blood runs black

X

'i will be your brother, and i'll hold your hand, you should know i'll be there for you'

- alec benjamin 

dior

Dior walked out of her dad's study in pain. It wasn't a new experience, but it was never easy. She picked herself up off the floor, ignored her dad's angry glare, and walked to her room, entire body aching. Her head was still spinning a little bit, and her stomach was aching like she was having period cramps, and her face ached a little from being slapped again.

And yet somehow that wasn't even the worst beating she'd taken from her dad.

She walked back to her childhood bedroom, because every time her dad left the country, she was obliged to stay over after dinner until he left. And when she got in, she revelled in the comfort it brought, because even if she sometimes wanted to burn the mansion down to the ground, her childhood room always made her feel nostalgic yet comforted.

Dior wandered into her en-suite bathroom and took off her makeup, wincing a little at the feeling of wiping a fresh bruise that had just been made worse by a second slap. And as she wiped off the makeup, she couldn't help but stare at herself in shame, because she hated herself most whenever she was covered in bruises.

She cleaned the cut on her forehead, and the one on her cheekbone from the previous night just to prevent it from getting infected since she had makeup so close to it, and then tied up her hair into a loose bun so she could go shower. And as she showered, she heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"Dior?"

Dior stilled in the shower, realising who it was. It was her brother, and her dad had explicitly said that she couldn't let Rafael see her. That he couldn't find out about the abuse, because if he did, Fernandez would most likely kill her. "Rafa, what's up?"

"I need to talk to you."

"I'm showering."

"When you're done, then."

Dior leaned against the wall of her shower and closed her eyes, water still cascading down her body. "I'm gonna be a while. Don't wait up on me, Rafa. You've gotta be up early for the flight."

"Dior, I'm not an idiot." Rafael sighed, leaning against the bathroom door. "I know that- that dad isn't exactly the easiest on you. I just- I can't keep letting you lie about everything and- and I can't keep acting like I don't know something's wrong. So will you please just come out of there and talk to me?"

Dior's eyes snapped open, looking at the bathroom door like the door itself had attacked her personally. "What do you mean by that?"

"Dior."

Dior sighed and stepped out of the shower since she was basically done anyway. All she really wanted was the comfort of hot water to soothe the pain in her body. "Rafael, why are you really here?"

"Is he hurting you, Di?" Rafael asked. "Don't lie to me, please."

Dior sighed, putting on one of the towel robes from her bathroom. She looked in the mirror, glad that there was still a door between her and her brother, and felt her eyes water just a little. Freshly out of the shower and without makeup, she looked just a little worse. The purple-blue bruise on her cheek looked darker, the cuts on her cheekbone and forehead standing out.

Her head still ached, and she knew beneath her towel robe it was a lot worse. Her back ached a little, and her stomach felt like it was eating itself from the inside. The hot shower helped a little, but her body was still sore.