Jane blinked. She wondered how long she'd been standing there, lost in thought, and judging by the red stain spreading over the bedsheet, probably longer than was normal. Still, she watched the last few drops of bright red drip off the point of the rusty steak knife onto the bed.
Sighing, she turned back to the painting she'd been working on. She flicked a few more drops of the oil paint and thinner mixture onto the canvas, ignoring the can she'd spilled and thus ruined her bedsheets. She'd gotten the effect she'd wanted for the painting and at the moment, that was all she cared about.
Her little revenge fantasy was merely a sidenote, the result of a sleepless night and the cathartic soul-purging painting always brought her. The painting itself was an angry mess of dark blotches, hard lines and now the blood-like spatter pattern of the red mixture.
As usual when she painted angry, Jane had gotten a good deal of it on herself. Deeming the painting finished, she glanced down at the red dripping down her arms. Transfixed, she added a few more drops, watching the crimson rivulets trace rivers through already existing semi-dried paths. There was something soothing about watching the red flow from her arms down her fingertips and drip onto the stained carpet.
She pressed the knife to her skin.
Daria and Tom stood outside the Lane home, neverously looking at everything but each other.
"Maybe we-" Tom started but Daria cut him off.
"We already decided the three of us need to talk this out." Daria was determined, and refused to let Tom talk her out of this. After all, he'd talked her into this mess in the first place.
Trent answered the door. "Janey's out for a run."
Daria hated the accusatory look in his eyes. Stoically, she refused to budge. "I want to fix this, Trent. I was wrong. We were wrong. And we know she's here."
With a sigh Trent stepped back and let them in. Slowly, Daria and Tom went up to Jane's room. Daria knocked softly, and pushed the door open.
"Jane we- Oh God."