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cris • tee • nuh ([info]cristina_lacosa) wrote,
@ 2011-07-12 18:55:00


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Entry tags:dianna, flavors, writings

+++diannaflavors




dianna
happy ✢ angry ✠ sad ϟ concerned ☁ scared

crying ✌ jealous ☺ first crush ★ regret ღ innocent

birth ♦ betrayed ☄ best friend ☮ content ʊ traumatized

death ☯ drunk ✿ flustered ☾ bitchy ✓ parental

first year ✦ hogwarts ∞ deathly hallows ♣ family ❂ pick-your-own
traumatized

Her breaths were shallow, and Dianna clutched her torn shirt to her chest as she listened to the door slam. She'd been thrown into her dresser after he was done with her---she hadn't moved since she'd crashed into it, knocking down her perfumes and figurines. The glass shattered on the floor around her made for a strange sort of cage; if she moved just an inch she could potentially hurt herself more than she just had been. Her hands were shaking violently as they gripped onto her shirt and she somehow mustered the energy to pull herself up to her feet, eying the glass carefully.

The silence of her flat was terrifying. Just minutes ago it had been filled with shouts and screaming and cries of pain that she’d never thought she could illicit. That she would ever have to illicit. Dianna was not understanding why the—the death eater had chosen her flat to attack, had chosen her to defile, but…but he had. It didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense. Maybe it was all a terrible dream, a nightmare that she would wake up from and never speak of again. Dianna prayed for it all to be a dream, but then she turned and saw her reflection in the mirror.

She’d always imagined she would cry if she’d ever been raped. It was a strange thought to have as her eyes scanned over her image in the glass, but it was something she’d thought about. Of course Dianna had heard stories, and her immediate response to them were tears of sympathy for the women involved, so where were her tears? All she could muster was a morbid curiosity at how different she looked with her hair at all ends, with her face red and beginning to swell with bruising.

Her neck craned to the side, eying the finger marks where his hands had gripped her so tightly, held her down to keep her from slipping away. Those wouldn't do, she had--makeup, yes, she could cover that up just right. Dianna kept her eyes locked onto her reflection as her hands moved frantically along the top of her counter, searching for her makeup kit. She pulled the foundation out of the bag her mother had brought back from a holiday a few years ago and began applying it to the marks on her neck. They disappeared with a few dabs, and Dianna found that she was pleased with herself.

Slowly, as if working on a painting that would hang upon the walls of the museum she was so devoted to, she began to work on covering up the mess that was her face. Dianna Dobbs was not a mess. She was a beautiful specimen, one that caused other girls to grow jealous at the mere sight of her. Dianna Dobbs was the blonde beauty that the boys couldn’t muster up the nerve to talk to. She was not this…this hideous, broken shell of a girl she saw in the mirror. No, she was much more than that, and if she ever let anyone see her like this, if she ever let anyone know that she’d been disrupted in this way...

Dianna hadn’t realized that her hands had begun to shake again, and she dropped her lipstick to the ground. Her eyes shut tightly as she tried to stop the tremors racing through her, but found the effort fruitless. Sleep, she needed to sleep. Instinct sent her toward her bed, but the second she set eyes on her cover she saw him again and darted out of her bedroom and to the living room. There, there! The living room looked just the same, and Dianna collapsed onto the couch, feeling tired but her mind was wide awake. Dianna forced herself not to think about what had just happened, what she had just gone through, because logically, if she thought about it, the details would become more vivid and she would experience more pain. Why would she want to be able to replay the torture in her mind? What kind of sane person did that?

It was why this story could not leave her flat. If her brothers found out what had happened, her whole life would be over, it would be over. Nothing would ever be as perfect as she once had it, and Dianna thrived on being that majestic Ravenclaw wonder.

She stared at the ceiling of her living room for a long time, her mind not thinking about much at all until she finally succumbed to her exhaustion.

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