Shush I'm Reading

By Frey Le Karr

Dealing with a neurotic, overbearing mother, an uninvited cat and staring at double D's all day, it's no wonder 24-year-old Billie Angel finds herself lost in a fantasy world more often than not. 

 

With her not so smart phone glued firmly to her hip, Billie's life revolves around her reading apps. Chided for having her face stuck in her screen for more hours than she cares to count, Billie soon discovers that not all fantasies are in her head.

 

Enamored by the charismatic Hunter Williams, Billie finds herself unmistakably living the dream like something from the pages of a book. Not knowing her up from her down, Billie walks the tightrope that is the fine line between fiction and fact.

 

What happens when Billie finally wakes up and finds herself firmly on solid ground? Is Hunter really the man fantasies are made of, or the reality of something more?

 

A romantic fantasy that will have readers rooting for Billie, a fellow bookworm!

• Language: English
• Publisher: FreyLeKarrpublisher
• Release date: Jan 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201863449

Frey Le Karr

Frey Le Karr was brought up in Manchester and now lives in the beautiful Scottish borders with her children and pets. She loves writing her stories and hopes Surviving Him can help someone out there who is, or has been through, the same sorts of situations as her. When she’s not writing, or taking care of her family, she can be found on Facebook or reading.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

BILLIE

It’s twelve thirty a.m.. No matter what I do, I just cannot get to sleep. It’s the same most nights of late. My anxiety likes to keep me wide-awake, or perhaps I let my anxiety keep me awake? All my qualms, all my stress just swirls around inside my head, like a piranha fish swimming in the river looking for their next feed—always there, torturing me and ready to take a bite at any given moment.

I've had the worst day ever at work. My boss, Mr Richard Fiddle—a sleazy control freak to say the least—had got on his high horse first thing in the morning about not receiving some files on time from a photographer. It rubbed me the wrong way. I hadn’t messed anything up before and this was not my fault. I didn’t deserve the fallout that ensued.

Dick Fiddle runs a magazine, and I’m his assistant. I stay because a girl has to eat.

Some days, I’d like nothing more than to drag him off said horse, throat-punch him and gallop off into the sunset, flipping him the bird as I go.

He's a short man, with long brown hair holding a tint of red and almost puke-green beady eyes. He walks funny too, as though he’s holding a tampon up his arse. I think it’s because he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and is far too posh to even fart the same way as everybody else.

Even though I feel this way about him, I wanted him to acknowledge and be proud of me. Email after email I sent out today. I took and made phone call after phone call, printing the same thing: print, repeat, over and over again. So much so I felt I was going to die of boredom and so was the old tired copier. It was already dying a slow and painful death because it was being used so much. And Mr Fiddle, despite the wealth he hoarded, was too tight to buy a new one. This afternoon, I’d pressed my cheek against it just to see what my face squashed up against it would turn out like on paper, not an alluring sight I can tell you.

He caught me with my face on his precious machine and my ass in the air, and his face had contorted with rage as he clapped eyes on me. I’d lifted my chin with defiance because I work my damn arse off for him, so I glared right on back at him. His hands balled into fists as he attempted to scold me like a little schoolgirl.

Stop messing around and get the job done, Miss Angel. It will get the people to buy the product, he said. Then he declared he wanted me to stay behind—overtime.

I was shattered by the time I eventually dragged myself home.

Yet, I have been lying here in bed, wide-awake, for two bloody hours, ever since. I think I might have to start a book if I don’t get to sleep soon.

I love to read. Reading is my one and only passion these days. When I’m reading, I want to be consumed by the story as I devour it? I love that I can get lost for hours on end in another world, like being in someone else’s dream. Living another life away from my own shitty existence. Without these books, I'd have nothing. I don’t do people, or friends for that matter—they always let me down or betray me, so I have huge trust issues. I know—so messed up. Right?

I go slightly cross-eyed while I search through all the different apps on my phone; swiping at the screen until I eventually find what I'm looking for, my trusty Kindle app. The book I've just started reading is about an artist. She's quiet, complicated, blonde haired, green eyed, curvy, and beautiful. But she’s so shy and doesn't really know how beautiful she is. I want to shout at my phone screen and let her know to take a long hard look at her gorgeous self in a mirror. I want to be able to look her straight in the eyes and say, "Annabel, my darling. You are beautiful. Look at yourself—see yourself."

Annabel. She even has a beautiful name. I sigh, wishing I had a beautiful name just like that. Instead, my mother thought it was a great idea to call me after my dad, William. She couldn’t really call me that so the next best thing was Billie. What on earth was she thinking? She must still have been high after the pain relief, otherwise, why would she do that to me?

I did ask her over the years growing up.

But you suit Billie. You’re a Billie, always have been, always will be.

