No Pleasure E-Book

Angel Rupert

• Herausgeber: Bentockiz
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Now seated, a foot or two of unoccupied space all around him, and his skin slowly acclimating to the intense but dry heat, he followed the recommendation and took a deep breath. Then he closed his eyes and took another, then another. The hot air did open his lungs and, gradually, began to melt away his discomfort. He noticed a distinct scent, an odor that must’ve been from the unfinished cedar covering every inch of the room except the light and the heater.

Leseprobe

Title Page

No Pleasure

Without Consolation

Angel Rupert

No Pleasure / 2nd of series: Without Consolation / By Angel Rupert

Published 2023 by Bentockiz

e-book Imprint: Uniochlors

e-book Registration: Stockholm, Sweden

e-book ISBN: 9789198847116

e-book editing: Athens, Greece

Cover Images created via AI art generators

Table of Contents

Title Page

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Introduction

Through books we come into contact with everything important that has happened in the past, analyzing also current events and putting our thoughts together to predict the future. The book is a window to the world, acquiring valuable knowledge and sparking our vivid imagination. It is a means of entertainment and is generally seen as a best friend, or as a slave that carries together all valuable information for us. The book is a friend who stays together without demands, a friend you call upon at every moment and abandon when you want.

It accompanies us in the hours of boredom and loneliness, while at the same time it entertains us. In general, a book does not ask anything from us, while it waits patiently on a dusty shelf to give us its information, to get us out of dead ends and to travel us to magical worlds.

This may be the travel mission of our books. Abstract narration, weird or unconscious thoughts difficult to be understood, but always genuine and full of life experiences, these are stories of life that can’t be overlooked easily.

This may be the start of something amazing.

Chapter One

Zach met Barton at his house late Tuesday afternoon to do a mid-term assessment of his progress on his independent study—the start of a novel about the challenges and drama of adolescence set against the backdrop of life on a family farm in a rural community fast being overtaken by suburbia. It was the story that had grown out of Barton’s request two months earlier for a simple letter from Zach, a letter that once written had unveiled dark depths of unresolved anger and disappointments, betrayals and regret. Zach was some fifty pages into this novel now, with his four primary characters well-established and his narrative unfolding. But he was doing extensive rewriting as he went along, a process that was both tedious and discouraging.

“No one ever said writing was easy,” Barton said.

“No one ever said it would be this difficult,” Zach countered.

“Then you never asked a writer.”

Zach sat silent, chastisement duly recorded.

Barton went on to explain some of the comments he’d penciled in the margins of the draft Zach had submitted a week earlier. They were seated together on the loveseat with Barton pointing out details on the pages balanced on Zach’s knee. Zach didn’t enjoy this unusual seating arrangement or the topic of conversation or the tone of Barton’s voice. There were many places he’d rather be, many precedents for alternate seating arrangements or topics of conversation or tones of sharing apart from the current demeaning process. But out of all those possible alternatives, one image arose in his mind—the face of Becca standing beneath the porch light, her hand raised in silence, a beacon in the dark, a calling as irresistible as it was innocent and unpretentious.

Barton sighed and sat back. “Zach, I’m not picking on you. I’m your teacher. Teachers are hired to teach, to make corrections and suggestions, to offer guidance and advice. That’s what I’m doing. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It doesn’t mean I don’t like your writing. I’m fulfilling my obligation to the university that you helped pay for through your tuition.” He fixed a frank stare on Zach’s face just a few feet away. “O.K.?”

Zach grinned and said, “Not true.”

“What?”

“That I helped pay for your salary through my tuition.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Financial Aid Office finally ruled on my application and concluded that since I was no longer a dependent of my parents (who couldn’t have paid anything anyway) and have no assets or savings, they would fund the entire cost of my education, including tuition and living expenses.”

“Zach, that’s wonderful. You don’t have to pay anything?”

“I’ll have to take out a small student loan, and they’ll deduct a portion of my work-study earnings. The rest is paid for! I’m supposed to get over two thousand dollars later this month for this semester’s living expenses!”

“Avery is going to pay you to go to school?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Barton stood and extended his hand. “Congratulations. Your record and your reliability have been rewarded.”

“That’s one interpretation.” He shook Barton’s hand while still sitting. “Or maybe it just means I’m poor.”

Barton laughed. “What’s the poor boy want to drink?”

“The usual.”

Barton disappeared into the kitchen.

Zach straightened the typed pages on his knee and put them in the faux leather briefcase at his feet then closed it and set it beside the end table. He stood and walked to the windows of the far wall and looked out on the woods beyond, shrouded by dark clouds. The weather was still warm but rain was expected this evening, to be followed by clear and crisp cold, the season’s first hard freeze. Zach wasn’t sure how to interpret this omen. There’d been so many dramatic changes in his life over the past year he’d given up trying to read the signs. Still, these dark clouds prevailing at this moment of transition from summer to winter felt portentous. But of good or ill?

Barton appeared beside him. “I hate the fall—all death and dying.”

Zach chuckled. “Always been my favorite season—hunting and the outdoors and crisp sunny days, long lonesome nights.”

“If I know you, not many nights have been lonesome.” He handed Zach the bourbon on the rocks in a silver cup.

Zach laughed. “One can hope.” He clicked Barton’s cup. “To nights spent in company.”

“Here-here,” Barton said.

They sat in their old familiar seats—Zach in the chair with his back to the leaden woods, Barton on the loveseat across the room.

“So you got Sir William to the airport and on his way?” Zach asked.

“Thank God,” Barton affirmed. “One more day of wet towels on the carpet and coffee cups on the bookshelves and dirty underwear in the sink and we would’ve had to condemn the place and call for the wrecking ball. I found his toothbrush in the silverware drawer!”

“If he weren’t so charming, he’d be infuriating.”