much for breaking the spell. Why had she even bothered? She of all people should have known that reality was always worse than fairytales. Jane had once said that Trent was only oblivious to the things that didn't matter to him. It was becoming more and more clear that Daria had silently shifted into that category of his life. They had both been so busy with their work that they had drifted away from each other. At first it had been so subtle that neither had noticed it. By the time Daria had realized the change, it was if an invisible but unshakeable wall had been thrown between them. They hardly talked anymore, there seemed to be nothing to say. Toying with the amber pendant, Daria thought back to the day it all started to go wrong....

Chapter One

Daria thumbed through her thesaurus. She needed a better word for 'annoying'. Hmmm, 'irritating', 'pesky', 'irksome', 'vexatious', and ahhhh... 'trying'. That would do nicely. She crafted her prize adjective into a sentence, saved the document, and got up for a good stretch. She had been writing all morning and her cramped muscles were not very happy about it. She stretched, her oversized Mystic Spiral tee shirt barely shifting, then padded across the hardwood floor towards the open window. She put the palms of her hands on the windowsill and pushed her upper body through the window and looked down. Her apartment was twenty stories above the ground and afforded a magnificent view of the city. Up this high, the air was almost clean and crisp. She inhaled a deep breath. Nice. She looked over to the west and could see the river sparkling in the sun. Too bad it was a running sludge of carcinogens, at least it looked pretty from up here. Yeah, living in New York City was nice if you could afford to live high above the ground.

She reached behind her and grabbed a watering can from inside. Carefully balancing her weight, she climbed out of the window and onto the two-foot wide ledge beneath. She trailed one hand against the building and walked along the ledge for about five feet. Here, the shape of the building changed and the ledge widened into a square of concrete large enough to accommodate several terracotta pots of Zinnias and Sunflowers. She and Trent used this little space as their own private garden. It was a good place to read in the morning, and at night, a few candles made the spot a nice place to drink a glass of wine. Daria looked out across the city as she watered the flowers. The view was even better from here. Sure walking along the ledge was a little risky, but having a spot of private outdoor space in the city was well worth it. As long as they were careful, nothing would happen.

When she ran out of water, Daria walked back to her window and clambered inside. She glanced at the clock on her desk. It was 10:45. She had to be at the radio station in an hour. Plenty of time for a shower and a quick stop at the coffeehouse on the way. She needed that shower too, ick. Her hair felt greasy, she smelled of smoke from Trent's gig last night, and it felt like a big zit was trying to take over the tip of her nose. She was pulling a towel from the linen closet when the doorbell rang. Well, wasn't that annoying, or rather, 'trying'. Smiling at her own joke, she headed towards the front door and looked through the peephole. It was one of Trent's guitar students.

Daria moved so Susan could step inside. "I think he's still asleep. Aren't you earlier than usual?"

"Yeah, but he said it was OK. It's my birthday today, and my afternoon is all tied up with my family." Susan said 'family' in the same tone one might use to say 'war crimes' or 'penne ala pesto'.

"Just think, only four more years to total independence. Why don't you go on into the music room, and I'll see if I can't bring Trent into the land of the living."

As Susan headed for the music room, Daria quietly opened the bedroom door. In the dim light she could make out Trent's form sprawled across the bed. Who knew what time he had stumbled in last night? It probably had been very late. He and the band usually pub-crawled after a gig. Sometimes she accompanied them, but not last night. She stood over him and watched him sleeping for a moment. He was lying on his stomach and had both arms wrapped around his pillow. His torso was bare and the sheets were tightly wound around his hips and legs, making him look like a figure from an Egyptian tomb painting. She chuckled and gently brushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes.

"And just what was so hilarious?" Trent lunged out of bed, caught her around the waist, and pulled her into bed with him.

She landed with a yelp, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. He was still sluggish with sleep, but he had surprise on his side, and before she knew it he was sitting on her waist and tickling her mercilessly.

"I'll give you something to laugh about!" he teased, brushing his fingers over her ribcage. Trent had learned early in their relationship that tickling was the one known thing on the planet that could make Daria lose her cool.

Trent loved that unrestrained laughter. He knew he was the only one who had ever heard it, and never lost an opportunity to bring it to the surface. It was good for her.

"Never!" Daria shifted her weight, slid out from under him, and leapt out of bed. Trent caught her around the ankle and tried to pull her back. Unfortunately she was too far-gone, and Trent's grab made fall painfully onto her knees.

Trent was on the floor with her in a second. "God, I'm sorry Daria. Let me see." He looked at the purple bruises appearing on both of her knees and winced. "I'm really sorry."

Daria smiled. What a softie. "Trent, it's OK. It was an accident." She put her arm around his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. "It's OK."

Trent looked up at her with intense eyes. "Let me make it up to you." He ran his hand under the hem of her shirt and leaned closer. Keeping eye contact as their lips met, Trent kissed her. He traced his fingers up the bare skin of her back and started to pull off her tee-shirt.

"Damn." Trent kissed her again quickly. "Where will you be in an hour?" he growled, placing scorching little kisses along her jaw line.

"Jane and I are having lunch. Want to come along?" she asked, rubbing her cheek.

"Nah. We are holding auditions for a new rhythm guitarist this afternoon. Then I have 'Les Miz' stuff until late."

Trent playfully spanked her bottom as she limped towards the bathroom. She turned and swatted him with her towel. He came towards her obviously looking for trouble.

She smirked and shut the bathroom door behind her. She turned on the shower thinking about how nicely her life had turned out. She was a regular commentator for National Public Radio (NPR), and she had hit the best seller's list with two collections of her commentaries. She also had Trent who had made a decent name for himself in the New York music scene by playing in the pit for many major Broadway musicals as well as with his own blues band. Life was coming together for the two of them. Coming together better than she had ever hoped.

Chapter Two

"...I'm Daria Morgendorffer and you have been listening to National Public Radio," Daria finished her weekly commentary with the standard tag line.

Daria pulled off her earphones and hopped off the stool. "Super. See you guys next week."

The intercom the connected the control booth to the recording studio crackled. "Daria, the Station Manager wants to see you before you leave."

The techie's body language looked uncomfortable. "You'd better go talk to her, Daria. It's that time of the year."

Daria arched an eyebrow. "Not for me. My contract is not up for renewal for three more years."

Daria felt uneasy. This guy obviously knew more than he was telling. "OK. Tell her I'll be up in a few minutes."

The techie didn't reply, but Daria could see him dialing his telephone. No, this didn't feel good at all. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and hit the preset button that would connect her to Jane.

"Yes. This is Daria Morgendorffer. Please tell her I can't join her for lunch today."

"You bet," Daria said dryly and turned off the phone. She still couldn't get used to the idea of Jane as a businesswoman, even if the business was art. It was funny how things turned out sometimes. Daria headed for the bank of elevators that would rush her to the plush offices above. She had better go see what sort of trouble she was in.

