TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy)
Read TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Online
Authors: Sydney Jamesson
TouchStone
for giving
Sydney Jamesson
First Published by S. J. Publishing, 2013
Copyright © Sydney Jamesson, 2013
This book is a work of fiction.
The characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author,
and have no relations to anyone bearing the same name or similar names. Any resemblance to
real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, places and incidents
are used fictitiously or exist within the public domain.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system,
recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior
written permission of the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available
from the British National Bibliography (BNB)
S. J. Publishing
P.O. Box 796
ENGLAND
SK4 9DJ
ISBN 978-0-9575850-1-0
To the people in my life who mean the most to me,
I thank you for your love and support:
Barry, Jenna, Mum & Dad
Table of Contents
Love is not written on paper, for print can be erased.
Nor is it etched on stone, for a stone can be broken.
But it’s inscribed on a heart and there it shall remain forever.
Oscar Wilde
TOUCHSTONE:
noun: a basis for comparison: a reference
point against which other things can be evaluated.
The Story of Us…
My
name is Elizabeth Parker, I am 27 years old but, in truth, my life began a month ago
when I met my dream lover. That’s not quite right. I say lover but he is so much more
than that to me.
There was a time when I was content to live life idling in the slow lane, never reaching
for the accelerator, happy to cruise. But now …
I have been woken from a great sleep. All it took was single kiss to raise me from the
dead and to open my eyes to a whole new world. I have learned what it is to love and be
loved in every sense. Out of the depths of loneliness I have emerged like a phoenix from
the scattered ashes of a sad existence, escaping a past marred by a singled encounter, but
elevated to great heights by another.
I am reborn.
Intuitively, a great man once said, “The course of true love never did run smooth,” and
how right was he. As with every new beginning, there are mistakes to be made and
lessons to be leaned, hidden secrets to be forgiven but never forgotten; hurdles to be
scaled and demons to be wrestled but, in the end, every battle must be fought and won if
life and love are to survive. Because, when nothing else matters … you have to do or die.
So look and listen, and let me tell you the story of us …
1
My heart is racing. I can see a bloodied hand tearing at my curtains and I step backwards into the
shadows, hiding, trembling.
“Beth wake-up. You’re dreaming. It’s okay …”
A hand brushes my hair. It’s his hand. He’s calling me …
“Princess …”
It
was a cold November night when Dan Rizler touched her for the first and only time. He felt her
steaming breath on his face and saw that look in her eyes. Some may have called it fear, but it looked
more like arousal to him. Francis was her name then, Elizabeth now and Beth to her friends, but he is
more than a friend and, to him, she will be forever Francis.
Six anniversaries have come and gone. Not this one. This one they would be celebrating together.
The blood of a man who had spent too many nights alone searching and scheming courses through
his body; a thumping heart forces it through the smallest of veins and capillaries, energising every
muscle and cell contained within his six foot, four inch frame. Even through the latex gloves, he feels
a charge of electric; a tingling sensation that reminds him that he is powerful and alive.
Operation Snatch Back is a go.
He moves from freeze frame to slow motion and back again, descending the stairs from 53c, past
53b, quietly. This is a covert operation, no noise, no witnesses, no fuck ups. With each step, music
reverberates in the closing space, increasing in volume; a piano plays, a pounding beat drives the song
forward and a disembodied voice asks:
What now?
It’s coming from 53a.
Dan Rizler is standing outside the front door, allowing his forefinger to stroke the 5 and 3, then the
neat little ‘a’ that is now within his reach. His new set of keys rattle around in his hand, sharp around
the edges, recently cut. Using the music as cover he slots in the golden key, preparing to enter a world
of carnal pleasure. He licks his lips and the salty taste of perspiration fizzes on his tongue.
The key turns …
There is resistance. It will not move. With a look of sheer bewilderment, he pulls it out and looks at
it, flips it over, traces the curves with his thumb and tries again. The music is ringing in his ears. The
chorus is building into a crescendo …
“What the fuck!”
He snatches out the key and takes a step back, preparing to shoulder the door. The music will
conceal the sound of splintering wood and a shattering bolt.
“You’ve locked the door princess but you can’t keep me out. Not this time.” Those words drip from
his mouth like saliva, so rousing is his aching need for her. His rucksack falls to the floor. He takes a
deep breath but, out of the corner of his eye, he sees something. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, the sun
reflecting on the glass of the security door or … maybe it’s a silver Rolls Royce pulling up outside the
apartment?
Instantly, he picks up the rucksack and walks backwards up the stairs, holding onto the handrail.
The glove of his right hand snags on the metal joints that tear away at the material but he keeps
moving, skulking, backing away to the safety of the second flight of stairs, out of sight. He waits.
The external security door opens. Someone enters.
I’ve walked away from my destiny, all because of a stupid, stupid lie.
