LIARHOLIC
by
Kingsley Ash
Copyright
LIARHOLIC
Copyright © 2020 Kingsley Ash
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Author Note
This love story is not all pretty stardust, sunshine and unicorns. It’ll bite your heart out, chew it for a bit, and then spit it out. Only, there is a rainbow at the end.
It just takes the road to Hell and two twisted souls to reach it.
~ Kingsley Ash
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Author Note
Dedication
Prologue I
Prologue II
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Epilogue I
Epilogue II
Epilogue III
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Dedication
To my baby girl.
You are not gone, you just moved on ahead of me.
You’ll forever live in my heart.
Prologue I
YOU
Nine years old . . .
I got this idea for an invention because he sometimes gets very sad. And I wanted to invent something to make him more happy. I’m always happy so I created the happiness machine to take away some of the happiness in my head and put it into his.
Prologue II
ME
Fourteen years old . . .
THE NIGHT THE SNOW FELL
LOOKING AT YOU HURTS.
It always hurts.
Sunshine hair.
Emerald eyes.
‘You still afraid of the dark, Shepherd?’ you whisper.
We always whisper when we hide in the broom cupboard, under the staircase of the children’s home. They don’t like seeing you with me.
Not the bad boy, Amy. Stay far away from the Lawson kid. He’s bad news. The cursed boy.
I am nothing.
Dust and nothing.
Except, you never look at me like that. You never see me as the total screw up that I am. That’s why it always hurts to look at you.
‘It’s okay if you are afraid, because I’ve made you something,’ you say. ‘When I was seven, I was afraid of the dark. I couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t sleep. So my sister told me at night when it gets dark, if she’s not there to hold my hand, it’s because she’s up there in the sky, shining bright as a star, to fight off any monsters in my cupboard or under my bed.’
You reach into your bright yellow bag that’s dotted in white seahorses, the one you take everywhere with you.
You pull out something, and whatever it is, it must be small as your hand dwarfs it.
‘Open up your hand,’ you whisper to me.
I hesitate.
‘Come on, Shepherd. Don’t you trust me?’
‘Yeah, I trust you. Just, I don’t like surprises, is all.’
It’s me who can’t be trusted, Amy.
‘Law, please,’ you beg, and fuck if I can’t obey when you melt that begging voice into my nickname.
I extend my hand out, palm facing upwards.
‘Close your eyes and open them when I tell you to,’ you say, and I can hear the excitement in your voice.
I shut my eyes and feel something cool and light drop into my hand.
‘You can open your eyes, now.’
I look down at my hand, and at first, I’m not sure what it is.
It's oval shaped like your emerald eyes. A keyring, I think. It looks like a dreamcatcher, but you’ve replaced feathers for plastic stars.
‘What is it?’ I ask you.
‘It’s a Monster Catcher.’
I don’t say anything. I don’t even blink as I just keep staring at it, crushed into silence. I turn my hand over and let it dangle from my fingertips.
I’m scared I’ll break it, Amylocks. Break you.
‘It’s like a dreamcatcher, except the stars capture monsters. It will protect you, Shepherd. It will protect you from all your monsters.’
You start humming that lullaby. The one you sing whenever you put a plaster on my cuts and scrapes. It echoes off the darkest corners of the tight space we’re crammed inside, like it’s warding off the monsters, already.
The voice of an angel, your voice could stop wars.
There are hidden things, things within the chaos. And Amy, I can’t let this go on.
Us.
There can never be US.
It ends now.
‘Listen, Amy, meet me in the woods later. In the abandoned church, okay?’
You twirl the gold seahorse pendant around your neck, the gift I got you for your fourteenth birthday.
‘Is it safe?’ you say.
‘You can trust me.’
It’s not my first lie.