As she strode through the administrative office suite, Daria immediately noticed that no one was making eye contact with her. Everyone seemed extremely interested in their footwear, today. They all looked sad too. This couldn't be good. Daria brushed by the secretary that usually guarded the Station Manager's office with uncharacteristic ease and went straight inside without knocking.

"OK, what's the problem? I figure it must be big as everyone out there acts like I'm dead."

The generic looking businesswoman closed the manila folder she was looking at and sighed. "Have a seat, Daria."

The older woman smiled wryly. "Fine. I'll get to the point. NPR's current market research has strongly indicated that our listeners no longer care for your jaundiced view of our society. NPR's mission is to serve the thinking public what it wants. I hate to say it isn't your viewpoint. It used to be, but the demographic has changed."

Daria leaned against the doorframe. "What's new about that? I've always preached to the choir. Isn't that the whole left-winged point of NPR? "

"Daria, you're not hearing me. Listen. Your 'choir' has been converted. They don't want you to preach to them any more. Generation Y controls the market. They want optimism and hope, not bitterness and cynicism."

The station manager re-opened the manila file. "Our lawyers have severed your contract, as laid out in said contract's termination clause. As such, you will continue to be paid, at 70% of your current salary, for the next three years. Medical benefits remain unchanged. Optical has been dropped. You will need to pay for your own glasses, starting today."

Daria schooled her face into a degree of stoniness she hadn't worn for years. "How many more programs do I get?"

Daria stared at her for a moment then, silently made her way out of the office. This time it was she who didn't look anyone in the eye as she passed.

Chapter Three

After a relatively tame night of playing in the pit for Les Misérables, Trent slid his key into the deadbolt lock of the front door. It swung open from the pressure, even before he could shift the lock's rollers. Great. Not only had Daria forgotten to use the chain lock (a frequent occurrence), this time she had left the door completely unlocked. He wished she would be more careful. They lived in New York City after all. It just wasn't safe. He was deciding how to best broach this topic without annoying her when he noticed how dark the apartment was. It was still early, only 11:30. Daria was usually up this time of night working on next week's commentary. Wondering where she was, he flipped on a light and set down his guitar case.

The first thing that caught his eye was a trail of garments, starting with Daria's favorite gabardine blazer and continuing with shoes, skirt, and hosiery. This was really weird. Daria had become something of a neat freak over the past several years, and seeing her clothing on the floor was disconcerting. Trent followed the trail into the bedroom and switched on the overhead light. The room was a wreck. The bed, instead of being crisply made, was a rumpled mess. The nightstand boasted a half empty Chinese take out container, an empty Ben and Jerry's Ice cream container with a sticky spoon balanced across the top, and an empty wine bottle. More weirdness. Daria usually had a thing about eating in bed because the crumbs drove her crazy.

His heart jumped when he noticed the mess by the wardrobe. It was standing open and most of its contents had been thrown across the floor, leaving empty hangers to fill the space. One outfit remained hanging, showcased by its aloneness. It was Daria's old outfit from high school, hanging in such a way that it looked as if it were being worn by an invisible girl. All of Daria's shoes were scattered about too. Had someone broken into their apartment?

Worried by the mess and the evidence of a frantic search, Trent hurried to Daria's study, hoping to find her there. It was empty, but showed more signs of disruption. Papers were strewn all over the room. Most of the books were off the shelves and looked as if they had been thrown around. Her Tiffany floor lamp lay on its side, the shade cracked in half. Stunned by the mess, Trent tripped over another empty wine bottle as he approached Daria's reading chair. There was a second Ben and Jerry's pint container perched precariously close to the edge of the little table by her chair. This one was 2/3rds full, but melted. Trent touched the container. The cardboard was still cold. Someone had been here only minutes ago.

Feeling frantic now, and wondering if maybe the door was unlocked because someone had broken into the apartment, Trent raced back into the main hall and started flipping in every light he could find.

"Daria? Are you OK? Are you here?" he shouted skidding into the kitchen. She wasn't there, though this room was trashed too.

Images of 'Psycho' flashing through his mind, Trent checked the bathroom with dread. However, it was strangely undisturbed. Where was she? What if someone had broken in earlier and ransacked the place, then abducted her when she came home? Why wouldn't she just lock the damn door?

Losing steam, Trent wandered into Daria's study. He sat down in her reading chair and held his head in his hands. "Daria? Come on. Please answer me," he whispered, wondering what to do next. The combination of the unlocked door and the trashed apartment was weaving uncomfortable hypothetical situations in his mind.

Trent looked at the window immediately. Its sash was up, and the curtains were moving slightly with the breeze.

Trent leaned further out and tried to get a better look. He could barely see the outlines of her legs dangling over the ledge, but nothing more. The pots of flowers obscured the rest of her. It looked like she had her old boots on. He hadn't seen those in years.

"Daria, tell me you did not single handedly drink two bottles of red wine and then climb out to the garden."

Her voice was slurred, so it was difficult to tell if she was hiding something. Even so, Trent had no doubt that something terrible had happened today. Daria Morgendorffer was not the type of person who lost control like this. She did not have fits. She had never even come close to having a fit. Tonight's obvious binge and tantrum scared him. What had happened to her today?

"Daria, did somebody hurt you?" he asked hesitantly, thinking of the all too many ways a woman could be hurt in New York City.

Trent sighed. He knew from long experience that she wouldn't tell him anything until she was ready. He pulled back inside. As he did so, he noticed that there were books in the wastepaper basket. On closer inspection, he saw that they were Daria's two best sellers. He sucked in a tight breath. This was a bad sign. Why had she thrown away the very symbols of her success? No matter, getting Daria safely back inside was more important right now. As he pondered how to accomplish this, Trent heard the sound of lug soles scraping against concrete. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he carefully stuck his head out of the window.

On her hands and knees Daria silently edged her way back along the ledge. She might be intoxicated, but she wasn't stupid. She was using every ounce of concentration to keep on course. Pale and sweating, Trent leaned out of the window as far as he dared, with his arms stretched out towards her.

"Don't worry. Don't worry," Daria assured him as she came with in his reach. "Don't grab at me either."

"How can I help?" Trent asked, fighting the urge to yank her inside. She had a point though, if he startled her she might fall over the edge.

Daria was at the window now. She got up on her knees and put her hands on the windowsill. She gave him a bleary smirk. "Pull me inside."

Trent gently put his hands around her waist and pulled her in. He hugged her upper body as she eased her legs through the window. He started to let go when her feet touched the floor, but held on tightly as it became apparent that she couldn't stand on her own.

Reacting to the tone of his voice, she pushed away from him and her knees promptly gave out. She slid into a kneeling position and curled up into a tight ball, hiding her face. She muttered something that he couldn't make out, but it was clear that she was crying.

Trent sat down by her and placed an awkward hand on her back. This was all so unlike her it was surreal. Fits and crying, whoa. He had only seen her cry one time before, and that was nothing like the choking sobs that were shaking her body.

