She's always hiding in designer
'cause her dad left
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IT WAS 1:48 A.M. AND Diana had been watching the seconds tick by when her father came home.

The sight of his tired grey eyes made her gasp. "Dad," she whispered, like it was a foreign word. For years, she had yearned for her father's presence but now that he was here, all Diana wanted was for him to leave.

He made her see flashes of red and gruesome images of the things she'd done. She hugged herself tightly.

"Where's your mother?" her father asked, taking off his jacket.

It hurt that her father didn't even notice the pain in his daughter's eyes. He barely spared her a glance, his grey eyes searching the room for her mother instead.

Diana stood at the door, her hands clasped behind her back. "Sleeping," she said softly.

She noticed his shoulder sag slightly in disappointment. It confused her but it was then that Diana understood that even through it all, her father still felt a twisted thing called love for her mother. A twisted thing he had never showed her.

So when he headed upstairs to her parents' bedroom, Diana didn't stop him, knowing the bloody disaster he would discover. Not one, but two rotting bodies.

Perhaps it was because she could never face the facts of what she had done or it was the sick hope that someone would find out what she did and put her away, but Diana never bothered to clean up her mess.

She listened to her father's steps, each step matching the pounding in her head.

When he made it to the top of the stairs, she held her breath.

Her mind had strangely quieted down, her entire body trembling with anticipation.

It wasn't until she heard his blood curling scream that Diana threw the door open and began to run. She ran and ran, pushing her legs to carry her as fast as they could. The tears had begun to stream down her face, clouding her vision with blue as she blindly wiped them away.

What good were tears when the rest of her was stained by blood?

When the clock struck 2 AM, Diana ran to the only place she knew.