Hidden Secrets - A Beau Brooks Fanfic

Chapter Thirty-Five

"I swear to god, if that kid comes anywhere near here again, I will personally deal with him"

I reach my hands up to my face and wince at pain from my check. Was that a bust lip I could also feel?

"Ian, I'm sure that won't be necessary, and anyway, it will be good if he comes back, maybe then the police will be able to give him what he deserves for doing what he did to Dahlia"

The floorboards creek under my feet as I try to get to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I bloody hoped we still kept painkillers in there. Downstairs in silent, waiting patiently on Ian's angry response. It seemed those were the only kind of responses he could mange now. I pop two paracetamols out into my hands and thrown them back into my mouth.

"Ian, what are you thinking?"

My mum prompts him on. Him being silent for this long was never good. Normally it meant he was scheming. No doubt making a mental list on all the ways he could murder Beau as painfully and as slowly as possible.

"We need to lure him back to the house, set a trap for him if you like"

"He's not an animal" no but you are....

"You haven't met him. He's a rodent. A snake in the grass! He's played with that girls head, she loopy!"

My hand knocks one of my mothers perfume bottles off the sink and it smashes note floor next to my feet. A strong honey smell, one that she no longer used, quickly takes over the bathroom. Downstairs has gone silent again and is only interrupted my the pleasing of my mother.

I run back into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me causing several of my beetles posters to hang off my wall. The unforgettable sound of Ian's stomping boots echo throughout the house, almost as if it were entirely empty and made of copper.

"Dahlia what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

The door swings opens again and Ian stands in the doorway, a pissed look on his face. Mind you, didn't he always look like that?

I stay say cross legged on my bed, my attention drawn to my phone and my thumb constantly circling my address book. Do I call him or don't I? Eventually Ian grows bored of waiting for me to move and leaves the my room carefully closing the door on his way out. I delicately press the screen and the phone rings.

And rings.

And rings.

He's not going to pick-

"Dahlia?"

"Beau?" I whisper, clasping the phone close to my cheek. One thing that never failed Ian was his incredible hearing.

"Beau, I'm so sorry" my voice comes out as a pathetic whimper. I'm trying to kid myself. Why would he forgive me? I certainly wouldn't. I'd rather die than forgive me. The real me. My fingers find the edge of my most recent cut, so long ago now, it had virtually healed to a scar. The tension builds along the phone line, on edge for him to say something, anything; and I sit and I pick away at the scarred skin.

"Ian, he's planning something...I heard him talk about using me as bait to lure you back here"

I stop and listen to his steady breathing down the phone. His silence is my torture, leaving me waiting for the next sentence or even word to come out his mouth. What the hell's he thinking?

"I'm so sorry" I repeat, pressing my nails deep into the now open wound. I'm so sorry.