Clockwork

By Meghan Kelly

In a broken down world connections make all the difference. A glimpse into a tempestuous relationship where love meets obsession on the fringes of society, blurring the lines of conventional romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meghan Kelly
• Release date: Dec 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465781253

Book preview

Clockwork

By Meghan Kelly

&

Nick Vince

Copyright 2011

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Cover design and photograph by

Meghan Kelly

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Part 1: John

Breathe.

Dark. It's always dark. Not quite sure why, but I guess it makes sense, right? I mean, what else should oblivion be, if not dark? Not just dark, though. No, picture this. A blinding light shined in your face, pupils dilated, eyes all but closed... and then it's gone. Darkness, complete vulnerability. Now magnify that a thousand times over. And it's not cold, here in wherever-the-fuck. You're not cold, you're numb. No, numb isn't good enough. Words can't describe the feeling... the idea of this. Fuck words. This is endgame. Welcome to the fallout.

"Breathe, Asshole!" The stinging slap. Dull, far away. Effective.

Before my eyes even open, I feel her hovering over me. On me.

I left again, huh?

Yes, you prick… you scare me, you know? I always know, every time, that this time you won't be coming back. You'll just go.

Laugh. And leave all this?

The grand, sweeping gesture, inviting the quick glance around this shithole. Dark, but nothing like death. Small nightstand next to the bed, a polished wooden altar for the brazenly displayed Desert Eagle. Carton of cigarettes on the bed next to us, door hanging off its hinges, wide open. Silhouettes passing by, not people, just… vague suggestions of shadows dancing on the wall. A small table in front of the opposite wall, ornately decorated mirror, oddly out of place in this world where no one wants to look at each other, much less themselves. Dirty window, eight squares of glass, one of duct tape. Oh, so close, but the duct tape blew it. Four stars. Better luck next time.

Fuck this. What about me? She pouts.

"I am fucking you."

Slap. Déjà vu. She's not amused, we assume. I debate whether or not to tell her that she's a stranger. A constant stranger that