Edge of Living Read online

  Edge of Living

  ______________

  H.L Day

  Other books by H.L Day

  EagerBoyz series

  Eager To Try (EagerBoyz 0.5)

  Eager For You (EagerBoyz 1)

  Eager For More (EagerBoyz 2)

  Too Far series

  A Dance too Far (Too Far #1)

  A Step too Far (Too Far #2)

  Temporary Series

  A Temporary Situation (Temporary; Tristan and Dom #1)

  A Christmas Situation (Temporary; Tristan and Dom #1.5)

  Temporary Insanity (Temporary; Paul and Indy #1)

  Fight for Survival series

  Refuge (Fight for Survival #1)

  Standalones

  Time for a Change

  Kept in the Dark

  Taking Love's Lead

  Edge of Living

  Christmas Riches

  Short story

  The Second Act

  Copyright

  Cover Art by H.L Day

  Edited by Pam Ebeler at Undivided Editing http://www.undividedediting.com/

  Proofread by Judy Zweifel at Judy’s Proofreading http://www.judysproofreading.com/

  Edge of Living © 2018 H.L Day

  All Rights Reserved:

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  Edge of Living is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  Intended for an 18+ audience. This book contains material that may be offensive to some and is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.

  Blurb

  Sometimes, death can feel like the only escape.

  It's been a year since Alex stopped living. He exists. He breathes. He pretends to be like everyone else. But, he doesn't live. Burdened by memories, he dreams of the day when he can finally be free. Until that time comes, he keeps everybody at bay. It's been easy so far. But he never factored in, meeting a man like Austin.

  Hard-working mechanic Austin has always gone for men as muscular as himself. So, it's a mystery why he's so bewitched by the slim, quiet man with the soulful brown eyes who works in the library. The magnetic attraction is one thing, but the protective instincts are harder to fathom. Austin's sure though, that if he can only earn Alex's trust then the two of them could be perfect together.

  A tentative relationship begins. But Alex's secrets run deep. Far deeper than Austin could ever envisage. Time is ticking. Events are coming to a head, and love is never a magic cure. Oblivious to the extent of Alex's pain, can Austin discover the truth? Or is he destined to be left alone, only able to piece together the fragments of his boyfriend's history, once its already too late?

  Trigger warning: Please be aware that this story deals with suicidal ideation. If this is a subject you find uncomfortable, then I would not recommend you reading this book.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to the beta readers: Jill, Fiona, and Kayleigh. for their feedback on this book:

  A special thank you to:

  Barbara for spotting all of the places where the legal information needed tweaking.

  Bryoney for carrying out a sensitivity read and giving feedback on the trauma aspects of the story.

  Table of Contents

  Other books by H.L Day

  Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Epilogue

  Thanks

  H.L Day Special Access

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Sometimes it feels as if my body split into fragments a year ago. Large, jagged ones with bone-sharp edges. Those fragments joined back together, so that anyone looking at me wouldn't be able to see the difference. Not unless they looked too closely. Then they might be able to see the cracks. The ones that radiate out from my heart and cover every inch of my body. They get bigger with every month that passes. Deeper. More pronounced.

  There's a simple solution: I don’t let anybody get that close. I make sure to keep them at arm’s length. Anything to stop them from seeing the emptiness that has filled up every atom of my body. If they see it, they’ll ask questions. Questions I can’t answer. Questions I won’t answer. One of those questions might just be the thing that pushes me over the edge of the fine line of sanity I've been desperately clinging to.

  How do I get through the day without people noticing I'm a mere shadow of a person? I copy people. Copy their normality because I can’t remember what it feels like anymore; it's been way too long since I experienced it. I watch people. I borrow their mannerisms. I borrow their smiles and their laughter, and use them as emotional armor. I do what’s expected of me. I say what’s expected of me. I’m sure my act’s not perfect, but it’s enough. Enough to make people leave me alone. Enough to convince them that I’m just like them. Maybe a bit quieter. Maybe a little less social. But, nothing more than an introvert. They have no idea what's going on inside my head.

  I walk to the edge of the cliff and peer over it, down to the raging sea below. The tide's in so the sea's crashing against the base of the cliff, each wave throwing up a torrent of spray. There's nothing between me and the edge. No railing. No deterrent to stop me from throwing myself over. Hundreds of people have done just that in this very spot. A few every year. Sometimes more. It's what makes Beachy Head famous. Tourists come from all over the world to die here. It used to strike me as absurd. Now, I understand it.

