Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Wishful Thinking ❯ The War Commences ( Chapter 3 )

CHAPTER THREE

If I tried, I suppose I could remember the first prank Darien ever played on me. This happened some time ago, you understand, and I never really was very good at remembering the smaller details. In my own defense, his first prank must have been something small, something so insignificant that it pales in comparison to all the other things he'd done to me, because I can't quite recall the exact action. I vaguely remember noticing, that first week, that a few minor objects were missing from my locker-a monogrammed pencil, a favorite notebook, maybe even a textbook. All things that I would, knowing how poor my memory can be at times, have dismissed as being misplaced, not stolen.

You'd think that, having lived in California for so long, I'd recognize petty theft when I saw it-I should have noticed that the disappearances were too frequent to be coincidence. I should have, I suppose, but I didn't. It simply never occurred to me that anyone would *want* to steal from me. I've never been in the habit of taking anything valuable to school, knowing I'd likely lose it, so there seemed little motivation in robbing me. I simply didn't have anything worth the effort of taking.

My mother has always told me that I'm far too trusting. Because I would never hurt anyone deliberately, I tend to assume that all others are the same way. It'll be my downfall someday, as my mother constantly informs me. She claims that I'm too innocent for my own good. I guess she's right, in a way. While I didn't exactly trust Darien, I also never thought he would stoop so low, especially for something as simple as that kick I'd given him. I thought he was better than that.

Apparently, I was wrong. He'd begun the pranks from the first, stealing my things, calling me names. He seemed to have a never-ending repertoire of insults. He was, in every possible way, cruel to me. I thought he was the lowest human being on earth, crude and boorish. I truly hated him, then, but not even I imagined how awful he could be.

Darien, as I've noticed many times before and since, is a very proud man. He wasn't even remotely Darcy-ish, but he was certainly convinced of his own charms. He enhanced those charms by keeping his appearance perfectly intact. He felt, I think, that both his appearance and his reputation had to be above reproach by even the most fastidious of people if he was to succeed in life.

I must say, in all fairness, that had Darien ever believed strongly in something, he would have defended that idea to the end-even to the detriment of his character. He only cared about public opinion as it related to his career, though this concern of his was still too strong. He sometimes became blind-sighted by his goals, and this made him a little obsessive.

Until I came along, he had kept up that perfection of appearance and repute with ease. Only after I moved in did people begin to speak about him with anything short of praise. He changed, after I came.

To everyone but his sisters, Darien's behavior was not as perfect as it had once been, and many of our peers chastised him for his treatment of me. He couldn't quite accept that chastisement, especially since he had once been- and still was, really, though he couldn't see it-the one against whom all others were measured against. He had always been the Golden Boy of our community, and only his attitude towards me changed that. The knowledge of this rankled, I suppose, because he never quite forgave me for my tendency to bring out his mortal shortcomings. He felt that he was letting people down by being human and having human faults, I guess.

I would have thought he'd have considered this before he started with his tricks. You'd think someone who spends so much time obsessing about his rep would have assessed the consequences his behavior would have. Still, the fact that people were slighting him, even with the good humor in which our fights were generally viewed, made him angry and unreasonable. His reputation was everything to him.

I was of an entirely different breed, not even remotely caring about anyone's reputation at all-including mine. It simply never mattered to me what people thought about me or anyone else. I knew how easily people could misinterpret a situation, so I'd long since stopped being concerned. It just wasn't important to me. I knew who I was, and I knew what I was capable of. What did it matter to me if people thought more or less of me than they should? I wasn't going to change for anyone, and so I didn't get flustered as Darien did.

Maybe the reason Darien was so offended by me was because he thought I went out of my way to tarnish his character in the eyes of our fellow students. While 'tarnish' might be a bit strong, I did humiliate him as often as possible-usually in response to something he'd done to me. People *were* talking about us, I admit, and not all of those whisperings were favorable. He hated that, and because I was the cause of it, he was in a state of perpetual anger towards me.

