Burning Confessions

7- Iris

Cheryl Cole's 'Fight For This Love' pounded from the earphones plugged in my ears as I swayed softly side to side, hands moving with a mind of their own. The pasta boiled in the large pot while the mince gradually turned brown in a separate one. A jar of bolognaise sat on the counter next to the stove as I worked contently, humming and bopping to Cheryl's voice.

The orange apron I wore had a picture of a chef hat saying: 'MASTER CHEF' in swirly white writing above it, tied tightly around my waist, securing it onto my front. I had a clean bandage on my hand, another on my arm and a large plaster on my side that I could feel every time I stretched upwards. Having had a nurse look at my hand, she confirmed that it was infected and really bad in general. She applied cream to it and it still stung after four hours of it being there.

I didn't hear him come into the kitchen or him trying to get my attention until hands covered my eyes from behind. "Cal," I called out, smelling his spicy cologne as he hugged me from behind, popping out one of my earphones and laughed at me when I frowned at him.

"Hey, Baby Girl. I'm sorry I'm late from school, I took Skylar home." He pecked my temple and I smiled up at him, noticing the faltering of his cheery expression. I knew he saw the cut on my jaw and the bruise on my temple as he reached to brush his fingertips along it but stopped himself when I winced.

"Where's Shane?" I asked, noticing our bottomless pit of a brother was missing.

"He's gone to Brooke's. I'm going to go over once I drop you off." The fact he willingly decided to miss out with his friends just to take me home warmed my chest.

"I could've walked back," I reasoned, pulling the apron from over my head and around my waist.

"No chance." He bit into one of the poppy seed muffins I made earlier and moaned in delight. "These get better every time."

"Sharon, I'm going! Dinner's nearly done!" I called through the house.

"Thanks, sweetie! I love you!" Leaving the house after Calvin, we piled into his Jeep and he drove at a comfortable pace with a comfortable silence around us. My eyes kept drifting the clock; I was an hour later than usual and when we arrived at the driveway, the front door had already opened and Derek met me at the bottom of the drive. A whimper escaped my throat as he grabbed my bandaged part and glared at Cal through the open window.

"Any reason why you're late?" He asked without looking at me.

"My fault. I was dropping a friend off," Cal answered through gritted teeth, the tension thick around them. "I should have punched you harder this morning."

"I should have shot through your heart," Derek countered and my bottom lip began to wobble a little.

"Cal, just go. Please." He stared at my pleading look and nodded, turning back to the steering wheel and slowly began to drive off. Derek was already pulling me into the house and I ducked my head to the ground because the tension in his back could only mean one thing. As soon as my foot stepped over the threshold, Derek whirled around and slammed my back into the front door, using me to close it forcefully. He didn't say anything, just reached for the hem of my jumper and pulled the white cotton over my head so my bandaged arm was in full view.

"Who did you tell?" He demanded and my eyes widened. "Who did you go to this morning!?"

"No one, I swear. They took me to Ian's and they cleaned my wounds," I answered shakily, terrified of the fire in Derek's eyes as it made my stomach knot and my chest tighten. If he knew I had gone to the hospital then my punishment would be worse than a night in the basement.

"Tell me who you told, Iris. I know you went to someone!" Derek yelled and I flinched back into the door, his hands tight on my arms. I began to feel a lump in my throat and tears of fear gathered in my eyes.