Yeah, thanks for that mother. Way to go. A great way to give me a confidence boost. In other words, I would never in a million years suit an elegant name such as Charlotte, or Katherine, maybe Katie or something really pretty like Sophie, or something really sexy like the character in the book I'm reading? Ugh. I stare at the screen and start reading about the alpha male in this book. He is so freaking hot he sends my pulse racing. His name is Josh. I can picture him in my head as clear as day—as though I’m watching him in a movie. There is something about his eyes that has me completely sucked into the story. The way the author describes them makes them memorable to me. They are a sparkling light sea-blue, piercing, and smouldering and I can imagine him looking right at me. It feels like electricity is infusing my body, just from hearing about him. I want to tear him out of my mind and into my bed. He is everything I could want in a man and more.

He even climbed onto the roof of a house and rescued a poor cat that had its head stuck in a small window. Just as Josh climbed down the drainpipe from the roof, the cat leapt from his arms, and the old lady who he belonged to, Annabel’s grandmother, took him inside. Annabel thanked him and when she hugged him, the fireworks started to spark between them. Josh kissed Annabel on the mouth, his body still close to hers, as her whole body quaked with excitement.

Oh, my word. The anticipation had me wanting to chew my nails as the hairs on my skin stood on end. I can’t wait to continue the story.

And that's when my stupid smartphone beeps, followed by its battery dying on me!

CHAPTER TWO

BILLIE

Work. Christ. I roll my tired eyes at the ceiling—man, it desperately needs a lick of paint or something, and so do the yucky yellow walls. Pink or purple or both would look good in here. But I can’t think about it right now. It will have to wait. I need to get showered, dressed, and ready to rock up and get shit done.

The view of the city from the top of the tall building I work in is spectacular. When I arrive at the office, I can see for miles, so I take a moment to bask in the view. Mr Fiddle is already in his office when I get to my desk. He stares at me through the glass above his expensive gold-rimmed glasses, a hard, cold stare from his puke-green creepy eyes. He squints as if he disapproves of me still being alive—still breathing and turning up for work in my Converse sneakers, patterned leggings and a bright pink t-shirt which reads ‘I Have Nothing to Wear’ across the front in black letters. I smile internally at the way I have managed to piss him off without even opening my mouth. Score.

I note the printer has been unplugged from its power point on the far wall, and the cable is hanging over the top of it. Okay, good, no printing shenanigans today. Waving, I slide my boss a guarded look across the room. A plain room with dreary walls—everything colourless. I want to pull out a paintbrush so I can brighten it up a little. Removing my phone and dumping my bag on the floor under my desk, I take a seat and fire up the computer. My phone pings loudly, vibrating on the desk. It’s Claire on messenger, my online bookish friend. As it turned out we live quite close to one another, but we talk online every day, mostly about the stories we love. I smile at the phone as I read her message:

Hey, you. Did you get to finish the book? What did you think? How hot is Josh? I can still picture him in his police uniform? Mmmmmm…

I quickly reply.

Just at the beginning of it, work has been hectic, can’t wait to get back into it. Loving it so far. Yummy, indeed.

How I wish that this was right this minute.

My phone pings as Claire sends me a reply, I glance down and swipe through all the apps, trying to find it, but they have all gone crazy! I cannot get into a damn thing! They say they are all updating. And then it decides at that moment to turn itself off. Bloody hell!

Sliding the not-so-smart-phone away from me, and across my desk with an exasperated sigh, I get to work on sending out emails before my boss sends me to hell for using my ‘not-so-smart-phone.’

Mr Fiddle comes over to my desk. I can smell his bad breath waft beside me as it assaults all my senses, and I feel like I'm going to speed puke all over the keyboard—that would really annoy him. As he leans over, peering at the computer screen, I have to cover my nose with my hand. Tobacco and a stale alcohol smell laces his breath as he talks. Have you still not finished this? What are you doing? I want those sent by lunchtime, Miss Angel. Pull your finger out, he says, startling me with his harsh tone of voice. Jesus, I'm going as fast as I bloody can.

Yes sir, I will get these finished asap. Please go and brush your teeth.

Ugh, he’s in a bad mood today. What a surprise. I hate this job. I hate my boss. I hate my life.