Still hiding her face, her tears embarrassing her, Daria gestured towards the waste paper basket.

"Don't worry. I'm making plenty of money. We can do just fine until you get back on your feet." He had meant to be soothing, but it had come out patronizing.

Her head snapped up and she glared at him. Her tear streaks made strange patterns on her cheeks, and for a moment Trent was a little afraid of her. "That's not the point. There's nowhere for me to stand, Trent. My point of view is passe. No one cares what I have to say anymore. It's over. I'm over."

Her intensity drove away any empty words of comfort he might have offered, so he just gathered her into his arms and held her close.

"No real talent, just attitude. Well, that won't carry me any further," she muttered into his chest.

Trent half supported, half dragged Daria into the bathroom and held her hair back while she retched into the toilet. He doubted she had ever drank to the point of being sick before. He winced, remembering how horrible it had felt the first time it had happened to him. "It's OK. Probably a good thing too. You drank too much," he said rubbing her back.

She whimpered a little and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "Disgusting. I think I'm done."

Drained and silent, she followed his directions. She leaned on him as they went into the bedroom. He silently removed both of their clothes, and herded Daria into bed. He turned off the light and wrapped his long body around Daria's. She started crying again, and he stroked her hair trying to offer all of the physical comfort he could because he didn't have the words to help her.

Chapter Four

Daria woke up with a terrible headache. She put a hand to her head and held on for dear life. It felt as if a small Latin band were doing a percussion number on the inside of her skull. Her mouth tasted sour too. She vaguely remembered getting sick last night. It was a good thing Trent had made her brush her teeth, it could have tasted worse. Cracking open an eye Daria surveyed the dim room. It was a mess. Had she done that? What had happened last night? She sat there wondering what it was for a few blissful seconds. There was a kind of peace in not remembering what had driven her over the edge. She was glad for the respite, and not entirely sure she wanted to remember.

Then the truth slammed into her. She couldn't ignore it. Those few blissful moments of ignorance slipped away from her and she remembered. She had been summarily dismissed from NPR. Fired. She knew why she had ransacked her wardrobe. She had been looking for her old outfit from high school. It was the costume that symbolized her longstanding isolation from others. It was a reminder of how bad things used to be, a situation which she thought had improved. Two years ago she had found a spot that seemed to fit her. Doing commentaries on NPR had given her a shelf to stand on in the sociocultural milieu of the twenty-first century. There, she didn't feel isolated, but instead felt like a small dissenting part of a whole. She fit in, not in spite of her viewpoint, but because of it. She wasn't isolated anymore, she had a voice. She had been heard. When that came to a sudden end, her old sense of isolation had encased her within seconds.

It hadn't gone away after all, it had just been waiting in the wings. When this became clear to her, it had seemed fitting that she don the outer casing of her inner turmoil. It had taken quite a bit of digging, and in the end everything else in the wardrobe had ended up on the floor. Tragically, those old clothes didn't fit her anymore. The skirt was too short and the jacket was so small on her that she couldn't zip it up. Out of a sense of reverence she had hung the outfit back up while she left everything else scattered about the floor. Her boots still fit though, and she had settled for the comfort of those. The rest was foggy. She had eaten just about everything and sight and drank most of three bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon. Ugh. No wonder she had gotten sick. She was wondering what to do next when the door to the bedroom creaked open.

Trent sat the tray down on her lap. It bore two slices of dry toast, a large glass of water, and a small mimosa. "Nah. These are the best hang over remedies around. Take it from someone who knows." He gave her a rueful smile. "Drink the mimosa first. Hair of the dog, you know."

Trusting him, Daria drank the mimosa down in one gulp, almost choking from its strength.

"Good. Now drink all of the water, you're dehydrated, that's why you're head hurts."

"That's cool. Look, I have to go to work now. 'Les Miz' has a new guest-star headlining in two weeks, and the orchestra has to break her in."

Even though she felt like dying on the spot, Daria was curious. "Who is it this time?"

Coincidentally, Daria's insides chose that moment to rebel. Covering her mouth, Daria raced for the bathroom. She made it to the toilet, but only barely. Trent slouched in as she was rinsing out her mouth.

"No thanks." She pulled the covers over her head, hoping he would just let her be.

"Daria, I know this NPR jazz has hurt you. But, just consider how hard you have been working for the last six years. Treat this as a vacation. Sleep in. Relax. You will be on your feet again soon, so don't rush it."

Daria pulled the covers back over her head. "I believe you can count on me not rushing anywhere, anytime soon," she grumbled.

Trent was used to her ways by now, and patted her covered head without resentment. "Good. See ya later."

Chapter Five

"Hello, you've reached Daria and Trent. Please leave a message at the beep," said Trent's pre-recorded voice. Then, Daria's voice cut in saying, "But don't expect to hear back from us anytime soon." Then Trent, "Daria, don't...."

"Yo. This is Jane. Daria where are you? I haven't seen you for days! Let's try to set up lunch again. Later."

Chapter Six

"Daria. Are you OK? I haven't heard from you in almost two weeks. Call me. Oh yeah, this is Jane."

Chapter Seven

"Are you mad at me? I didn't mean to publish that nude painting of you in The New Yorker. It's my agent's fault. Please call me."

Chapter Eight

"Daria. I just spoke to Trent about...everything. I am so sorry. Please call me. I want to help."

Chapter Nine

This time it was Jane's phone that rang five times before the machine picked up.

"Hi Jane. This is Daria. Please stop calling. I don't want to talk right now." Click.

Chapter Ten

The bedroom was cloaked in semi-darkness, even though the window shades glowed with a back light that indicated daylight beyond them. A lone figure was lying on the bed with one leg hanging over the edge. The form didn't stir when the bedroom door creaked open, allowing a wedge of sunlight to fall across the bed.

Daria pushed herself into a seated position and brushed a limp strand of hair out of her eyes. "Thanks."

Trent looked uncomfortable. "Ummm, no. The gig is over. I thought you were going to come."

"Well, you were the one who told me to treat this like a vacation. So I am. I'm relaxing," she stated dully.

"This isn't how Daria Morgendorffer relaxes. Besides, that was over six weeks ago. Most vacations only last for two weeks," said a familiar voice from the doorway.

Not Jane, though. Like her brother she was seriously concerned about Daria's state of mind.

"Daria." Jane echoed back at her in a similar tone. She walked in and sat down on the other side of Trent.

"No it is a gathering of people you casually blew off today," Jane stated matter-of-factly.

"No Trent, you've been too easy on her." Jane got up and stood with her arms crossed. She looked Daria straight in the eye.

Jane wasn't about to give up so easily. "Like hell. You sleep all day, and you sleep all night. Those few moments you are awake you won't eat anything but ice cream and potato chips. Six weeks, Daria! This isn't good for you. Go get some help."

