Branded - Larry Stylinson

Chapter 11 - She is her Own Prize

Hello! My apologies for the late update but my book vanished from wattpad because of the glitches on the website lately, anyway, I hope that you like it! Xx
Our love, Lucy and the Steamers.

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Erin Beaumont's pallid skin was white in moonlight, the reflections of each ripple in the salt water that haunted the dock sent stars of light to glisten in his green eyes. His clothes-the ones that hung on his thin body-blew in the cold wind, and with each breeze, he shivered beneath them. His long white hair was loose, and he watched it blow in rhythm with the water's shape. Beneath those waves awaited something he'd seen before; when the night was dark enough, when he had too long to think, he'd see the ghosts of his parents float silently beneath the surface of the water. His mother wore a dress of white, long hair the colour of apricots flowing around her peaceful body, while his father wore a black suit, and his hand was endlessly reaching out for his dearest Angela Beaumont. But, just like his only son, he could never quite reach the thing he loved most.

Erin watched them. He sat on a post by the dock's edge, listened to the boats hit the edge of the platform, and he just sat there for a long while, wondering if his parents were real or just a strange and distant figment of his imagination. Not many people could see ghosts of their past, or ghosts like these, at the very least. These ones were deadly, would draw you in, and Erin was being drawn closer to the edge with every ripple that passed over the water. He'd jumped down from the post, and he leant down, now. His hands touched the border of the dock's platform, and when he looked into the dark waters, they seemed to greet him like a door that'd take him home. Erin knelt there, on all fours, knuckles turning whiter than they already were when he gripped the edge of the platform. There was no doubt about it, that he would jump into the waters if he were given too long of a time to overthink it. If he were to be alone for too long, then he'd let himself fall, the ice that was forming over the water would engulf him, and he wouldn't fight back. He'd have no reason to.

He leant over the edge and his own ghost stared back at him. He couldn't remember his mother's face, but in his eyes, she was there. He couldn't remember his father either, but it would have been clear to anyone that knew the Beaumont family, that this incredible child was Valentin Beaumont's son. You see, even dying as he may have been-Erin Fionn Beaumont was a true wonder, and if you were only to stop and stare at him, you'd see how wonderful he really was.

But only one person in the whole wide world had ever seen how outstanding Erin could be once his mind was in the right place. Only one person in the whole wide world had stopped long enough to watch Erin in his finest beauty. But that one person, little as Erin knew it, had passed away just an hour before from the scarlet fever. And that person, that one person, had been Jack.

Zayn closed the letter that had been signed by Roxanne, and with eyes full of grief, he looked over to Erin by the dock. He wished that he knew the boy better, wished that he could fulfil his every demand of health and happiness, but such things couldn't be obtained, not for a boy like Erin.

"What is that?" Louis asked, pointing at Zayn's hands where the letter showed. Zayn looked at him, and then realised how little room there was beneath a carriage when six people were to lay under it.

"A letter." He replied, eyes shifting from Louis' face to the Steamers and then back to Erin. "From Roxanne."

"Roxy? Do you still love her?" Louis asked, resting his head in his arms and looking up at Zayn with curiousness in his eyes. "You weren't the type to fall in love. You only read books."

"A loving heart is the truest wisdom. I may not speak of Roxanne as much as you speak of the Gypsy-boy, but there is not a book or poem or story in the whole world that could ever be as wonderful as her. It is said that a woman is a man's prize possession, but she is her own prize, and none but herself would be worthy enough to win it."