The situation at school didn't help. The twins thought our fight was silly- rightly so, perhaps-and they didn't hesitate to voice that opinion to everyone we knew. Soon enough, the entire school was aware of how much Darien and I hated each other, and our fellow students would gossip endlessly about the many things we'd done or said to hurt each other. The ongoing argument between the two of us was seen as a never-ending joke to our schoolmates, and Darien never could tolerate being laughed at.

The situation rapidly deteriorated as news of our fights spread. I'd thought I'd seen the worst he had to offer, but Darien quickly proved me wrong. How could I have known the pranks were only the beginning? I had thought Darien had gone as far as even his nature allowed, but I had yet to learn the true extent of his fury. Darien had always been mean to me, but the 'discussion' with the lemonade pushed even him beyond the known limits of fury.

Darien had stormed out of my house that day, muttering something rude about me. I let him go without comment, not wanting to prolong his stay enough even to properly yell at him for insulting me. He slammed the door behind him, and I simply shrugged and turned away. I spared only a moment's thought to the cussing out my father was bound to give me for not rectifying the situation with that stubborn man, but I was perfectly convinced of my own rightness in this. Darien was a jerk, and I never could forgive short jokes. Dad would understand, especially if I never actually got around to telling him that I hadn't made things better with Darien. He couldn't yell at me if he didn't know-ignorance is bliss, after all.

The twins, too, watched Darien leave without saying a word. They turned to me once he had gone, questions burning clearly in their eyes. I simply shrugged, not trusting myself enough to speak of the situation, even to them. Darien, even discussion of Darien, made me lose what little control I possessed, and I didn't want to make the twins angry by beginning this dissection of either my motivations or Darien's negative personality.

Besides, I knew the twins wouldn't see Darien in the same light as I, anyway. They thought he set the moon, saw only the loving, sweet face he turned to them. To them, Darien was the embodiment of masculine superiority, the perfect brother. They always assumed I was overreacting or exaggerating. They didn't think he was capable of being cruel, and they couldn't or wouldn't understand why he treated me as he did. The twins were strangely protective of this brother of theirs, and I didn't want to set off their own formidable tempers by continuing to insult him. I'm smart enough to know better than that, after all-and the twins are scary when angry.

Looking on the bright side, at least I didn't have to go back to that party. My parents assumed I was still taking care of Darien, and I never bothered to correct them. Instead, I spent the afternoon with the twins, watching television and challenging them on my brothers' video and computer games. I think we played Monopoly for about three straight hours.

The twins, for perhaps the first and only time in their lives, were noticeably tactful. They never mentioned Darien that day, and I accepted their silence. I didn't really want to talk about Darien, especially not with his sisters, and I wanted to think things over myself before I tried to verbalize my anger towards him. I maintained my stubborn silence until their mother came for them.

The twins' mother is a lot like them, sweetly blunt and eternally vibrant. She had Raye's dark hair and Darien's intense eyes, and I could see a little of Mina's grace in her features. She was a lovely woman, beautiful inside and out, and I liked her immediately. Still, I was a little nervous. I didn't know what Darien had told her about me, after all, though I was certain the twins' opinions would counteract anything he had said about me.

Their mother, however, simply nodded with cool politeness when she finally noticed me. She was obviously tired, and I don't think my presence even registered, at first. She was almost haggard that afternoon, and I pitied her, a little-she obviously led a hard life. Only later did I learn that her lack of energy came more from her rather demanding job than anything else-she owned and managed one of the local eateries, and she was always on the move. She rarely had any time to rest, but I think she was happy enough.

The girls, of course, immediately asked about Darien's whereabouts. His mother had, I learned, insisted that he accompany the twins to the party, wanting to ensure their safety in a strange neighborhood. When his sisters inquired as to the reason he had not returned to fetch them, the mother merely stated that her son had been a little too occupied to come as he'd promised.