"Then prove it. Get up, take a shower for goodness sake, and lets all go out for a late lunch. We can celebrate Trent's first free concert in Central Park."

Jane was losing her temper. "Daria, don't you even feel a little bad for blowing Trent off today? This concert was a big deal. There were scouts from major recording labels there. This could be his big break."

Jane plunged on ahead. "That is, it might have been a big break if he could have concentrated. He was too damn distracted, looking for you in the crowd the entire time."

Daria's voice sounded thick with suppressed tears, though her expression didn't change. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to miss it."

Trent slid an arm around Daria's shoulders. "I know you didn't." He looked over at Jane. "This isn't helping. You need to go."

"Fine." Jane reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. "One thing. Daria, this is the card for a very good psychologist. I am going to leave it on your desk. Call her. You need help. Laying in bed and bingeing are not going to solve your problems." She looked over at Trent and Daria to gauge their reactions. Daria was staring at the floor, and Trent looked tired.

Jane looked as if she might say more, but had decided against it. With a last concerned look at Daria she left.

Daria had packed on a few pounds during the last several weeks, her hair was dirty and tangled, the zit on the tip of her nose had multiplied and spread across her cheeks. She was a royal mess.

"I am depressed. I've never been a failure before. I don't know how to take it," she ventured, tentatively acknowledging the truth as she saw it.

"You are not a failure." Trent brightened. This was the first time Daria had opened up about this since that first horrible night. After her initial outburst she had closed up completely. Whenever he had tried to broach the topic, she had just sealed herself off. Maybe Janey had helped after all.

"Listen, you don't have to coddle me. I was fired. My one little talent evaporated. I've wasted my life, and that takes some getting used to. Maybe I should see a shrink."

"Daria, listen to me. You once told me that it didn't matter if I made it as a musician or not, because I was doing exactly what I wanted to. Remember that?"

"Sure you do. It was on the way to Alternapalooza. Then you said that most people don't make it that far, that most people never do exactly what they want."

Daria pulled her knees into her chest and hugged them while she considered Trent's words. "But I can't do that anymore. What's next?"

"You only can't do that on NPR. Last time I checked you were a best selling writer."

Daria laid her head on her knees. "That was all based on my success as a commentator. Those books couldn't have stood alone."

"Then why not write one based on the sudden end of your time at NPR. There has to be some great social criticism buried in there."

"Maybe all great writers have had to suffer, but it's time for you to stop." He rumpled her hair as he said this.

Daria remembered another bubble bath from along time ago. "What is it with you and bubble baths?" she asked with a smirk.

"They are good for the soul." Trent said and walked into the adjoining bathroom.

Soon Daria could her the water running in the large claw foot tub. She pushed her self out of bed and stretched. Maybe it was time to stop wallowing in despair. She looked at herself in the mirror. Ugh. She was pudgy and greasy. Yes, it was time to regain a little self-respect.

When she went into the bathroom Trent was gone, but the bath was ready. It looked foamy and inviting. She pulled of her oversized tee-shirt and slid into the water. Perfect. Trent knew how to draw a hot bath that was just on this side painful. Hot enough to relax muscles, but not hot enough to scald. She was in bubbles up to her neck and trying to decide whether or not to see the shrink when Trent came back into the bathroom with two large glass tumblers of orange juice. He handed her one and sat down on the toilet seat and watched her.

She took a sip. Its coolness was a refreshing counterpoint to the heat of the bath. "Thanks."

"Are you still into that health-food-homeopathy mumbo jumbo?" she grouched, not completely happy about being rousted from bed.

"I guess we'll never know..." Trent was interrupted by the doorbell. He looked at his watch.

"Oh Christ. I can't believe it's this late. It's business. I'm starting a new project and..."

"Go on. I'll be fine in here." All of this 'getting back to normal' was happening too fast. She felt exhausted and wouldn't mind a few moments of solitude.

Daria took a long drink of orange juice. Where to start? Well, this experience was certainly eye opening. Now she understood how it felt to have the floor drop out from under her. She hadn't handled it very well either. Then again, why would she? Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. This was certainly an experience to learn from. In the past she had always written about her experiences. Why not this one? It would be an interesting spin on cynicism, that even a hardened cynic had a soul. Even cynics could dream, and then suffer when that dream disintegrates without warning.

She swished around in the water. That would work. But she would have to move slowly. A therapist probably wasn't necessary at this point, but she shouldn't push herself too hard. Yep, if she went too fast she was likely to end up even worse off. Take it one step at a time, Daria.

After a good scrubbing and shampooing, Daria got out of the tub and toweled off. She tingled all over and felt better than she had in weeks. Maybe a good first step would be to take Jane up on her offer of a late lunch. Something healthy. Daria pulled on her thick terry cloth robe and wrapped her hair up in a towel turban. She slipped her feet into her lambs wool lined slippers and went to find Trent. Maybe he would be done with his meeting.

She found him and his guest pouring over sheet music in the kitchen. She didn't recognize this other person from the back, but her voice sounded familiar. Disturbingly familiar. For some reason she couldn't put her finger on, Daria felt uneasy.

Trent looked up and noticed her in the doorway. "Hey Daria. You remember Monique Levinson, don't you?"

Monique turned around and flashed Daria a smile. She looked liked Daria had remembered her: Beautiful, tall, lithe, and hip. "Hey Daria. How's it going?"

Daria was painfully aware of her acne and weight gain. "Fine," she said shortly.

Trent grinned, oblivious to the tension arcing between the two women. "Daria, Monique and I are collaborating on a new musical."

"Yeah. We've been working together for weeks. It's a rock opera like 'Tommy' or 'Rent'." Monique smiled.

"Yeah, like 'Rent'. Monique and I were planning on working on some of the lyrics tonight. You don't mind do you?"

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, with much effort, Daria got up around 10:30. She took a long shower, soaping up with Trent's favorite citrus shower gel. Its tangy scent revived her more than she expected, and by the time she had dressed in a comfy outfit of leggings and an old, oversized, Yale sweatshirt she was raring to write. She padded out of her bedroom and into her office. She figured she would let the laptop boot-up while making a strong pot of coffee. She stopped short at the sight of Monique seated at her desk and busily scribbling something down on a legal pad. Surprised, Daria simply stared.

Monique sensed her gaze, and looked up. "Oh, hey Daria. Hope you don't mind me using your office."

Monique went on blithely. "My apartment is being painted and I needed a quiet place to write. Trent, said it was OK. That this was just wasted space since you haven't been able work."

"He went to Starbucks to get us some coffee. Oh. Hope you didn't want any. I guess we expected you to be asleep." Monique grinned with artificial sweetness. "I hope I didn't wake you. Please feel free to go back to sleep. Pretend I'm not here."

Daria rallied as best she could. "OK. I'll just work in the kitchen while I pretend." Daria grabbed her laptop and left with out another word. She felt vaguely uneasy about Monique's sudden reappearance in Trent's life. Then again, she was uneasy about most things right now. It was probably just nerves.

