A Beautiful Forever

A Beautiful Forever

Lilliana
 
Anderson

2013

Copyright 2013,
 
Lilliana
 
Anderson
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 without the
prior written permission of the author of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person,
living or dead is purely coincidental. Any actual places, products or events
mentioned are used in a purely fictitious manner.  The author acknowledges
the trademarked status and trademark owners of various places/products
referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission and
is by no way sponsored by the trademark owners.

Dedication –

To Lana, for always being wonderful

‘
Would
you leave me, if I told you what I've done?

And would you need
me, if I told you what I've become?

– No Light, No Light. Florence and the
Machine 

The moment I sent
A Beautiful Struggle
out into the world I
started to get emails, reviews and personal messages telling me that I broke
the reader’s heart by breaking Katrina and Elliot up. So despite the fact that
it was supposed to be a standalone book, I decided to write a sequel. I had
been toying with the idea of writing Elliot’s story but it didn’t really come
to life until I
realised
that the girl for him was one that I had already
started writing about in a manuscript I had originally titled ‘Superfluous Me’ –
that idea had stalled because her knight in shining armor hadn’t revealed
himself to me yet.

The
moment I realized that Elliot was the guy for her, the story took off and my
fingers started flying all over the keyboard. This book is solely about Elliot
and Paige – there is no third wheel here. This is simply a representation of
all they have to overcome to be together. Hopefully, you’ll love them as much
as I do.

First and foremost I must thank all of the Beta readers and
 
Advanced
 
reviewers who agreed to look over this
book.

Mary – who was my constant sounding board
during my re-writes, Betchiva, Pati, Alyssa, Wendy, Isabel, Ginnie, Jenny,
Crystal, April, Sara, ‘Brazillian Girl’, Anne, Liona, Kristy and the very
enthusiastic Nancy (I loved your email and I’ll keep it always!!)

Whether, you loved it, hated it, or just couldn’t find the time to
read it – I still greatly appreciate the support you gave me, no matter how
small.

A big thank you also to my ‘Reader Valentine’ Celsey, who spend
the month of February promoting my work to earn herself a cameo within this
book. Love you!

I also want to thank my family, especially my husband for
supporting me while I write. My husband listened to my ideas and gave me great
story suggestions, and held my hand while I bit my fingernails nervously while
I waited for reviews to come back.

The very last thank you is to you, the person reading right now –
you are the whole entire reason that I have worked so hard to create this book.
Enjoy.

Encouraging the sweaty, grunting man in front of me to tuck
his knees closer to his chest as he does mountain climbers, I distractedly scan
the people and the scenery in the Royal Botanic Gardens, Sydney, as I do every
time I bring a client here.

That’s when I finally see her, her movement is unmistakable
as she runs in a rhythmic pace along the path in front of me. The two years I
spent trying to get over her just fell away like I didn’t even live them, and
I’m taken right back to where I was, wanting her, wishing I could touch her.

Holding my breath, I watch her, her pony tail swinging from
side to side as her feet hit the concrete. When she turns her head in my
direction, a gripping pain creeps over my chest, constricting my airways when I
see the recognition steal over her face.

I was kind of hoping she’d run past me, so I could convince
myself I was seeing things, but no such luck. She’s stopped running and is
smiling brightly at me. My stomach flips in response while my arm automatically
waves at her. All of a sudden, I hear myself telling my client that I’ll be
back in a minute, as my feet propel me toward her.

Katrina is standing with her hands on her hips grinning at
me as I approach. I have so much I want to say to her, but mostly I just want
to touch her again. My body is screaming at me to reach out. But I don’t.

“What’s this?” she asks me immediately, indicating the logo
on my shirt. I smile to myself - she’s never been one to mince words. She seems
exactly the same, like I only saw her yesterday.

Looking at my shirt, I chuckle uncomfortably. “I’m a
personal trainer now,” I inform her.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “What? What about
becoming a barrister?”

Still smiling I shake my head from side to side, “That was
my father’s dream for me. After you left, I did a lot of soul-searching and
decided to make my own path,” I answer, scanning her body, drinking in every
little detail.

“Wow, that’s amazing Elliot. I'm really happy for you.”

My eyes land on her left hand, and my chest tightens as I
see the ring she now wears. Swallowing the ball that has suddenly lodged itself
firmly in my throat, I say, “Looks like congratulations is owed to you as well.
Is that from David?”

She looks at her hand briefly, like she needs to confirm
that we’re looking at the same thing and gives me a small nod. “Oh thank you,
the wedding is a while off, but everything else is great.” Giving me a tight
smile, she meets my eyes and places her hand back on her hip. “How about you?
How are things with you?”

I look into her face, searching for some semblance of the
way she used to look at me, but there's nothing there. I shift a little
uneasily on my feet, suddenly feeling slightly sick in the guts.

