Ever and a Day E-Book

Mia Kingsley

• Herausgeber: Black Umbrella Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 83

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Sometimes I think that I was never meant to be alive. There's too much pain and darkness in my past—yet every time I try, I fail to end my own life. Then I meet my new neighbor and discover that he's a serial killer. It's perfect. That's my way out. Finally. He can finish off what I'm too weak to do. But he says that he's not a killer but an assassin, and he requires payment before fulfilling my wish . . .   This is a dark romance.

Leseprobe

EVER AND A DAY

MIA KINGSLEY

A DARK ROMANCE

CONTENTS

Ever And A Day

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About the Author

EVER AND A DAY

Sometimes I think that I was never meant to be alive. There's too much pain and darkness in my past—yet every time I try, I fail to end my own life.

Then I meet my new neighbor and discover that he's a serial killer. It's perfect. That's my way out. Finally. He can finish off what I'm too weak to do.

But he says that he's not a killer but an assassin, and he requires payment before fulfilling my wish . . .

This is a dark romance.

1

The traffic is so loud that I can barely stand it. The fumes make my throat itch, and I fight the impulse to wave my hand in front of my nose.

Instead, I clench my teeth and turn toward the street. I can do this. It's just one little step. Okay, maybe the step is not that little, but it's totally doable. How many steps have I already taken in my lifetime? What's one more?

The blood is rushing in my ears, my heart pounding in my chest as I finally muster the strength to step forward.

Standing there, eyes closed, I wait.

Nothing happens. I feel a breeze hitting me, brakes screaming, tires squeaking, and when I open my eyes again, the driver of the black car honks as he drives off, cursing at me.

Damn it! He was supposed to kill me, not evade me.

Ugh. Another failure on my list. With a sigh, I step back on the sidewalk. Now I have to go home again. Yet another day wasted that I didn't want to live through anyway.

Why can't I just kill myself?

"Whoa, lady, that was close. Are you all right?" The man looking at me is handsome enough with his blond hair and a pretty boy smile, but I don't feel like talking to a stranger. So, I pull the hood of my black sweatshirt over my head and start walking home.

I specifically chose this intersection as it's known for the many accidents that happen here every day. Apparently, not for me though.

"Are you okay?" The man jogs a couple of steps to catch up to me and tries to get a look at my face. "Maybe you shouldn't be alone now?"

If he had the makings of a serial killer, I'd be happy to spend my time with him. I'd follow him anywhere if he were to end my life. But I can see that he's a genuinely nice guy. The good Samaritan that you need in a situation like this—unless you're me.

"Sorry to have scared you. I'm fine. I was just daydreaming. Stupidly so." I want to walk on, but he steps in front of me, blocking my path. The other pedestrians pay us no mind, as they are all busy going on and about their evenings.

"I don't buy it. You had that look of pure determination on your face like you knew exactly what you were doing. Are you sure you're all right? Maybe let me buy you a drink? I'm here if you need someone to talk to. Or I can just listen."

It's downright horrible how nice he is.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I need to go home now."

He simply doesn't give up. "Can I accompany you on your way?"

"No." I shake my head, trying to figure out how to get rid of the savior I never asked for in the first place.

"Please?"

I pretend to squint over his shoulder. "Oh, my God. Is that child alone out here?"

"Where?" He whips around, and I use the opportunity to slip into the dark alleyway between the two buildings next to us. My dark clothes will hide me in the shadows. Taking this path means a longer walk home, but I will gladly take the detour if it means getting rid of the blond man who so desperately wants to save me.

I just don't want to be saved.

Rubbing my arms, it's not the first time that I regret having donated all my stuff already, including my heavy winter coat. What I'm wearing is basically all that I own nowadays, which is why I have to wash my underwear each evening in the sink. This is not how I planned things to go down.

I thought I was being organized and good to the world when I gave away what I had, donating what little money was left to the local homeless and animal shelters. I wanted my affairs to be in order for when I kill myself. Quitting my job, paying all of my outstanding bills, and preparing everything so the bank could simply take my house after my death since a dead person can no longer pay the mortgage.

I just couldn't take this life anymore with all of its pain and hurt and agony and endless suffering. It never stops, and it was simply too much for me.

So, I decided to end my life and acted accordingly.

But somehow, I didn't anticipate how bad I would be at actually doing it.

My first attempt was the old classic, cutting my wrists in a tub of hot water. A bit dramatic but not too much. It turned out that I can't stand the sight of blood. As soon as the first drop appeared on my skin, I lost consciousness. Which would be funny if it wasn't so sad since I can hardly count all the times I had cut myself shaving my legs, and that was never a problem. But something about that razor blade in my hand made me too queasy.

The next day, I went to the hardware store and bought some rope to hang myself. In my opinion, I chose a nice, sturdy-looking one, but the second I kicked the chair out from under me, the fucking rope snapped. I bruised my ass pretty badly, to be honest, and didn't want to try again.

Starving and dehydration came to mind, but time passes way too slowly for that. Unless you're locked away in a cell somewhere, I can't see how you would starve yourself to death. But that was probably Gandhi's point. Not that he died from starving, yet neither did I.

My next attempt was jumping off a bridge, but the leg of my jeans got stuck on some barbwire wrought around the railing. By the time I managed to free myself, two police officers had arrived because an old lady had alerted them. I convinced them that I was just a stupid girl, trying to take a spectacular selfie because the truth would have landed me in the next-best psychiatric ward.

With my desperation growing, I gathered what little money I had left and spent days trying to find an arms dealer. He sold me a shotgun. I never sweated so much in my life as on the day I carried that damn thing home.

It misfired. Twice.

And that fucker of a seller wouldn't even give me my money back.

Since I'm running out of options now, I figured a good old traffic accident might be the solution to my problems.

When I'm finally home, I find another foreclosure note pinned to my door and sigh. I'm out of ideas and out of time.

Unlocking the door, I'm trying to think of yet another way to kill myself soon—a fail-proof and not too painful way–as I stumble over a package.

Cursing, I bend over and pick the package up. I certainly didn't order anything. Besides the fact that I'm out of money and no longer own a cell phone or laptop, I don't need anything.

The label says "Oryn Parks" and the address next door.

Since it's late, I decide to take the package over tomorrow. I can't deal with this right now. I need to come up with a new plan to kill myself. Again.

2

I sleep way too long, and by the time I make it over to my neighbor's house with the package for him in my hands, it's already dark again.

I'm about to step onto the nicely painted porch, but stop and stand still when I clearly hear a woman moaning. My heart skips a beat because it sounds so throaty and lusty, like straight from a porn movie. Why else would you moan like this unless an adult performer is drilling you with his giant cock? No woman sounds like this when her boyfriend, Stanley, pulls out all of his four and a half inches and pumps away with the speed of a decrepit tortoise, while she dreams of said adult performer.

I'm curious if my new neighbor watches porn in his living room because I can see the light coming from the window on the right side of his house. There's no fence keeping me from his garden. I could just take a quick peek before I hand him whatever he's ordered and say goodbye. Hopefully, forever since I'm planning on swallowing a whole bunch of sleeping pills after doing this one last good deed delivering his package.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and carefully, putting one foot in front of the other, I sneak into the garden. The moaning gets louder the closer I get, and soon, I'm ducking right underneath the slightly opened window.

Ever so slowly, I push myself up and peer inside. I almost drop the box and have to admit that I stand corrected.

My new neighbor is not watching porn—he is the freaking porn.

I barely glance at the naked woman on his coffee table before I rake my eyes over this gorgeous specimen.