Daria was sitting at the kitchen table and staring at the blinking cursor on the blank screen when Trent came in the kitchen door from the back stairs. When he saw Daria seated at the table, dressed and obviously working, he grinned openly.

"Hey, there!" He sat the coffees on the table and gave her a big hug. "What are you doing?"

The hug felt wonderful, and she wrapped her arms around him so he wouldn't stop. "Investigating the wonders of the first shift before I sign up for good," she said into his shoulder, almost sounding like herself.

Trent sensed the drop in her mood and wiggled free of her grasp. He arched an eyebrow. "I know why. You never could write a word without your morning coffee. Luckily, I have a latté for you." He presented it to her with a flourish.

Monique took the coffee, immediately noticing who had gotten the latté, and looked a trifle annoyed, but only for an instant. She masked it by joking, "Well, I can see who is important around here!"

Daria smirked, hiding her reaction to how nice that had felt. She needed all the affirmation she could get right now, but wasn't going to go around openly begging for it. She had also seen Monique's miffed expression, and that bothered her. It certainly felt like Monique was up to something, and that had made Trent's attention all the more comforting.

"Yeah. Let's go." Monique wiggled her knapsack to indicate she had everything she needed.

"Bye," Daria said focusing on the computer again. They left, and Daria began the hard struggle back to her firm command of the written word.

She had been writing for over a two hours, resulting in about two pages of text, when she decided to reclaim her office. She left her laptop on and carefully carried it into her office. She set it on her desk and went to open the window. The curtain fluttered in a dry breeze reminding her of the little garden out on the ledge. She hoped Trent had remembered to water it while she had been...resting. She caught up the watering can and scooted out on to the ledge. She went over to inspect the garden. It seemed fine. Trent certainly had become more responsible. Six years ago, those poor Zinnias and Sunflowers would have been toast. Daria hummed tunelessly as she got back into the morning routine of watering the flowers. It was starting to feel like less of a pain to be back in the world. The sun felt nice on her bare toes, and the wind felt good in her hair. If waking up meant time out here, then maybe getting back to normal wasn't so bad. Encouraged, Daria went back to the window and climbed inside, ready to write some more.

Monique was sitting at Daria's desk, obviously reading what Daria had written on the computer. She let out a squeak of surprise when Daria climbed inside. "Jesus, Daria! What the hell are you doing?" She obviously didn't know about the garden.

"I could ask you just the same thing," thought Daria. Instead she quickly snapped the laptop closed. She looked Monique in the eye for a moment and said, "I was out on the terrace, minding my own business. How about you?"

Monique who hadn't really known the pre-depression Daria very well was momentarily stunned into silence.

Feeling a little stronger Daria added, "This is my office. I would appreciate some privacy."

Monique looked at her consideringly, "Sure. I just wanted to let you know Trent and I are going out to lunch. See ya later."

As Monique turned to go, Trent stuck his head around the corner. "So is Daria going to come...oh, hey Daria. Did Monique ask you if you wanted to join us for lunch yet? We're going to your favorite Ethiopian dive."

Daria's eyes widened. Those odd little misgivings she had felt about Monique coalesced into a terrible feeling of certainty. That minx was after Trent!

Angled so Trent couldn't see her expression, Monique gave Daria an openly challenging wink. Then she turned to Trent and said, "I was just about to."

This was too much. Maybe it was time to go back to bed. Daria wavered, sorely tempted to go back to her old life of senseless slumber. But if she did that, she would be making things way too easy for Monique. Daria sucked in a deep breath, made a choice, and said, "Thanks for the invitation, but I have to make a phone call."

"That's too bad," Monique said with fake sweetness, thinking she had startled Daria back into her shell.

Daria let her think that, too. She needed time to plan, and if Monique got overconfident she just might let up a little. As Daria dialed Jane's number, she hoped she had enough strength left to win this game.

Chapter Twelve

Daria picked her way through the crowded outdoor bistro and searched for Jane. This would be their first meeting since the uncomfortable scene in the bedroom. Daria hoped Jane wasn't angry with her. She just couldn't take that right now.

Ah, there she was half hidden behind a potted palm. Daria paused, gathering her nerves. Jane looked as she always had. The past six years had done little to change her. She still wore her hair in the same simple bob, she still wore deep red lip rouge. The only thing that had changed about Jane was her clothing. Now that she had her own gallery, she had opted for the artist's uniform of unrelieved black. Jane never lost a chance to gripe about this either. The paradox of conforming artists was painfully annoying to her. Yet she knew what her clients expected and dressed accordingly. Jane had turned out to be an accomplished businesswoman when all was said and done, and made the necessary compromises as needed. Today Jane had on an ebony ensemble of a tight mini-skirt, a tailored Channel sweater, tights, and spiky high heels. Daria searched for something that broke the "all black rule". Jane usually had something on that wasn't quite black, just to make herself feel better. Finally Daria noticed a little silver spider pendant dangling against the sweater. The spider's body was fashioned from three tiny garnets that were such a deep red that they looked black against the sweater. Daria smiled. She had gotten Jane that pendant for Christmas last year. The fact that she was wearing it was a good sign.

"Daria!" Jane jumped up and gave Daria a hearty hug. "This is great! It is so good to see you out of the house!"

Daria stiffly patted Jane on the back. She was terribly relieved, but the old habits were still with her. "It's great to be out."

If Jane noticed the stiffness, she didn't let on. "Have a seat, compadre. I have to admit that I was shocked when my secretary told me you had scheduled this lunch. What did it take to drive you out of the house?"

Daria winced as she slid into her seat. That had hit close to home, but she had other business to take care of first. "Look, I'm sorry."

Daria mentally rolled her eyes. Great. Jane was going to make her go into detail. "For being rude. For ignoring you," she recited bleakly, hoping this would be enough.

Jane fussed with her cloth napkin. "For spiraling out of control when first met with failure? For behaving like you felt?" she asked frankly. "Come on, Daria, you couldn't help it. There is nothing to apologize for." Then sadly, "I just wish I could have helped you better. I was so worried about you."

"God, Daria. What did you think? I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself. I've never seen anything, besides Trent, actually get to you before. At all. Then blammo, something touches you, and you rocket over the edge. I called Trent every night to make sure you were still breathing." Now she was twisting the napkin, as if she were trying wring water out of it.

"You did?" Daria felt more confident, knowing her friend had never given up on her.

"Yes. Every night. I made Trent promise not to tell you. I was afraid it would make you angry."

Daria laid a hand over Jane's and stopped their anxious twisting movements. "He kept his promise. It means a lot to me, though. Thank you, Jane. Thanks for, you know, everything." Implied in this simple statement was: Thanks for being my one true friend. Thanks for understanding me. Thanks for caring.