Lunchtime soon arrives, and my stomach growls, letting me know the time. I nip across the street to a gorgeous little place for a chicken baguette and a latte and, sitting myself in the corner booth, I check the time on my watch. I have at least an hour to read, and, thank you, God, my phone has switched itself back on again. I can eat my lunch in peace. And read my book. I open the Kindle app…

Annabel, Josh and their incredible friends, who are like family to one another, all live in a little town called Flip in America. ‘Flip’. What a cool name for a place to live. Unlike where I live in Backtown, England. Josh has just taken Annabel on their first date for a meal, then onto dancing afterwards at Flip Keys, which is a restaurant by day, club by night. ‘Flip Keys’ is the go-to place, and I want more than anything to go there. I feel like I am right there with them while I sip my latte. I read on, feeling excited at the direction the story is moving in. Josh leads Annabel onto the dance floor by her dainty hand, and a slow track comes over the speakers as the strobe lights flicker around them. Taking hold of her by her hips, Josh slowly sways against Annabel. Her hips move in rhythm with his, and they soon become lost in their movements, never losing eye contact with one another as the rest of the club melts away, leaving the fiery passion igniting between them.

Sigh, swoon. I fan my now-heated face and clench my thighs together. Wow.

Why has this never happened to me? Do these guys even exist in the real world? I want to be Annabel right now. Josh is so sexy; butterflies are having a full-blown rave down there in my tummy. On that thought, my mind drifts. I wonder if I can find a man like that, a real life alpha male just for me. Someone to sweep me off my two left feet and give me what I crave.

Josh whispers in her ear as she holds up her hands, palms flat to his chest. You should be in my bed right now.

Annabel gasps. I gasp for her—with her. Annabel doesn’t reply, she keeps on dancing, getting lost in the music—lost in him. Josh moves with her, getting just as lost in her.

There’s a beeping sound. My battery is low, typical, eleven per cent left. I toss it in my purse. Finishing up my lunch, I reluctantly head back into work where Mr High Horse is waiting by my desk with that disappointed look I’m all too used to these days plastered across his mean face.

What have I done now?

Hi, Mr Fiddle. I wave nervously as I drop my purse down on the floor.

Did you finish? I have another project for you to do. Tell me you did as I asked?

I stare at him, stunned that he has such little faith in me when he knows I work damn hard and have done for years, for his sleazy ass. I want to tell him to do it his bloody self, and walk out! I really want to tell him where to go, but I can’t. I don’t want to be jobless, even if my life is a pile of shit right now. I still need to earn something so I can eat, and buy books.

Yes, I did, sir. I nod absently at him.

I feel like the invisible woman most days.

The hours pass me by as I get stuck into to work and it’s soon seven p.m., and Mr Fiddle decides we can finish for the day. Thank heavens. I gather up my things, and drive home, not before stopping off for a bottle of wine and a Chinese takeaway. I'm far too tired to cook anything tonight.

As soon as I get in the house, I shake off my shoes, then scoop up the mail, absently flicking through what appears to be junk mail. I throw my bag down and pop my carryout and wine onto the coffee table before I wander through to my bedroom. I plug my phone into the charger and place it on my nightstand as I sit on the edge of my bed, rubbing at my aching toes. I reach for my Kindle, get back up, and I make my way back through to my living room, switching on the soft glow lamps as I go. Plumping the cushions on the sofa, I fall into them and make myself comfortable. I get my food and wine easily accessible, and open up my Kindle, unlocking the screen, and syncing it to furthest page read and picking up the story where I left off.

I devour my Chinese takeaway in such a messy manner I’m glad I live alone for once. I was famished. I’m onto my second glass of wine, as well as being well into the fourth chapter of the book. The gorgeous story of Josh and the beautiful Annabel.

Josh, being a policeman, is again out fighting criminals of the worst kind.

Annabel is at the library, where she works part-time outside of her art work. She’s thinking about Josh and not really getting much work done at all.

She doesn’t like to be around many people either, a bit like me, but she has recently made a few friends. Her new friend, Sherry, works at the library, part-time, alongside her. Sherry has long brown hair and grey eyes and is just as beautiful as Annabel. They clicked as soon as they crossed paths. They are both book whore’s, like me.

Neither of their parents was interested in them. They felt they were a disappointment and had let them down. Just like the way I feel my mother feels about me.

Sherry gets lost in books like myself. It’s safe there. Oh, Annabel, Sherry, I want to wrap my arms around you and give you both a squeeze. I am crying for them. I relate to them, and I want to be them.

CHAPTER THREE

BILLIE

I’m dragging the ridiculously awkward bag from the boot of my car, squinting at the bright sunlight, and tripping over my own feet, as my face smacks on the bottles in the bag.

Ouch!

Righting myself, I head up the steps, dragging the foolish thing towards my mum’s front door. I heave it over my shoulder, leaning to one side just to get the door open. The bag is way too heavy for me. I should have brought another one, but I just wanted it over and done with.

Billie, where have you been? I have been waiting for you to bring me a few bottles of brandy now for two days. No hello, or how are you, my darling child, or how was work? I have been losing my bloody mind over here, useless daughter. She holds up her hands as she sneers at me.

Ugh. I hate my life.

