La Belle Dame Sans Merci

By Marcello

Acknowledgements: Thanks, once more, to Deref, Renfield, Roger E. Moore and Ladyrhetta for their critiques and suggestions.

Synopsis: Just when things look really bad, they get much, much worse.

Rating: PG-13/R. A bit of language. Some sexual situations.

“SHIT!”

In the gray autumn light, Daria clenched the guardrail, vise-like, staring out over the campus from the observation deck on the top floor of the Raft University library. Few students were haunting the stacks this late Friday afternoon and she had the small open-air pavilion to herself.

“Come on, Daria. You can handle this.” You knew it was going to happen. She took several deep breaths, attempting to calm herself. “Get a grip, girl.” Glancing down at her whitened knuckles, she smiled ruefully. Ha.

The past summer had been hard. Hell, actually. Right down there in the ninth circle. Slowly -- very slowly -- it had gotten better. Comparatively speaking. Negating the outward flow of emotion was relatively easy. After all, she’d had a lifetime of practice. Flip the switch. The difficulty had been with the other part. Isolating those thoughts. Walling them off. Packing them back into that bunker in the underground of her psyche. Jane had made the conditions quite clear.

Status quo ante. The way it was before.

A mirthless smile touched her lips. That phrase had become a language unto itself for the two of them. A lingua daria. Jane: Status quo ante? Interrogative. Are we still okay? We’re still best friends, right? Just like before? Before that day. Daria: Status quo ante. Declarative. We’re still okay. We’re still best friends. Just like before. Always. Always just like before.

But she’d gotten through the summer. They had continued as before. Partners in crime. By sheer force of will, she had boxed into one corner of her mind that quiet voice that called Jane’s name, that filled the silent hours of the night when Daria couldn’t submerge in the bustle of her thoughts. Box. Clamp. Vise. Hold it in. Or else no Jane. Ever.

There had been days when she thought that she wouldn’t make it. Days when she’d thought that she’d burst into a thousand throbbing shards. Days when Jane was with Tom. During those times, Trent was there. They would just sit together, saying nothing, and he would play his guitar. She would close her eyes and let everything go for those minutes, those hours, lost in the gentle strumming. Somehow, afterwards, she always had the strength to continue.

Then summer was over and they were in Boston: Daria at Raft, Jane at BFAC. Daria settled into the rhythm of university life, immersing herself in her studies. She had a room to herself, at least for the remainder of the term. Her roommate had failed to show. Jane opted to live off-campus in a studio apartment not too far from Daria’s dorm. With their radically differing schedules, it was difficult to get together during the week, but Daria spent many weekends at Jane’s -- a refugee from the inanity of her fellow students.

That afternoon had begun as most Fridays over the past few months. Daria had let herself in with the key Jane had given to her when they first came to Boston. For emergencies, Jane had said. In case something happens to me. Tom had no key. Daria’s mind clutched at what that key meant. Had meant.

The apartment, as always, had been awash in art paraphernalia. Finished canvases lined one wall, another corner dominated by an easel and a still-in-progress sculpture, the floor covered by stacks of preliminary sketches. Only the double bed, futon-couch and television would suggest that someone actually lived there. Daria had stretched upon the bed, her copy of Atlas Shrugged open before her. The sounds of Jane’s after-run shower filtered through the thin bathroom door. The scent of Jane in the bed sheets filled Daria’s awareness. Perhaps I can inoculate myself, develop a resistance, get used to being with her like this, in this way, only this way. “Hey, amiga!” A revived and freshly scrubbed Jane appeared in the doorway. “Ready for another evening of artistic companionship?”

“How was that writer’s conference in Stanford last weekend?” Jane had set up her easel and was eyeing a virgin canvas in contemplation of her next artistic conquest. Daria’s gaze remained locked on the compact print of her book, her thoughts still awash in Jane’s fragrance.

“Nothing to write home about. Hordes of pompous poseurs and pompous poseur wannabes exhibiting herd-like behavior. I spent my time in the library.”

“Some things will never change.”

“The amazing shallowness of the so-called intelligentsia and my total lack of tolerance for them?”

“Bingo.”

As she attempted to concentrate on the novel, Daria sensed Jane slipping into her creative trance. The quiet that settled in the room wrapped around Daria like a warm blanket. This is good. Just us. Just like before. If nothing else, I can have this. With a mental sigh, she let her mind leave the words on the page, embracing that moment -- the sound of Jane’s brush across the canvas, the purposeful lines of Jane’s form, the lingering bouquet of Jane’s skin.

“Daria?” The world slid back into focus. How much time had slipped by? Jane’s completed creation was drying on the easel. Jane stood a few feet away, her eyes concerned. “Daria, are you okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Well … you haven’t turned a page in over an hour. I didn’t think you were that slow a reader.”

Daria smiled slightly. “I’m alright. Just thinking, that’s all.”

“Some thought. An hour’s worth.” Jane set her latest work against the wall and selected a fresh canvas.

If she only knew. But she does know. You told her. That’s why you’re in this mess. You voiced it. You brought it into being.

“Daria? Status quo ante, right?” The old signal.

“Yes, Jane. Status quo ante.”

“You’re important to me. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Where is this going?

“Tom came up from Bromwell last Friday.”