Jane picked up on all of these messages. She didn't need the words. She found the meaning in Daria's hand gesture, in her tone of voice, in the look in her eyes. Jane squeezed Daria's hand in return, sending a similar silent message.

Jane released Daria's hand and leaned back into her seat. "I can see that your 'self esteem is on the up tick'," she said mimicking an old high school teacher they had shared, "but something is slowing you down. I can tell. What is it?"

"It's more than that. She wants Trent back, and is making every move she can manage."

Interestingly, Jane didn't look too fazed by this news. "I'm not too surprised. This would be just like her. She used to do this when she and Trent were dating. They would break up, then a week or two later she would come back around. Only this time it took her six years to show up on your doorstep. Frankly, I expected this before now."

Daria fiddled with the lemon slice on the rim of her ice water. "This is the worst timing possible."

"Just look at me. How can I can compete." She made a sweeping hand gesture that indicated her weight gain, her acne, her short stature, and her plainness. "Trent must be dying to escape."

Jane shook her head calmly. "Daria. Trent doesn't see you that way. He loves you. That hasn't changed." Jane said those last three words with conviction.

"Daria, Trent is just as oblivious as he always was. I doubt he'd notice it if Monique took her clothes off and started dancing on your kitchen table."

Jane chuckled, happy to see her old friend coming back to herself. "I'm serious. Trent doesn't pay attention to things that aren't very important to him. He is very selective in his inattention. Just ignore Monique. The only power she has is in your reactions. Don't help her out."

Daria took a sip of ice water while she thought over Jane's comments. Jane did have a point. And the fact that she could be so calm about it all was the most telling. Daria trusted Jane above all others, even Trent. If Jane wasn't worried, then she felt much better. Better enough to broach a new topic. "So, what's this about the New Yorker?"

Jane shifted in her seat with a guilty smile. She reached into her oversized carry all and pulled out the magazine. "You'd better see for yourself. Page 78." As Daria flipped through the pages Jane continued, "My agent provided the art without even asking me first, I promise. Don't worry it won't happen again."

Daria's eyes widened as her eyes came to rest on a full-page nude image of her. In the style and colours of the early impressionists, she was depicted reclining on a chaise lounge made of books and was plucking little skulls from a grape-like cluster. With her other hand she was skewering a sheaf of newspapers with the tip of her fountain pen. All the while her face was caught up her characteristic smirk. "Um, I don't recall ever posing nude for you."

Daria looked at the Rubeneseque curves Jane had endowed her with and smirked. "Obviously."

"I painted it as your Christmas present last year, but was afraid to give it to you. I thought I was the only one who knew about it."

"Hmmmm." Daria was a trifle annoyed, but was quickly getting over it. "What other little secrets does your agent know about?"

Daria scanned the headline, "The Nihilist Nixed: The Regrettable Demise of Daria Morgendorffer", and was hooked immediately.

Jane watched with quiet satisfaction while her friend read. The article criticized NPR's treatment of Daria, and went on to extol Daria's talent and vision, while comparing contemporary NPR programming with a certain purple dinosaur that had enthralled the children of the late 1990s. Jane had been saving this article for the time when Daria would be ready to believe in herself again.

Daria finished the article and looked up with an intensity that had burned away all traces of her previous depression. "Jane, I have got to go. Now."

Daria got up and hurried toward the bank of cabs parked near the bistro, almost bowling over the waiter that had come to take their orders.

The waiter bristled at Jane who had started to get up herself. "You're leaving? But you haven't even ordered yet!"

"Jane slung her carry all over her shoulder and said, "That's what happens when it takes 45 minutes to get waited on," with a sauciness that rivaled a true-born New Yorker....

Chapter Thirteen

Daria let the pendant fall against the velvet on her chest with a dull thump. She had been so excited that day. She had come home from lunch with Jane in high spirits. She had hope again. The New Yorker had decided to champion her cause, and she had guessed that they would also like to hire her as well. A quick phone call to her agent and lawyers had started the whole negotiation process. It had all fallen together incredibly quickly. The magazine had considered getting her on staff the ultimate coup and had behaved like kittens. Her salary was phenomenal, and her contract granted her near carte blanch to write whatever she wanted, as long as she published ten articles a year. She had wanted her debut article, a caustic criticism of the recent decline of NPR's standards, to be above reproach in it's accuracy and clarity. Therefore, she had been working insane hours researching and writing it four over four months. She hardly slept anymore, and the weight she had gained, plus a little more, had dropped from her. All the while, the new musical was placing more and more demands on Trent's time. He had been putting in the same crazy hours himself. Before they both realized it, not having time to talk had turned into having nothing to talk about.

Instead of addressing the problem before it grew to large to control, they had both escaped reality by throwing themselves deeper into to their work. Now look where they were. And all the while Monique was maneuvering for power, trying to turn this awkwardness to her favor. Daria had tried to ignore her, like Jane had advised, but it was getting more and more difficult. Monique was so obvious, and it seemed like even Trent was beginning to take notice. Daria had even considered leaving Trent. This awkwardness made her anxious and she often felt like running away. Maybe it would be better to just leave before she got hurt. Maybe if she were the one to leave, it wouldn't be so bad. She might have already done this if it hadn't been for Monique's constant presence. She knew exactly what would happen after she left, and wanted to stall that as long as possible. Losing Trent would be bad enough. Losing him to Monique would be unbearable.

She looked back at her reflection in the mirror, only to be startled by Trent's reflection staring back at her. He had come back into the room while she had been lost in thought. She kept her eyes on the mirror as he approached her.

He stopped just behind her and looked at their reflections over her shoulder. "You look absolutely amazing." He gingerly ran a finger along the edge of her face.

Trent gripped both her shoulders firmly. "Daria, listen. Can we try to work this out? Please?"

Daria's breath caught in her throat at the first open acknowledgement that something was wrong. She placed a hand over his and caught his eyes in the mirror. She simply nodded, not trusting her voice.

Trent wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. "Thank you. I had this horrible feeling that one day I would come home and you would just be gone."

Daria was glad he couldn't see her guilty flush. That would have been exactly how it would have happened.

"Trent, come on!" came Monique voice from the living room. "We should have been there ten minutes ago.

Trent slid in front of Daria around and kissed her tentatively. "I love you. We start working on this tonight, OK?"

Looking hopeful, Trent hurried out to join Monique. Daria listened to the sounds of them leaving. Daring to feel hopeful herself, she slid her feet into the impossibly high heels Quinn had sent along with the rest of the outfit. Daria guessed the idea was for her to match Trent in height. She took a few toddling steps in the shoes and decided it wasn't worth it. If she broke her neck, she and Trent definitely were not going to patch things up. She had kicked off the shoes and was trying to decide on which of her own shoes would work with the outfit when she heard the front door open and the sound of high heels hurrying across the wooden floor of the foyer.

Monique popped into the bedroom. "Daria!" she said breathlessly. "Trent sent me all the way back up here to tell you that it looked like rain."