The mother was watching us, a faintly exasperated smile on her lips as she eventually confessed that Darien had ruined one of his more expensive shirts, and she'd absolutely refused to do the washing for him. In her anger, she'd reacted by assigning the entire week's washing to her son.

Throughout this entire speech, Darien's mother had not looked at me with any sign that she knew the cause of that stain on Darien's precious shirt. Darien was not, apparently, any more of a tattletale than I. He had not told her, I knew, or she would be reacting to me with more emotion than she was.

The twins, though, glanced at me as she explained Darien's absence, and they were snickering audibly. I admit that I blushed, shrugging quickly and dismissively to their blatant laughter. Darien's mother, of course, immediately divined the situation, and she frowned slightly. Still, she said nothing as she glanced me over, and her compelling, intensely electric eyes-so like her son's-were appraising. I squirmed, but her forceful gaze quickly left me. She didn't say anything more, instead ushering her wayward children out the door and into her waiting car.

The sudden silence was deafening. My home was too large for just one person, and I quickly felt almost lonely. Still, I'd wanted space to think, and think I did. I restored my pet to her cage, returning to the children's playroom and throwing myself down on the couch. I stared up at the patterns in my ceiling, too lethargic to do anything really productive. Instead, I focused on Darien.

Did I feel guilty for getting Darien into trouble for something I'd done? Of course not. I reiterate that Darien deserved anything he received. I pitied the twins, though, knowing somehow that Darien didn't understand a thing about laundry, and the girls would have to wear whatever articles of clothing they could salvage from his attempts. I felt bad for them, but I did not feel guilty about Darien. Once again, he deserved this.

Still, I was curious as to why Darien hadn't simply explained my role in the destruction of his shirt. Why hadn't he told his mother about me? What could she have done, even if she had known whom I was or where to find me? Darien could have gotten himself out of trouble, but, as far as I know, he didn't even try. I have to admire him for that, if nothing else. I've always loathed snitches-even when said snitching is relatively harmless.

So, once again, Darien was being punished for something I had done. I didn't feel guilty for that, especially since he more than returned the favor in time. I can't count the number of occasions on which I was grounded or punished for something he did to me that I had little or no control over. Again, he'd earned this many times over. I did, however, feel a little bad about the lemonade ruining his shirt. I, too, hated laundry, and I can only imagine how much he despised me just then.

Perhaps, after all this time, I can finally admit that I was at least partly to blame for the situation between us. I can admit that now, when Darien can't hear me. I could never apologize to the big oaf, even years later. I've never been able to admit responsibility to his face, knowing how much my confession would inflate that already considerable ego of his. Believe me, that man was arrogant enough already.

Of course, Darien didn't need to rat on me. He was more than capable of coming up with his own unique brand of revenge, actions that were far worse than simply telling on me for my abhorrent behavior. He seemed to feel that my dealings with the lemonade warranted atrocities of his own. He was, as I have said before, quite clever in his execution of those pranks.

Darien had never possessed any qualms about acting out in juvenile ways once his reputation was irrevocably smeared. From almost the first day of our acquaintance, Darien had gone out of his way to make my life miserable. However, he became ten times worse after the party.

He attacked with a vengeance, after that day. His pranks, once somewhat benign, became positively cruel. He began to attack my friends, as well, using his own circle of companions to further the suffering. He had many friends, quite a few of whom were upperclassmen who would just leap at the opportunity to deal roughly with the freshmen.

My locker was now no-man's land, of course, and I had long since given up trying to keep my stuff inside, knowing Darien would simply take it anyway. Instead, I was forced to either carry everything with me at all times or rely on my other friends for locker space. This annoyed me, because I never could remember where I'd left some of my stuff. My memory is very poor in situations like these.

I had, at least, the comfort of knowing that I had done the same to Darien. He, too, gave up his locker space as I persisted in my invasion of his territory. It was an acknowledged defeat-he could not take my things, and I had nothing in which to leave my notes. We moved on, he and I, to stronger and more horrible pranks.