  Turning my face up to the rain, I close my eyes and allow myself the luxury of imagining what it will be like. I picture the fall through the air; the rush of the wind; the feeling of my limbs tumbling over and over out of control; the inability to stop it even if I did change my mind. But most of all, I imagine the release it will bring; the delicious feeling of numbness; the escape. I imagine how the fragments of my body will finally get the chance to break apart like they're nothing more than dust particles. They'll float away on the waves, carried away to the four corners of the earth. I think about the blessed feeling of nothingness that will follow, my soul completely given up to the sea. It will be beautiful. No more pain. No more fear. No more guilt. No more nightmares. No more nothing.

  Reluctantly, I open my eyes, the driving rain running in rivulets down my face as my body automatically leans forward toward the cliff’s edge, begging me to let go. I muster all my energy, or what little I have left anyway, and manage to stagger back a few steps. I check for observers, anyone who might report my behavior as unusual. But, there's no one. I'm all alone. Only an idiot would venture out onto a clifftop in
weather like this. The temptation to step forward again pulls at every atom of my being and I squash it down, burying it back inside as deeply as I can.

  Not today.

  I’ve made promises. Only to myself. But, I intend to keep them. There are things I need to do. Things I need to see. But, the time's growing closer. At least I have that to hold on to. My body is suddenly wracked by shivers. Away from the siren song of the sea, reality comes crashing back and I regain the ability to feel cold. It's not surprising. My clothes are soaked through. My teeth are chattering so loudly that if there were anyone else around, they'd be able to hear them.

  I look down at my hands. They're almost blue; my fingers so numb, I can barely feel them. Stupid, really. I should have worn gloves. I knew today wasn't going to be the day. Sometimes, it's hard though, to remember what I need to do to keep myself alive when all I want to do is die. I force my freezing hands into the pockets of my thin jacket. It offers very little respite when my jacket's so wet.

  I turn away and force my legs to move even farther from the cliff edge. I have a long walk back to the train station in Eastbourne, and an even longer train journey back to London. I sneeze, and pray it's not a sign I'm going to get ill. I don't need that on top of everything else.

  With one last longing glance at the edge of the cliff, I walk away. My next visit here should be the last: the time when I can finally let go and be free. A smile crosses my face at the realization. Ironic really, that the thought of death is the only thing that can make me happy.

  Chapter One

  Austin

  Libraries aren't my usual haunt. In fact, before this week I'd have been hard-pressed to recall when the last time I'd set foot in one might have been. Was it when I was at school? I had a vague memory of my entire class visiting when I must have been about five or six. Certainly, no older than seven or the memory would have been clearer. We'd all sat cross-legged on the floor, gathered in a circle around a woman who I remembered as very smiley with long blonde hair. I assumed she'd been the librarian. She'd demonstrated a haunted house pop-up book with lots of flaps and sliding bits which had had us all enraptured. Susan, with the pigtails and the missing front teeth, had cried when she wasn't allowed to touch it. I don't think she was used to anyone saying no to her.

  Unfortunately, that was about as cultured as I'd ever gotten: never really graduating beyond picture books—unless car manuals counted—and I had a sneaky suspicion they didn't. If I'd set foot in a library since, then it hadn't been a visit worth recalling. In my mind, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

  So, when my mum had asked me to return her library books, telling me it would only take a few minutes during my lunch hour, it was for that reason I'd been reluctant. That was normally my older brother, Mark's, job. Mark was apparently too busy. Yeah, busy being a massive pain in the ass which seemed to be a full-time job for him. We'd never been close. Whether that was due to the five-year age gap between us, or the fact we were like chalk and cheese, I wasn't sure. He was my brother and under pain of death I might, and it was a big might, admit to loving him. I just didn't particularly like him that much and the feeling seemed to be mutual. He was academic in a way I'd never been or wanted to be. While I was tinkering in cars and learning all I could about the way different engines worked and what goes where, he'd had his nose firmly planted in textbooks. Even before he'd developed his passion for psychology, he'd been too much of a know-it-all. Now, he had letters to his name, he was even more insufferable, thinking he could tell what everyone was thinking just from the way they took their coffee or the way they sat.

  Anyway, who still reads actual books? It was nothing short of a miracle that the library was still there when numerous others in the area had already closed their doors for good. Yet it—just like my mum—seemed unable to embrace the age of technology. I'd bought her a Kindle for Christmas, assuming she'd jump at the chance for no more library visits and thousands of books available at the press of a key.

  She'd made all the right noises, had even pretended to use it. That had lasted all of about five minutes, and then it had been stashed somewhere, never to be seen again. Something to do with, nothing comparing to the feeling of an actual book in your hands. I didn't really understand, and Mark standing next to my mum nodding sagely, like the dipshit had inside knowledge, hadn't helped matters either.

