Of Stars & Lies

by R. M. Grace

  R. M. GRACE

  of Stars & Lies

  Copyright @ R. M. Grace 2016..

  The right of R. M. Grace to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of material reproduced in this book.

  If any have been inadvertently overlooked, the publishers will be pleased to make

  restitution at the earliest opportunity.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced

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  photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to

  criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance

  to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  For Brendan, Siobhan and my Tipp Boy. Thank you for all your love and support. None of this would be possible without you.

  I would like to give a huge thank you to Anita Shofner for her help.

  To all my fans, thank you for your support, friendship and encouragement.

  For more information about my books, please visit my website.

  rmgrace.com

  Walk along this edge of Madness with me.

  And we can both be whole.

  —Dana La Kat, The Horizon.

  One

  The landscape passes in distorted, gold shapes through Loveren's hazy vision. Each burst of light filters through the window from the constant breaks between the houses, and summons his body into a drowsy contentment with the hum beneath his buttocks.

  The grubby window rubs a layer of residue over Loveren's forehead as he leans there, but he doesn't notice. He isn't observing anything with real interest, only waiting for his stop.

  He knows he should have taken the number twenty-one—that bus stops right outside his apartment, unlike the nineteen. This route is nothing but serpentine roads through the nearby villages. He could get off here with ease and walk it quicker, but he cannot bring himself to do that. This is the bus his best buddy gets to and from work each day, and to take any other bus would mean missing him.

  He tells himself the real reason for boarding bus twenty-one—a journey which takes him an hour out his way every day—is nothing to do with Cade. The scenic route offers views, plus it gives him a chance to be free of his dull flat for a longer period. Yet, he is lying to himself, because there's only one thing worth seeing in this entire place.

  And that isn't the damn council houses.

  Loveren scoots over in the chair to get the bag on his back into a more favourable position, then swings his legs onto the seat opposite. The radiant, middle-aged woman to his right produces a low grunt of disapproval, so in response, he pushes his feet further across the seat until he is slouching.

  Mind your business.

  New passengers are boarding, and he cannot risk them stealing the spot he is reserving, but as luck has it, nobody ventures to the back. The newcomers are any elderly lady with a walking stick and a drunk dude in a trench coat, so neither are capable of standing long enough to make the journey.

  Where are you?

  The engine picks up again and settles into a steady hum, reminding him of his school days when he would wind up the bullies, then sneak onto the school bus to escape their collective wrath.

  Although today is beautiful, lately everything comprises of grey hues. Sure, the colours are still distinguishable, but they are no longer prominent within his sight. This has been the same since the doctors changed his medication, but he doesn't blame them—the previous ones almost cost him his life. One thing that cannot contort into bland and meaningless shades though is his mate.

  He always remains the same not matter what. That's not because Loveren gets to enjoy the complete sensation of his beauty these days, but because he cannot forget the way he feels about him from before everything turned sour.

  Before his world became a haven for the numb.

  If it wasn't for his mate, he wouldn't be here at all, so what does he have to complain about? He gets to appreciate the lad for at least another day, and that is worth sticking around for.

  The bus comes to a grinding halt where there is no bus stop, and plumes of heavy air drift inside when the doors swing open.

  The sun may have its hat on today, but no warmth penetrates the autumn bite. The deception creates contentment within him though—to him this is the perfect weather. The sloppy orange and yellow leaves covering the pavement fill him with the longing to jump back into sweet childhood reverie where emotions were vivid and he spent many hours outside kicking the colourful piles.

  As the breeze rushes inside, a soft, musky citrus scent fills his nostrils. Even if he could let the beauty of that wrap around his bones with affection, an elderly gentleman wrecks it with his complaints about a “damn cat” being in the road.

  As Loveren turns to see what all the fuss is about and what everyone is staring at through the windows, smooth and slender fingers catch the skin between his jeans and socks. When they brush his feet from the seat by his ankle, Loveren sure misses the electricity a caress like that would cause to flow through him.

  Back when I didn't have to pop a pill every day to stay level.

  Mostly it doesn't bother him, but in times like this he misses how that sensation would prickle his skin.

  “I was just thinking what I would choose if I could only listen to one song for the rest of my life,” his mate says as he slides into the seat Loveren's feet occupied moments ago.

  Loveren pricks his ears and fidgets himself straight, intrigued by his mate's idle talk. His random conversations are sweet, he cannot deny that.

  “So what did you pick?”

  A harmonious chuckle spills from his plump, arched lips. “It would either be 'Blinded by the Sun' by The Seahorses.”

  “Or?”

  Cade glances out the window with a pink blush travelling up from his open chequered shirt. “Don't laugh.”

  That instruction alone makes a grin creep across Loveren's face. “I can't make any promises.”