The laptop had all of her newest work on it, and a good rain will bring her back to square one. As if to emphasize Monique's point, a deep boom of thunder shook the apartment.

"Damn!" Daria rushed to her office, threw up the window's sash and climbed out onto the ledge. Glad she didn't have those heels on, she hurried over to the garden. But when she got there, there was no laptop in sight. Then, faintly, but distinctly, she heard the window being shut.

Daria made it back to the window in time to see Monique fastening the lock tightly. Not believing this was really happening, Daria rapped sharply on the glass. Monique looked up and smiled triumphantly. She mockingly blew Daria a kiss and sashayed out of the office.

Oh no. This wasn't happening. If she missed the show, Trent would never forgive her. Daria looked down the narrow strip of the ledge that led away from the garden. All of the windows along it were dark. None of the neighbors were home to help her. She didn't like the idea of walking along the narrower part of the ledge either. It was only wide enough to walk on from her office's window on to the garden. In fact, she didn't like hanging out here by the window with it being so windy. She headed back down to the garden and crouched down behind the potted Zinnias trying to find some shelter. Think, think. There had to be a way out of this.

Nothing came to mind immediately. Instead fat drops of rain started falling from the heavy clouds above. In seconds, Daria was completely drenched. It was cold rain too. That and the chill October wind soon had her shivering miserably. Could it get any worse? Her failure to show up after Trent's heartfelt pledge to mend their problems must have felt like a knife in his back. Could they ever get over this? Would he even believe what had happened? Monique was a champion manipulator and Daria had no doubt she held the upper hand in this. Monique would be able to make Trent believe whatever she wanted, and given Trent's probable mood after tonight, he would be all too ready to believe her lies. Daria curled up into a tight ball and did her best to stay warm. She had always been extra vulnerable to the cold and hoped she wouldn't come down with pneumonia again. As she shivered and chaffed her arms, time dragged by immeasurably.

One of the windows down from the garden filled up with light, and Daria's head snapped up with attention. How much time had passed? She had no idea, but it looked like somebody had finally come home. Maybe they could help her. Daria stiffly uncurled her body and got to her feet. Wanting to hurry, but taking her time, Daria edged down the slick concrete ledge, and stopped with surprise at the window of her own office. Was Trent home already? Her heart sank even further, she wasn't ready to face him yet. Well, that wouldn't be an immediate problem, the light was on, but the room was empty. As Daria peered inside, she saw Jane rush by the doorway of her office. Jane! Daria banged on the glass as hard as she could, shouting Jane's name. What if Jane thought no one was home and left?

To Daria's great relief, Jane walked back by the doorway. Jane paused, looking confused, and didn't go forward into the room. What was wrong? Why wasn't she opening the window? Then Daria realized the problem: Jane couldn't see her because of the light.

"Turn off the light! Turn off the light!" Daria shouted, still banging on the glass.

Jane took a hesitant step into the office, not understanding where that faint voice was coming from, and flipped off the switch. The moment the lights went out, Daria's silhouette at the window became easily visible. Jane rushed to the window, unlocked it, and pushed up the sash as quickly as she could. She extended a hand and helped a shivering Daria inside.

"Damn, I didn't think she had it in her." Jane paused, looking concerned. "Daria we have trouble. Trent is really, really mad."

"Of course he is. I just missed the opening of his first musical," Daria moaned into her hands. "Did you drive? I need to get there."

"I don't think that's a good idea. Trent is at the cast party getting drunk. Getting honest. You don't want to hear what he thinks right now."

"It doesn't matter. I can take it. I have to tell him the real truth before Monique gets her claws in any deeper."

Chapter Fourteen

Daria and Jane edged their way into the crowded backstage area. It didn't look good. At the front of the party, Trent and Monique were holding court over the cast members and the media. Trent looked bleary, with a bottle of champagne in one hand and his arm around Monique's waist. Everyone was laughing and talking excitedly. Suddenly, a door behind the pair opened and the house manager rushed in with a newspaper.

"The review is out!" he shouted against the applause of the giddy cast and crew.

Trent grabbed the newspaper and quickly flipped to Arts section. He cleared his throat and everyone fell silent, excitedly awaiting his words. The photographers and videographers got Trent in focus and began shooting.

"Tonight's spectacular debut of 'Helpful Corn' created by the team of Trent Lane and Monique Levinson was a pleasant surprise," Trent read, then paused dramatically. The cast let out a wild cheer. Grinning, Trent hugged Monique tightly.

Jane cast a worried glance at Daria. Daria was expressionless, which meant she was hurting enough to need to hide it. Jane took Daria's hand in her own and put her attention back to Trent.

"While this two scene comedy was well acted, the technical precision of its music demands the highest praise. Trent Lane has come a long way from his Mystic Spiral origins."

Here the crowd laughed good-naturedly, and Trent shrugged alternating between a grimace and a grin, acknowledging this as the truth.

He began again. "It seems as if his girlfriend, commentator Daria Morgendorffer, despite her recent drop from NPR, has had a positive influence on his creative development. Four stars."

The cast murmured nervously. They all knew about the recent problems between Trent and Daria. They all had noticed her absence tonight too. The press zoomed in excitedly, hoping for some dramatic footage.

"Positive influence!" he said bitterly. He tightened his hold on Monique and pulled her closer. "This is the person they should have mentioned! She wrote half of the damned thing! Daria Morgendorffer is a cold hearted, intellectual. Monique has always been my greatest inspiration!" He drunkenly moved into give Monique a kiss.

Trent's eyes found the source of the sound and he paled as his eyes filled up with the sight of Daria. She was soaking wet and shivering pitifully, her hair hanging in wet tangles around her face. She didn't have any shoes on and her stockings were covered in mud. Something terrible had obviously happened to her, something that had kept her away tonight. But it was her eyes that got to him the most. They were deep pools of pain, the hurt was fathomless. What had he just done?

Daria made brief eye contact with him, winced, and spun away from his gaze. She let the momentum carry her towards the door and careened out of the room.

"Don't touch me." He shook her off. "Daria!" He pushed his way through the crowd. What the Hell had he just done?

Jane caught his eye and shouted, "Don't. You'll just make it worse." She shook her head in disgust. "Just stay away."

Trent paused. Janey was right. His chest heaved and it felt like someone was running a grater over the tender flesh of his heart. What a damned fool he was. He should have known better. He had fallen for Monique's old tricks and destroyed everything that mattered to him. It was all his fault. Damn it, he should have known better.

"Oh come on, Trent. You know you belong with me, not some ugly little writer. I can make you much happier." Monique sidled over to Trent, not willing to give up.

Trent looked at her with hard eyes. He wanted to berate her, but had to choose between that and catching up with Daria. It was an easy choice. He let her interpret his silence as he jogged away. Monique stamped her feet and gave chase. Maybe if she held him up, Daria would get away. That should give her plenty of time to turn this situation back to her advantage.