  So, I'd agreed to return the books. I wasn't prepared to upset my mum. That idea was a non-starter. The effect of a look of disappointment in her eyes could linger for weeks. I'd entered the building feeling conspicuous, as if I was sneaking through the side door of a strip club rather than a place where people read and returned books. And bizarrely the place was busy: people either milling around or sat at tables reading. Didn't they know that there were a hundred better things going on outside its doors? But each to their own, I supposed. One man's good time was another man's nightmare. I didn't want to get too judgmental, or I might start turning into Mark.

  The plan was simple: find the counter, hand the books over, and then get the hell out of there. Well, the counter was easy enough to find, located as it was right at the front of the library. An officious-looking woman took the books from me, raising her eyebrows at the sight of my oil-streaked T-shirt. I'd have liked to have seen how good she'd have looked if she'd spent the morning underneath a Ford Escort leaking copious amounts of oil. Did libraries have dress codes now? If so, that was another minus point against them. Job done, I'd been ready to implement the last part of my plan in getting the hell out of there when for some reason, I'd looked up, glanced across the library, and seen him.

  He was obviously an employee. I don't know how I knew that, I just did. Like many people around him, he was studying one of the shelves. But, while they looked as if they were searching for something, or browsing, his face wore a look of slight displeasure. I found myself watching him, wondering what could be so upsetting about a shelf of books. Had someone put one back in the wrong place? Was that the kind of difficult problem librarians were faced with on a daily basis?

  Then I looked at him—really looked at him. He was thin. Too thin. Almost to the point of appearing like he needed to eat more. Although, I had to admit it gave him amazing cheekbones. He was fairly short as well. I calculated no taller than five foot eight in comparison to my own six-foot-two frame. Although, it was difficult to tell for sure from this distance. Perhaps I was doing him a disservice. A mass of dark hair kept falling into his eyes and every now and again he'd pause to push it back, only for the same thing to happen again a few moments later.

  He was about as far from my usual type as you could possibly get. My last boyfriend had been a huge, great muscly bloke with his own motorbike. The one before that was a bodybuilder. The bigger the muscles, the more my cock usually said yes, please. So, it was a complete mystery why I was finding it so difficult to drag my gaze away from him.

  "Anything else I can help you with?"

  The voice made me jump. I'd been so caught up in my scrutiny of the dark-haired man that I'd forgotten I was still stood at the counter. I shook my head, and left, glad that the man hadn't noticed me staring. I had no idea what the hell had gotten into me.

  * * * *

  It wasn't until I'd spent my next two lunch breaks sat at a table in the library surreptitiously watching him that I began to admit I had a problem. I didn't know what it was about him that drew me in, but it was as if I was a moth and he was my flame. At no point had he looked my way. In fact, he barely looked up at all, seemingly completely focused on whatever job he happened to be doing at the time. I didn't even know if he was gay. There was no wedding ring, but that didn't mean anything apart from the fact he wasn't married to either a man or a woman. All I knew was I needed to talk to him. I needed to ask him out on a date. He might say no. But there was always the tantalizing possibility that he could say yes.

  I pulled the newspaper I'd borrowed from a trolley closer to me, my fingers drumming on the table while I tried to devis
e an excuse to talk to him. I’d never seen him check anyone’s books out so that wouldn’t work. Besides, I wasn't a member, and I wasn't going to join a library just for the sake of one conversation. I wasn't that desperate—yet. He seemed to spend most of his time either in the back room doing whatever it was you did in the back room of a library, returning books to the shelves, or answering questions posed by members of the general public. Therefore, I needed some sort of question to ask him. Only, I didn’t know what sorts of inquiries were normally made in libraries. I scanned the shelves next to me, hoping for some sort of inspiration to hit.

  There was no way I was going to leave—again—without having said two words to him. I couldn’t spend all my lunch breaks skulking in a library hoping to be noticed. If the guys back in the garage found out where I’d been secretly nipping off to, I'd never hear the end of it. No doubt, I'd be accused of being a pretentious wanker and it would give them enough verbal ammunition to rip me to shreds for the next couple of weeks. Definitely not worth it.

  I'd even changed into a clean T-shirt in the car, figuring that looking like the mechanic I was, wouldn't make the best first impression. Checking my watch revealed that I had the grand total of ten minutes to put my plan into action before I needed to head back to the garage. It was now or never.

  I reached across, grabbing the first book from the shelf that my hand happened to land on and hurried in his direction before I could lose my nerve. “Excuse me.”

  The trolley full of books he'd been pushing, as he returned them to the shelves, squeaked to a halt and he turned to face me, his soulful, brown eyes not quite meeting mine. “Yes?”

  I held out the book so he could see the front cover. “Where would I be able to find other books by this author?”