Hey, mum. How about you go and get it yourself if you so desperately need it that much? Oh, and yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking. I shake my head in sadness at her disregard of me, as I rush past her, sticking my tongue out on the way into the small kitchen. I notice straight away that it hasn’t been cleaned since the last time I was here. Dishes are piled up in the sink and food has been left out on the counter tops. I daren’t even look in the fridge. I can see the dishwasher I bought for her hasn’t been touched. Rubbish is lying on the floor, and the flies are having a party above her overflowing open bin.

Yuck. This is disgusting.

The heavy bag thuds to the floor with the weight inside dragging it down before I can stop it. Mum moves the fastest I’ve ever seen in my life, hoping to save its contents.

Be bloody careful, you might break the bottles. How many did you get this time? More than just one? Her eyes gleam in anticipation, yet she’s jittery from not having had any alcohol today.

Mum, I got you three. But I also bought you eggs, bread, butter and some other stuff. You do know that you need to eat? You can’t just live off brandy? If you don’t eat, you die, mum, I say as matter-of-factly as I can. She completely ignores me, going straight to the bags, removing all the bottles of brandy and lining them up on the counter. She wastes no time cracking open the lid on one and pouring it into a glass, knocking it back quickly as she closes her eyes. I swear to God it’s like the colour floods her face within seconds. Hopefully, it’s warmed the ice in her veins too.

I’ll just get some of this cleaned up, mum, then I’ll make you some breakfast, She turns her face away from me as if she can’t even bear the sight of me. Taking in a deep breath, I decide to load the dishwasher, empty the bin, then sweep and mop the floor. I pick up a load of her dirty washing and shove it into to washer.

Then I make us both a full English breakfast. I want to make sure that something is in mum’s stomach other than the alcohol she’s downing at a rate of knots. I get mum to eat her bacon and eggs with a bit of toast, but she leaves the rest and instead she downs half bottle of Brandy while I'm hoovering and changing the sheets in her bedroom.

I do a bit of light dusting. Once I finish, I notice she’s flat-out cold on the sofa. I decide to stay a while. I can’t just leave her like that. Covering her up with a blanket, I make sure she’s still breathing, then I grab my phone from my bag and take a seat in the corner. Pressing the app for my Kindle, it opens….

Every time he’s near her, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, his heart skips another beat like his soul has jumped out and then leapt straight back into his body. It takes over his mind in a breath taking second. He can’t tear his eyes away for a moment. Every time he’s near her, he’s fucking rock hard. So much so that it hurts him to be so close to her again. Annabel’s eyes lock with his, lighting up at the sight of him. She glances down at Josh’s open shirt, and her full, slightly parted lips turn up at the corners into a smile that lights up her whole face as she takes in his appearance. She likes what she sees. She looks hot in her little black shorts and her tight-as-fuck tank top, which showcases the shop name printed on the front, Flip Tattoos in bold purple letters, and moulds every single curve on her body. Her long mane of blonde curls falls down her back and sits over her ample breasts, which are just begging to be freed by his hands. He can’t take the sight of her anymore—it physically hurts, so he focuses his attention elsewhere for the time being.

Lying there, looking up at the brilliant art on the ceiling, trying to compose himself, a sweet familiar scent of vanilla and jasmine travels its way up his nose. How’s life been treating you, Josh? I’ve not seen you in here in a while. Annabel asks while staring down, holding the tattoo gun in her hand, concentrating on inking the outline of Josh’s new tattoo on his forearm. What do the words mean, Josh?

She points down at the outline.

The jigsaw pieces symbolises the birth of brothers. The numbers 03:03 and 03:05 in each piece depicts the times in which they were born. Different year, different day.

That’s so cool. I like that idea.

How’s life treating you? he asks Annabel. When she isn’t in the library, this is where she loves to be creating her art.

Staring at my phone’s screen, I want to shout at them both for being standoffish with each other. Ugh. I sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers. I can feel a headache coming on.

All good, Josh. How did you get that black eye? Work I guess. Sorry, don’t answer, it’s none of my business. The concern for him is clear in her voice. It feels good that someone other than his close friends are worried about him for a change.

Yeah, the guy caught me off guard. You want to see the state he’s in. This is nothing. He points to his face with his other hand, laughing. Her beautiful sparkling blue eyes look down into Josh’s. They’re bright and wide as though she’s thinking. Her free hand reaches out, and she places it gently over his cheek, making his heart race and dick harden.

I hope you’re taking care of yourself, Annabel whispers in a soft voice.

Of course, he lies. As she leans in, her hand brushes against his skin as she gently wipes his arm clean of the ink. The goose bumps rise on his flesh as she takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in quick bursts. She turns away to get what she needs, and Josh quickly adjusts himself in an attempt to send the angry bear