Clearing my throat, I finally answer her, “Well, I don’t
really speak to my dad anymore – which really is a good thing; and I’m seeing
someone now. It took a while – and she’s not you... but things are ok. I’m
certainly not ready for a commitment like that yet,” I say, nodding at that
bloody ring again, I’m trying to sound okay with it, but it hurts. It's like my
brain is swelling and throbbing against my skull from the sight of it.

She seems completely unfazed by seeing me and just stands
there smiling like we’re buddies. Her eyes shift to look over my shoulder,
where I’m sure my client is still waiting.  “Well, I had better let you get
back to it,” she says, starting to back away from me. I hate feeling like this.
It's like she’s tearing a part of me off the further she steps. “It was nice to
see you again Evan.”

I laugh, but it makes this really hollow and empty sound. I
don’t mean for it to come out that way, but I’m feeling a little bitter right
now.

“You too Katrina. I'll see you around, if not – have a great
life!” I smile on only one side of my face and run back to my client, forcing
my feet every step and refusing to let myself turn around.

I don’t chance a look at her again until after I’ve told my
client what his next exercise is. My guts are churning as I watch her run away,
but I can’t stop staring. She doesn’t even look back.

I just lied to her. I'm not seeing anyone. Truth is I
haven’t dated anyone in the two years since her. I fucked around a lot, which
is really out of character for me, but I just wanted to try to get her out of
my head. It never helped because every time I closed my eyes, I dreamed about
our time together – it was fucking perfect, and I destroyed it because I was
too much of a pussy to stand up to my dad.

Now she’s engaged and I’ve got no chance, I guess I could
pursue her and try to change her mind – but there is something about the way
she just looked at me that tells me it would be a waste of time. Plus, she
seems happy and I’m not a home wrecker. At the end of the day, David is a good
guy, and they have a lot of history. I'm sure they’ll be disgustingly blissful
together.

“Elliot,” my client snaps me back from my thoughts. “What’s
next?”

Dragging my eyes from watching Katrina’s figure fade into the
distance, I tell him that it is time to cool down. We go for a run in the
opposite direction. I don’t trust myself not to chase her down.

“My family are all dead,” I reply to the well-meaning lady
sitting next to me. She’s just trying to make conversation to pass the time as
we fly half way across the world from Sydney, Australia to Heathrow Airport in
the UK.

“Oh… I’m so sorry to hear that,” she stammers out, now not
sure what to say. She looks at me, her mouth moving up and down like she's a
goldfish caught out of water. Her jowly cheeks are wobbling, and her eyes are
darting nervously around as she searches for something else to say.

“It’s fine. I just don’t like to talk about it,” I tell her,
looking out the window at the passing clouds. I don’t like to talk about it
because it isn’t true. As far as I know, my family are all alive and well, they
just don’t speak to me after kicking me out when I was fifteen. I have taken to
telling people they're dead – because that’s how it feels to me. I used to say
that they don’t talk to me anymore, but what does that say about me? The one
that was cast out. It says no one loved me enough to fight for me, that I’m too
much trouble to put up with. It’s better if I say they’re dead – it makes me lucky
to be the one who’s still alive.

Staring out the window, I watch the clouds roll by below us,
like a fluffy white and grey blanket that I so desperately want to touch. The
woman turns her attention to the guy sitting on the other side of her and
starts to ask him questions about his life instead. I've made her
uncomfortable. I have probably made everyone within earshot uncomfortable.

Pressing the buds of my headphones inside my ears, I scroll
through my music and select an album. I’m really into 90’s alternative music
right now so I choose Custard’s
Wahooti Fandango
. ‘Teensville’ starts
floating into my ears as I close my eyes and lean my head against the window. I
keep the sound at a level that is just enough to mask the sounds of the plane
but quiet enough to lull me off to sleep.

Seriously, I just want to go to sleep. Although, this woman
sitting next to me won’t stop yammering in my ear. I’m trying to listen and
answer her politely, but I have been awake for over 20 hours now, and I’m
really struggling.

My eyes stray towards the girl sitting in the window seat,
her hair has fallen forward to cover most of her face as she sleeps at an
awkward angle against the window. I so wish I was her right now.

“Is London the end of your journey?” the woman asks, leaning
slightly so her face blocks my view.

I nod my head and exaggerate a yawn. “It is, how about you?”

“Oh no, I'm going to travel onto Scotland. My sister lives
there, in Dundee, I’m going to stay with her for a whole month!”

Opening my mouth, I exaggerate another yawn and add some
sleepy eyes in this time for good measure.

“You poor boy, I’m keeping you up. I’m sorry; I don’t sleep
very well without one of these,” she tells me as she takes a packet of sleeping
pills out of her bag and puts one in her mouth, swallowing it dry. “I’ll be
quiet now. You sleep.”