There we were Ayden and Beth; two celestial bodies who collided, fused and became one. Gravity
brought us together and human nature has pulled us apart.
I should have known better. Like falling stars we’ve come crashing down to earth. It’s a painful
landing; no bones broken, only hearts. My head aches and my chest hurts but that hardly compares to
the emotional torment I have undergone. How could someone who claims to love me subject me to …
what was it? Sexual torture? I don’t know.
I remember being scared, petrified. Yet I also remember feeling incredibly aroused. Tangled up
inside the fear was a deep craving for it to continue. Secretly, I knew Ayden would not hurt me and
being taken by him so forcefully was so fucking erotic.
What am I saying?
Why is my heart beating through my clothes?
In moments like this, not that there have ever been moments like this, I do what I always do. Turn
to my only companion for comfort: my music. Rihanna sings
What Now?
I ask myself the same question.
What a forlorn figure I am, strewn out across a double bed in crumpled clothes, my face covered in
tramlines of dried tears going nowhere. How did something so heavenly turn into this black abyss?
Nothing in this world can fill the void left by his absence.
The song comes to a dramatic climax and I feel myself falling, crumbling under the weight of a
broken dream.
What’s that sound?
I clamber to my feet, unsteady but undeterred. Like a blind person, I feel my way into the lounge,
around the coffee table and the sofa to the window. I’m blinking and trying to focus, fearing the worst
and hoping for the best, whatever that is. Outside there’s a silver car.
My doorbell sounds again, making me jump. I’m like a coil of flexible wire, easily bent but
difficult to keep in place now it’s become twisted out of shape. I am not myself.
“Yes,” I mutter from behind the door.
“Let me in Beth, I have your bags.” Ayden’s voice sounds muffled, distant.
“Leave them outside. I’ll pick them up later.”
I keep my front door closed, barring him from entry. Through the spy hole I can see him. He’s
about to leave but stops. He’s running his hands through his hair, massaging his neck. I’m not
surprised. Even though his face is distorted in the convex lens, it’s obvious he’s hurting too. He
straightens his hair and presses the bell again. Even though I watch his hand moving in that direction,
I still flinch when it sounds. I watch as he bites his lower lip nervously and throws back his head,
utterly dejected.
“Beth, I know you can hear me. Let me in, please. I need to know you’re okay.” His eyes focus on
the ground, seeking providence.
I unlock the door and step away, turning my back to him, leaving him to enter unwelcomed. The
front door locks quietly and he moves towards me.
“Turn around.”
Feeling nothing but numbness, I do as he asks if only so he can see the state I’m in. His hand
reaches for my face and I pull away, still too raw to allow him to touch me.
“I’ve spoken to Jake and he’s apologised. I told him in easy to follow, four letter words that he was
out of line. He shouldn’t have put you in a position like that, forcing you to lie.”
My eyes steer clear of his and I settle my sight on the brown carpet beneath my feet; even raising
my head feels like an exhaustive task.
“We need to get you into a hot bath and into bed.”
I nod no.
“Don’t fight me on this Beth. It’s the least I can do.”
Through watery eyes I look at his sorrowful face. “I don’t want you to do anything for me. You’ve
done enough.” I don’t mean it, it’s the hurt talking. I lick my lips drowsily. “Go catch your flight.”
Slowly, I turn away. He steps forward and, from behind, enfolds me in his arms so tightly I can
hardly breathe.
In a broken voice he begs, “Tell me what to do Beth, to make this right. I’m lost without you.”
His plea touches me and I bow my head to conceal my tears.
“I … I lost it in the car because you’re the only one I trust and the thought of you playing me tipped
me over. I can take it off anyone but not you baby. Not when it’s about us.” He’s panicking,
struggling to find the right words, fearful of my rejection.
His hot breath flutters across my right ear and I feel the moisture on his cheek as he nuzzles into
my neck. He’s overcome with regret and shame; so profound in its intensity he may never rid himself
of it.
I try to pull away, but he won’t release me. I pull at his muscular arms but his hold on me is
unrelenting. I cry harder. “Let me go Ayden. I can’t do this. Being with you is like tiptoeing through a
minefield.” I inch around slowly, keeping my hands by my side, still wrapped in his arms. “I’m being
punished for loving you and I can’t take any more. I’m not as strong as you. I don’t have the survival
gene.”
“And you think I do?” he huffs. “Before I met you my days were filled with dread. I’d get up every
day and battle through, the way I’ve always done from being a kid. But these past couple of weeks it’s
been different. I have something worth fighting for.
We
have something worth fighting for.”
I feel his warm hand tilting up my chin.
“Don’t give up on me,
please
Beth.” His lips kiss away the moisture around my eyes and cheeks.
“Why did you torture me like that?” I seek out his eyes and we make a tearful connection.
“I got scared. I thought you were rejecting me, you didn’t want me anymore.”
“And you actually thought that by holding me down, spanking my arse and finger fucking me you