“Oh?”

Jane’s gaze faltered slightly, then regained its composure. “He … um …stayed over for the weekend.”

The universe froze. Eternal seconds ticked by. Suddenly, Daria realized where she was. Her body recoiled. “God, Jane! I’ve been laying …”

“Actually … we never made it to the bed.” Jane eyed the futon on the other side of the room.

“Oh.” Shit!

“I wanted you to know.”

“I understand.” Focus, dammit, focus! “Jane, I …uh…just remembered something I have to do at the library. I need to go out for a bit.” Hold it in, hold it in!

“We still have our bad movie night, right?”

“Sure. I won’t be too long.” Box, clamp, vise, box clamp vise, holdholdhold

As she walked down the hallway, Daria had felt the door close behind her.

In the distance, a clock tower tolled six o’clock. It had been almost two hours since she’d fled the scene. Jane would probably be getting worried. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay. A slow, deep breath. Exhale. That’s it. Breach sealed. Walls reinforced. Daria started down the library steps.

***

Outside the apartment, Daria reached for her key, then stopped. Slowly, she placed the keychain back into her coat pocket and knocked firmly on the door.

“Daria?” The relief in Jane’s face was evident. “Why didn’t you just come …” Her question trailed off into understanding. In a much smaller voice, “I was afraid you weren’t going to come back.”

“I couldn’t miss our bad movie marathon, now could I?” Daria looked into her friend’s eyes. “Everything is” contained “just fine. Really.” She frowned. “Now am I going to have to stand out here all night?”

With a sheepish grin, Jane stepped aside to let Daria by, then shut the door. Daria dropped her coat in its usual place by the bed, purposefully not glancing at the futon on the opposite wall. Jane bent down, clearing space on the floor and suddenly Daria noticed a familiar scent permeating the apartment. “Pizza?”

Jane looked up. “My peace offering.” Daria could see the intensity of Jane’s expression. “You, me, pizza, bad movies all night long and these.” She reached into a small paper bag Daria hadn’t noticed and pulled out two bottles.

“Wine?”

“Plum wine, from Japan. It’s supposed to be really good stuff.” Jane paused. “So … status quo ante?”

“Status quo ante.” A slight smile. “With wine.”

“Now you’re talkin’!”

Several hours later, they had devoured two pizzas, consumed one and a half bottles of wine and endured Night of the Lepus, Plan Nine From Outer Space and The Thing From Another World. They had just begun Invasion of the Neptune Men, when Jane arched against the futon, stretching with a contented sigh.

Almost without thought, Daria topped off Jane’s near-empty glass. Her head was fuzzy, her body pulsing. She was alive. With Jane. Anything seemed possible.

She’s so beautiful. Daria gazed at Jane’s long, slender lines stretched across the cushion. She’s so beautiful and I love her so much. Jane’s lidded eyes gleamed in the shadowed light of the apartment. If she only know how much. If she could only see …

He can’t love her like I can. He doesn’t know her like I do. What does he have that I—

But I can love her!

Daria moved close, her face just inches from Jane’s. Her breathing deepened. God! Hesitant, she slid her fingers across Jane’s lips. So beautiful. Jane moaned, soft and low, as fingertips traced the line of her jaw and arc of her neck. Daria closed the remaining distance between them. Love her.

Their lips touched.

***

Thin bars of early morning sunlight through barely-open blinds striped the floor. Daria floated in a tropical ocean of post-coital half-sleep, her mind blissfully disconnected. The sensual warmth of naked skin ran the length of her body and she felt the reassuring weight of a slender leg across her thighs.

“Hmmmmm.” She heard a murmur in her ear. A hand slid slowly down her stomach. “That was gooooood, T—” The hand jerked away as if shocked. “WHAT THE HELL?”

A blast of cold struck Daria, shocking her awake. Blinking madly, she tried to bring her mind into focus as she groped for her glasses. Slipping the lenses on, she was greeted by the sight of a very naked, very upset Jane crouched against the side of the bed. The shock of disbelief on Jane’s face transformed into fury as Daria watched.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jane’s eyes flashed as she stood. “We settled this! We settled this months ago! Status quo ante? Just like before, remember? When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”

O God!

“I don’t want you like this!” Her sweeping arms indicated their naked bodies. “I want Tom! I love Tom! I want to be with Tom!” Jane’s blood was up. “STOP FUCKING WITH MY MIND!”

Daria sat, impotent, as everything crashed around her. Her brain scrambled for an answer, for something, for anything to say. Her controls, so carefully, if tenuously, maintained, had failed her. She now reaped the whirlwind she’d so thoughtlessly sown in last night’s weakness.

“What the hell am I supposed to tell him?” Calmer, Jane’s voice still shook, her anger barely controlled. “What, Daria? ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I had a drunken lesbian fling because my best friend is still working through issues. It didn’t mean anything.’ Is that it? Damn it all!” Jane fell back against the wall, her neck arched as she rested her head.

“I’ve got to think.” Jane took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “You need to leave. Just … go.” Daria reached for her clothes, numb, and began dressing. A leaden silence hung heavy in the air. She retrieved her jacket from the floor by the bed. Jane’s eyes opened again and locked on hers.

“And for now, leave the key.”