Our war soon became quite infamous among the students and eventually even the faculty. Everyone knew of it, and most were willing to take sides against one or the other of us. Of course, my fellow students thought it a game. Only Darien and I were truly passionate about our fight. It was more than a matter of honor for us; our triumph over each other became vital to our continued well-being. We each felt that we had to win, that our very happiness depended on the complete subversion of one by the other. It became an obsession for us, and not a day went by that didn't involve some horrendous act.

Our friends were only slightly better. Though most of the students were only involved for the fun of it, we quickly appointed captains, of a sort. With Darien and I as the opposing commanders, it was only natural that we obtain a hierarchy of soldiers. After me, only Lita, Heidi, and Levi took this fight somewhat seriously. The twins, of course, simply went along with whichever side had the best plan at the moment. They found the entire situation hilarious.

Darien's three 'generals' were especially vicious. Thought not one of them could compare with Darien himself, they all had terrible imaginations of their own. Darien's best friends, Greg, Andrew, and Lita's eldest brother, Ryan, were the harbingers of nightmare.

Fortunately, my friends were not without protection. Darien, of course, declared his sisters sacrosanct, and Heidi and Levi's cousin was senior class president. Not even the most violent of students wanted to mess with her, especially since she was also on the yearbook and school newspaper committees and could humiliate her fellow students in countless ways. Omara could, at any given moment, make their lives miserable should they choose to bother her beloved cousins, and she had a vindictive streak a mile wide. She was always perfectly sweet to me, but she despised Darien and his cronies. I think she'd dated one or more of them at some point in her life, and her disgust with them was almost as deep-seated as my own.

Of the five of us, only Lita and I were truly vulnerable. Lita's brother was perfectly willing to allow the pranks Darien's set pulled on us, and she found no safety in her relationship with him. Though I'm certain he loved his sister, he was not averse to watching her suffer at the hands of his companions. In fact, he was often the main instigator of those pranks, though he could never compare to his leader.

I, of course, had no one. My only family lives in Europe and Africa, with a few scattered relatives in Canada. I had only one cousin living nearby, and she had graduated from college already and so could not help me in any way. Most of my friends were unwilling to protect me-even if I had wanted that protection-because I was, quite simply, the main cause of these wars. They would not interfere in what I had started, and I did not want or expect them to. I wanted to triumph over Darien using only my own merits, and they knew this, though I was willing to concede for the punishment of his cronies.

Darien and I competed in everything. When I ran for a school office, he would also run. He and I were joint-officers in nearly every club in school. He was in every sport or after school program that I was in, and we even had many of the same classes. I was with him for the better part of every day, and we often had to work on school projects together. He was like a cockroach that just won't die-I couldn't get rid of the big lug. My assertion that he was a part of me, though, is certainly understandable in light of our almost incessant contact.

We even ate lunch together. He'd been joining the twins at lunch for years, and not even he would break this tradition just because we fought so violently. He usually sat across from me at our absurdly large table, surrounded by his friends as I was surrounded by mine. We rarely spoke, refusing even to exchange insults while we were eating. There was a sort of truce at that hour everyday, and we would not break it. Our friends and allies needed this time to cool the tempers that usually rose during the day's battles, and Darien and I would not take that brief, shallow peace away. Sanity, after all, was just important as victory.

Darien, however, wasn't completely peaceful during meals. He continued to watch me, never taking those cobalt eyes of his away from my face. No matter whom he was speaking to or what he was doing, he never lifted his eyes from mine. I learned to ignore him somewhat, though he made this difficult at times. Darien was the most intense man I have ever met, and I don't think anyone could ever truly ignore him.

At any rate, the war had escalated. Darien seemed to spend all of his free time devising new methods of torture, and his was an inventive mind. I am truly amazed at some of the things he did to me. Darien was quite the strategist, really.

He might even have won-at least had I not been his opponent.