  The brunette weighs up his options with his head tilted, then rolls his eyes. “Fair enough. 'Born to make you happy' by Britney Spears.”

  Loveren tries to hold in the laughter, but it bursts out in one harsh wave. The woman with the auburn ringlets glances his way again to give him a disgruntled expression, but he brushes it off.

  Once the laughter departs, Loveren stares at the guy with the tatty cap he wears backwards with a brunette tuft poking out the front. His locks are wild when damp from the shower, or he has just woken—a beautiful sight.

  Loveren wipes the tears from his eyes, bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing again and glances out the window to regain his composure.

  He is so cute when he gets embarrassed.

  He is glad that, despite the medication, some things can still tickle him.

  “So, what's with the indecision?”

  Cade rubs at the stubble—an act he must know gets Love's engine running because he does it so often—and sighs. “Well, it would be Spears all the way if it wasn't pop.”

  “Are you a teenage girl?”

  If that were Cade's usual listening material, Loveren wonders if he'd have dropped his ass years ago.

  Yeah, if he wasn't so damn cute.

  Cade enjoys listening to 90's rock and roll,
or Britpop because it reminds him of when Loveren's father would play the classics on their weekend car journeys.

  Everyone has a cringe-worthy song collection they secretly love. Loveren sure has one, or two he would rather keep between himself and the bathroom walls. Cade just doesn't know how to keep anything a secret for long.

  “It would be a great cover if a hot guy with a husky voice sang it. Think about the tune slowed down with an acoustic guitar.”

  Loveren sniggers. “Have you got anyone in mind for that?”

  Cade shrugs with the hint of coral rising over his cheeks. “It reminds me of someone, that's for sure.”

  “I remember when that song came out—it was on the radio all the time. We were about twelve, weren't we?”

  “Yep. All the guys fancied her.”

  Loveren grins without emotion as he recalls that time in his life. “I thought something was wrong with me when I didn't.”

  “There's a lot of things wrong with you, but being into dudes isn't one of them,” Cade teases with his tongue between his lips.

  He's not wrong there.

  “It used to get stuck in my head.”

  “Yeah, I know. You used to hum along with it all the time.”

  “No I didn't.”

  “Trust me, you did.” Cade's cheeks highlight with colour again and he glances away. His golden eyes shine against the autumn shades drifting in from the window.

  Why do they always stay so vivid?

  Since nappies, they have been as inseparable as two people can be without getting on top of one another. Although, if Loveren is honest, he can think of nothing better than having his mate beneath him, preferably whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He remembers Cade stealing his dummy when they were toddlers and shoving it in his own gob—a memory he cannot help smiling at ever time it crosses his mind.

  He would suck on the damn thing like his life depended on it.

  Loveren shifts in his seat out of habit. Any thoughts of the guy using his mouth in any way used to stir a cauldron inside Loveren's gut that was beyond his control. His emerald eyes trace his mate's lips, then he releases a desperate sigh.

  “So where are you heading, Love?”

  “Same as usual.” I'm heading nowhere, he thinks, but doesn't add. “And I told you to stop calling me that.”

  Cade's grin takes on a life of its own as it stretches to reveal a set of gleaming teeth. He is beautiful all the time, but never as much as when he smiles.

  “How about Loverboy?”

  People could class him as a nerd with his cap backwards and scruffy attire—he sure was in school. Even now, when he scrubs up with a smart shirt and gels his hair at the front, he is more comfortable slumming it. But that is Cade, and Love wouldn't have him any other way.

  Through the window, he spots the local bar on the corner. The next stop is his.

  “Will I see you later?”

  Loveren chews the skin around his thumb as he glances back to find Cade settling in beside him. When his hip connects through his jeans, Loveren gets no spark besides from the belt buckle as it digs into his skin. Yet, that is good because he would hate to act on emotions that could get them both into trouble.

  “If you're lucky,' Loveren smirks.

  Over the curve of Cade's golden tinted skin, he catches the woman glaring their way. Having people stare at him for being different is nothing new. The outright rudeness would irritate him if he wasn't taking these new prescription pills, but as things stand, he couldn't care less.

  An item snags on his jeans and a swift ting sounds, bringing him back to the guy in his face.

  “Ignore her.”

  Loveren scowls at the woman's narrow eyes. He wishes the act carried venom in it, but all he manages to produce is an expression of numb dissatisfaction.

  Once the bus takes a lazy series of turns around the pub, the route only leaves the green shelter of his stop within sight. He clicks the button on the handle and is about to rise when a firm hand tugs him back.

  “I'll miss you until then, Love,” Cade taunts with a wicked grin.

  Despite everything, the warmth of his voice against his ear prickles his skin and causes him to sigh. Boy, does he wish he could revel in the sensation, no matter the trouble it will cause.

