Your Secrets Safe With Me (Brallon)

Heartache

(a/n: the slightly triggering stuff is going to have **, and the really triggering stuff will have *_*)

"Let's go, Beebo!" I was so relieved to be out of school and see Brendon.

It was Thursday now; life had only improved slightly. People still made nasty comments and looked at me strangely, but other than that I was adjusting to the way life was now. I had switched a lot of my classes to be with Brendon; business law was now music theory and debate was now jazz band and so on. It was a little easier to handle everything when I could see him more.

"Beebo? What kind of nickname is Beebo?" Brendon laughed as I unlocked the car door and he got in.

"It rhymed, so I went with it." I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Whatever, Daldo." He retorted.

"That doesn't work as well, sounds too much like Dildo." I turned up the radio as he tried to hold back his laughter, "Anyway, what do you want to do tonight?"

"Well, there is a new rock and roll exhibit at the Museum downtown. Or, or the cafe has an open mic night tonight, and we could mess around some." Excitement flared in his chocolate eyes.

"Hmm, looking at guitars or playing guitars." I pretended to weigh the two as I turned away from the school, "I'm going to have to go with playing guitars, sounds much more fun."

"Okay then let's just go to my house to get my guitar." Brendon took in a shaky breath as he thought of the horrible house.

"Brendon, we can go to the museum instead. We don't have to go to that house." I picked up his hand as I stopped at a stop sign, this was the point where I would either turn to mine or his.

"No, it's fine. My mom should still be at work, and my dad will probably be at the bar or wasted." He messed with my fingers as I drove one-handed down the street to his house.

It was the longest three blocks ever. Beastie Boys hummed softly over the stereo as time crawled on. I wasn't going under the speed-limit, but I did not dare to go over. When we stopped in front of his house, there were two cars already in the driveway.

"So museum it is." I sighed and put my car in reverse.

"No it's okay I'll just sneak in, get my guitar, and I will be back out before you know it." Before I could argue with him, he was out the door and slipping inside the hell house.

I sat outside and waited for him for what seemed like eons. The time dragged slowly; it was like watching paint dry. As the hour like minutes dragged on, I was too hot and too cold all at the same time. My nice sized truck seemed to close in around me and was suddenly too small. Why did I feel this way? What was wrong with me?

After what felt like 5 hours, or maybe it was only 15 minutes, Brendon's dad came out of the house. He was obviously drunk, and three long scratches were running down his forearm. His white shirt was splattered with blood, and he wasn't wearing a belt. In his drunken rage, he shouted at me and threw the empty beer bottle at my car. He missed by a lot, but it was enough to make it clear to me that it was time to get out of here.

The drive home was stressful, stop signs and red lights blurred in my mind as Green Day blasted through the stereo. I couldn't stop thinking that this was all my fault. I shouldn't have let him go home. I should've just turned the car around and kept him safe. Now he was probably hurt and in need of medical attention, and it was all my fault.

Rain had started to fall as well, making it even harder to focus on the road as water and tears blurred my vision. Why did it always rain when something bad was happening? Like in the movies, the rain would start during the sad scene for dramatic effect or make a romantic love scene more intense. But in real life, it always seemed to be raining when I was sad or was I sad because it was raining.