Jane saw Monique go after Trent and decided enough was enough. She stuck a long leg into Monique's path. Intent on her prey, Monique didn't notice and went flying as she tripped, landing on her stomach, spread eagle, several feet away. Oblivious to the clicking sounds of the paparazzi's cameras, Jane walked over to Monique, hauled her to her feet by the scruff of her neck and wrenched her around.

"Just what the hell do you think you've been doing?" Jane snarled, shaking Monique for emphasis. It was bad enough that this hussy had meddled with Daria and Trent's relationship, but to lock her best friend out on a window ledge in a thunderstorm...Jane took a deep breath and told herself she was not going to deck her. No, she was not going to do it. Lawsuit. Big lawsuit.

Monique looked scared. Jane had grown up and was easily her equal in stature. This wasn't just Trent's kid sister anymore. This was a furious woman who looked like she could deal out some serious damage. Monique mustered a charming smile and said, "I don't know what you, mean Janey. Trent told me it was over. I'm just as much a victim as Daria. I had no idea."

That's when Jane lost her cool. With out conscious thought she balled her fingers into a fist and let loose a swing that sent Monique stumbling backwards. Monique landed on her butt and looked at Jane in shock, a steady stream of blood trickling from her nose. Jane stalked over and looked down at her menacingly. "That's for, among many things, locking Daria out on the ledge tonight. It was storming, Monique. She could have been killed up there. One gust of wind and a twenty story fall would have made you a murderer. What were you thinking?!"

The news crew cameras zoomed in for a close up, and the newspaper reporters scribbled on their notepads greedily as Monique squirmed. "Jane, I love Trent. You know that! I always have. He should be mine. I didn't want to hurt Daria. I was desperate. Trent wasn't going to leave her. I didn't think the ledge was dangerous. I didn't mean...." Monique faltered and stopped under the weight of Jane's glare.

Jane put her hands on her hips. " You 'didn't think'. That's obvious. I'll tell you what's dangerous: Trent and Me if anything had happened to Daria tonight. You are damned lucky."

Monique cast her eyes downward and muttered spitefully, "I don't know what great thing you two obviously see in her. She isn't even pretty."

"No more punching," Jane thought at herself, even as she made another fist. Instead she crossed her arms firmly across her chest, and took a calming breath. "Let me make it absolutely clear for you. It's true Daria isn't pretty like you are. Her beauty is so deep that it will never fade, like yours is already fading. You are colouring your gery hair already, I can tell. When you hit forty-five and your looks are cashed, what more will you have to offer? Will your strong character compensate? Yeah, right. You never had a chance." Without waiting for a response, Jane left Monique and went in search of Daria and Trent.

Meanwhile, Trent had cornered Daria in the auditorium, between the orchestra pit and the stage. Daria had obviously been crying, but was now just looked trapped and hurt. Trent was blocking her path to the only near exit, and looked frantic.

"Look, I had too much to drink, you know how I get," he pleaded, wanting to touch her but not quiet daring.

Daria hugged herself miserably, and murmured, "I know how you get. You get honest. It was the truth, Trent. You meant it."

"But I was angry. I thought you had left me. That your not coming was a message." He reached out, but she flinched away.

"You called me a 'brain' in there, Trent. You don't want a brain. You want someone like Monique. Someone interesting, someone who is beautiful," that last was hard to say but she got out the words, only sounding a little shaky. She wiped off her tears and took a deep breath, tamping down her emotional response.

Trent watched her pack away her feeling and panicked. He guessed where this was heading. "No way. I want you. You have to believe me, Daria. I can't imagine being without you."

Daria crossed her arms and faced him coolly, her sadness easily encased behind well practiced indifference. "Why should I believe you? If the past six years had meant anything to you at all, you wouldn't have said that."

Trent nearly hopped with aggravation and fear. "No! It's not like that at all. Why are you twisting this? Don't do this."

"Don't do what? Be realistic? I should have known it would be like this. It never could have worked out. Silly me. Well, I need to go now." She waked towards him with purpose.

"I am going home to pack. You can have the apartment. I don't want anything to do with it."

Trent released her with numb fingers. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare. But no, there she was walking away from him. Leaving him. His heart spasmed, berating him for what he had just done. If only he could take those words back. If only he hadn't started this stupid project with Monique. There had to be something he could do....

"Daria!", he called as she passed though the door. The anguish in his voice pleaded for her not to go.

She simply turned to look at him, her face devoid of all feeling, even coldness. It was a face completely bereft of its humanity. She looked for a moment then continued through the door.

Trent's eyes widened as he began to realize what he had done to her. He had single handedly undone every bit of emotional growth she had made in the last six years. He had destroyed her heart.

Epilogue

Jane opened the door of her townhouse just a crack. "What do you want?" She looked suspicious and sneaky.

Trent nervously traced a circle on the stoop with the toe of his boot. "Can I come in?"

Jane squeezed out through the crack and shut the door behind her. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

Trent shifted uncomfortably. "You made the front page of the 'Times with that sucker punch. Wow."

"Yeah. I hope it was good publicity for the show," Jane said with forced levity.

"We've been playing to a full house ever since," Trent acknowledged quietly, "but I would close the show to get Daria back."

Jane looked at Trent's harrowed expression and shook her head sadly. You just don't get it, do you? You blew it. You blew it to bits, and nothing you can say will put it back together."

Trent ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Don't be dramatic, Janey. She knows I love her."

"That's just it Trent. Before Daria let you love her, she was convinced that if she let someone inside, they would only hurt her. Before she loved you, she decided that it was too risky to ever get involved with anyone. Guess what? You proved her point."

Trent stood silently while his mouth twisted into a terrible grimace of anguish. It was just as he had feared. His eyes were brimming but he wouldn't allow himself to cry. He held it in check, but only just. He couldn't have been crueler to her if he had tried. He was heavy with the weight of his regret.

Jane went on angrily, "But here's the catch. It's worse than it ever, ever was. Her walls are up so high, that now I can't even get in. She is completely cut off now, Trent. I hope you're happy." Jane went inside and slammed the door behind her. Inside, she leaned her head against the door, feeling sorry for both Trent and Daria. But, Trent had brought this on himself and could dig his own way out, brother or not. It was Daria who needed her full attention, and even then Jane had serious doubts Daria would ever get over this.

Heartbroken, Trent stood there for hours and watched the shadows move behind Jane's windows, trying to tell which one belonged to Daria. The cold light of the street lamp glistened on his cheeks as he kept his lonely vigil deep into the night.

Diane Long

Once again, very special thanks go out to Jon Kilner. His comments and insights have become a very important part of my writing process. Thanks Jon! Particulalry for your help with the last two scenes. Those suggestions were awesome! Thanks to all of the readers who have taken the time to comment on my stories. Hearing from you is one of the best parts of writing fan fiction.

Undone

Prologue