  “All right, pop tart,” he retorts. He is no rush to let him forget his earlier admission.

  “Hey, I'm rock and roll.” His sign of the horns gesture doesn't make his statement true, but it makes Loveren chuckle.

  He pulls away from the double seats and makes his way to the front, wishing he could stay in the guy's presence for longer.

  If only life were different.

  When he steps off the bus, Cade's dry, humourless laughter follows him, into the heated air that gushes up to greet him. From the pavement where leaves gather at his feet, he watches the only person he loves disappear into the distance.

  ***

  On the ascent up the stairs to his pokey, one bed apartment, Loveren fumbles inside his pockets. When he checks the front of his jeans and comes up empty, he pats his backside, then moves to the front to check again. He is positive he slipped his keys in there.

  On the third floor, he passes through the bland hallway and unhooks his bag from his shoulder. Once he reaches his door at the end, he rummages inside. The contents are scarce: clothing from his work locker, a bottle of flavoured water and H.G. Wells's 'The Time Machine'.

  His fingers find another book with yellow pages and folded corners. Cade borrowed him the poetry of Rudyard Kipling a week ago which he's been trying to read on his work breaks, but he still cannot understand his mate's fascination with it. Poetry is the art of seduction apparently, but he has never been romantically inclined. Sure, he writes—used to enjoy it too—but that literature is not his forte. He isn't satisfied unless there's blood, gore, monsters and tons of screaming. Why Cade would even try to get him to read poetry is beyond him.

  After finding the bottom of the bag and searching each pocket twice, his keys are still nowhere in sight. He pulls the strings together and rakes his fingers through his raven locks.

  “Where have I put them?” His voice carries down the corridor as he replays what he did after he left work. He checks he has them each day before he leaves, and today was no different. That can only mean he dropped them while fumbling the change from his pocket to pay for the water.

  Or I dropped them on the bus.

  Loveren curses under his breath as he glances back the way he entered and dances on his feet. He will ring the bus company once he gets inside. With any luck, someone has been a good citizen. He wonders if the woman with the ringlets would bother handing them in if she spotted them, but doubts it.

  The only choice he has for now is to head to the fourth floor and hope his younger neighbour, Jennie Evans, is home. She has his spare key in case of an emergency. In the two years he has lived here, he hasn't had to call around.

  I bet she hasn't even got them anymore.

  So, with a deep huff, he heads to the floor above,

  Two

  Movement within the unlit room draws his attention, pulling him from a dream where he was standing on a distorted beach that made his head fuzzy. The golden grains glowed like Cade's skin and were blending into the sky as though reflected through a mirror. The sunshine glimmered on the surrounding water, yet he saw no pulsating orb anywhere. He couldn't tell where the horizon was and, although serene, that made him panic.

  Cloud trails spread across the sky and ground as though he were witnessing a special effect. Vivid oranges and purples encompassed him like dawn was settling over a strange world—a real visual beauty.

  He spotted a shaded figure hovering between the clouds in the distance. As the figure was moving away in silence, it possessed a mirage quality as the air around it blurred, reminding him of a heat wave in summer. When he called to the figure, he received no answer. So, he followed, confused by what he was seeing.

  His feet were bare, an
d each step he took cracked the damp sand like lightning. Yet, no matter how many steps be took, the figure kept getting further away. He followed until his feet buckled and every movement turned to hazy swipes. The shades never faltered, but his emotions succumb to a loneliness that ached his heart.

  Loveren pulls himself onto his elbows and glances around the room. With the curtains open a slither, it allows the moonlight to cast a silver hue within the room. Yet, whatever is causing the movement, he can see nobody. The sense someone is present though is so thick it creates a frenzied flutter inside his chest.

  The sheets ruffle beside the foot of the bed as a darkened outline moves into view. Loveren is about to question the stranger when a gentle touch caresses his ankle. He doesn't mean to release such a heavy breath, but he cannot contain the relief the action brings.

  “What're you doing here?”

  A quiet murmur fills the silence as the fingers dance upon his exposed ankle. The dark curls there tickle Loveren as the nails scratch backwards over his skin.

  “I said I'd see you later.”

  After a moment of replaying their earlier exchange, Loveren shakes his head in a lazy rhythm. The dream he was in still captures ninety percent of his conscious mind. It tries to drag his drooping lids back to where it finished.

  “How'd you get in?”

  As the figure steps around the side of the bed and creeps closer toward him, the moonlight casts upon the lower half of his face. The brightness illuminates the plump curve of alluring lips as he chuckles.

  “You'll have to fix the door; I broke in. Sorry.”

  He doesn't sound all that sorry, Love muses. Yet, despite the weak explanation, he can gather no energy to understand.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I had that dream again.” He speaks as though the explanation is reasonable enough to warrant breaking into someone's home.