𝙎𝙃𝙀'𝙎 𝘼𝙉 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙇, 𝙈𝙔 𝙊𝙉𝙇𝙔 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙇.
Diana Blake was who everyone in Hawkins wanted to be or be with. Her family name held power in the town and she wore her popularity like a crown. Until she discovered that her crown was made with...
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IT WAS 7AM AND DIANA WASN'T UP YET. The Blake family was carrying out their usual morning routine when Marco lowered his newspaper. His eyes landed on Diana's empty chair and he let out a sound of disappointment. "Estella, where is your daughter?" he asked, raising his paper again.
Estella turned away from the stove and faced her husband. Her hand rested firmly on her hip as she studied him sitting at the head of the kitchen table, acting like he was the king of the world. She hated when he did that—when he would shift the blame of their children's shortcomings onto her. "Our daughter," she corrected, "is probably still asleep." Her eyes then landed on their son. "James, dear, go get your sister."
The second-born Blake child sighed and pushed away from the table, his coffee growing cold in his absence. As he walked up the stairs, he muttered to himself about how he was a grown man who didn't take orders from anyone (though he knew that wasn't entirely true).
Opening Diana's bedroom door, he saw that she was lying on her stomach, hidden beneath a mountain of blankets. Her head, which was the only thing he could see, was turned to the side and her eyes were red and trained on the door. His brows furrowed at the look on her face. Her stare was blank, but somehow he could see every thought that ran behind them. She was exuding anxiety—more so than usual.
When Diana noticed James' presence, she groaned and buried her head under her pillow.
"You're going to be late for school," he chided, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. "Dad's home and he'll freak out if you miss first period." When Diana failed to move, he walked over to her bed and yanked the blankets off. She turned, her face still under pillow, and cursed at him with a muffled voice. "What are you doing?"
"Avoiding."
James tilted his head. "Avoiding what exactly?"
"Everything," she groaned.
He rolled his eyes with affection, blaming her melodrama on her youth, and returned to his place in the doorway. "Ana, quit being a baby and get up. We'll talk about what happened later."
"How do you know something happened?" She grumbled. "Maybe I'm sick and want to stay home." She let out a cough but her brother remained unconvinced.
"Your messed up hand suggests otherwise." He gave her a proud and knowing smirk. "I hope you punched that son of bitch so hard his nose broke."
"...I might have heard a crack."
"Atta girl."
After James left, Diana threw the pillow away from her face and stared up at the ceiling.
She really didn't want to go to school. She knew how these things worked. The stares and whispers would come first, then someone would start a rumour and twist the truth into something it wasn't. From there, she'd be labelled the victim or the villain. One was better than the other, but either way, her reputation would never be the same.
