Diana [Liam Payne Fan Fiction]

1: The Runaway

Copyright 2012 CosmicLahve All Rights Reserved.

"Stupid kid!"

I strained to hold in my tears as my father delivered another blow to my cheek. The metallic taste of blood instantly filled my mouth. I sucked in a deep breath, trying not to wince while he hurled insults at me.

"You disgust me! What's wrong with you? You ruined my life!"

The words hurt almost as much as the physical pain my dad was causing me. The alcohol was fresh on his breath, making it hard not to scrunch up my nose at the sickening smell.

"Now, go to bed!" Dad ordered, even though the clock on the wall only read 7:13 pm.

Knowing better than to argue, I stumbled quickly up the stairs to my bedroom, leaving my father to his rage and Vodka.

Tonight had been one of the worst nights. Dad had been drinking since Mom died six years ago, and beating me for the past five. The beatings had gradually gotten worse, and the bruises and welts were becoming harder to hide at school. If anyone knew what was happening or said anything about it, it would only result in a harder beating from Dad. I'd been keeping everything a secret for now.

I finally made it to my room, panting as I slammed the door shut. I collapsed on my bed, free at last to cry openly. Everything ached. I looked up at the mirror on my vanity and sighed. My left cheek was twice the size of my right one and I could barely see out of my swollen eye. My caramel hair hung in strands around my puffy, red face.

I turned away, disgusted with my own appearance, and opened my sock drawer. I dug to the bottom until I found what I was looking for. I held up a razor, whose blade glistened in the evening light peeking through my window. I rolled up my black sweatpants and smiled softly at my scars, welcoming them like old friends. The scars were much easier to hide on my upper thigh versus my wrist or arm. I practically lived in jeans and never wore shorts of any kind. I felt too uncomfortable showing my long, white legs (or the cuts, for that matter).

Roughly, I drew the razor across my thigh with a shaky hand several times. I stifled a small cry, but it felt good. When I cut, I was in control of my pain, not Dad. It gave me relief to know he didn't own me, that he wasn't the only one who could hurt me.

Taking an old sock from the drawer, I wiped away the blood from the razor and my leg. I returned the razor to its home under the woolly socks and laid my head on my pillow. I was tired of living if this was how my life would always be. I'd probably end up dying at the hand of my father.

I wish I knew how to fight back, I thought dreamily. To know no fear.

Sighing, I knew that wasn't an option. I felt as helpless as an abandoned kitten wandering the streets at night, vulnerable to the nocturnal creatures who were stalking it from the shadows.

Well, if I was going to die, the last thing I wanted was my father to kill me. He already controlled my life enough, even up to the point of keeping my cell phone for himself; he probably thought I would have called the police on him or something. I was the puppet and he was the puppeteer.

I knew what Mom would have said, though. She would've wanted me to run away from here.

I had had this conversation with myself before, and even attempted to run once. The punishment was horrific. I knew it was a huge gamble. I couldn't crawl out the window since an alram sounded if I so much as opened it. I'd have to go through the TV room to get out of the house, which meant crossing paths with Dad. The T.V. room was practically his "man cave". And where would I go if I even got that far?

Maybe I would kill myself once I got out, I pondered. Commit suicide, never to be seen again. It was the kind of death you might see in movies, very mysterious and tragic. The corner of my mouth rose slowly into a thoughtful smirk. Perhaps a mysterious and tragic death would be fit for a mysterious and tragic life like mine.

Alright, there's my plan.

I waited until midnight. I emptied out my backpack leaning against the wall, throwing a few pairs of clothes and some cash in it. I wanted to be as far away from Dad as I possibly could before I died, sort of to break our connection once and for all. Then, I reached under my bed for my secret stash of food. I had it hidden here for the nights Dad sent me to bed without dinner. I grabbed a reusable water bottle, nuts, and some energy bars before finally zipping up the bag. I slung it over my back and glanced at myself in the mirror. I pulled my shoulders back and took a look around my bedroom. If all went according to plan, this would be the last time I'd ever be here.

My hand shook as it reached tentatively for the doorknob. I opened the door without a sound, taking every precaution to get as far as I could without being noticed. I'd have to make a run for it once I was discovered and hope Dad wouldn't catch me.

What would the punishment be if he did catch me?

Shaking off my silent worries, I craned my neck into the hallway and, making sure the coast was clear, noiselessly tiptoed over to the railing and looked down. My dad was passed out on the couch, snoring loudly. Perfect. This was going to be easier than I thought!

I strode confidently down the stairs, knowing that he was a heavy sleeper, especially when drunk. As I neared the bottom of the stairs, though, I had completely forgotten about a very deadly factor: Bruno. Bruno was Dad's full grown pit bull who was kept in the backyard. Now, he spotted me through the glass door and started barking wildly.

Shoot.

Dad stirred on the couch and finally rose. He knew there was a problem when Bruno threw a fit.

And the "problem" was staring at him through fearful eyes 10 feet away.

Dad let out a deep, throaty chuckle. "Where do ya think you're goin'?" He was extremely drunk, slurring his words and trying in vain to stand up.

I visibly relaxed, knowing that he would never be able to catch me in his current state if I ran.

"Out," I replied tersely, walking briskly past him and towards the door.

"Oh no, ya don't!" he yelled angrily, hoisting himself off of the couch.

I opened the front door and stepped outside into the crisp, autumn air. Without looking back, I slammed the door shut and set out into the darkening night.

But I wasn't out of the woods yet.

Right as I got to the sidewalk, I heard the door to my house open again. I whipped around and saw my father leaning in the doorway, out of breath and barely standing on his own two legs. I scoffed at him, then watched as he smirked evilly and pulled up his right pants leg, reaching toward the inside of his calf for a black object attached to his leg. My eyes widened in horror, realizing what it was. I took off sprinting down the street, but not before I felt the hot sting of a bullet pierce my flesh.

Author's note:

Here's the first chapter! Hope you enjoyed it!

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