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Authors: Katrina Liss

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Delecto - Games of Mastery (part 1)

BOOK: Delecto - Games of Mastery (part 1)
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Delecto
Games of
Mastery

 

 

 

 

K.M.Liss

 

 

All Rights
Reserved.

 

DELECTO

Games of
Mastery

 

By Katrina Liss

Copyright 2015 K.M.Liss

Smashwords Edition License
Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook
may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like
to share this book with another person, please purchase an
additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and
did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only,
then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
author.

This novel is a
work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in
it, while at times based on real figures, are purely the work of
the author’s imagination.

Any songs
written in this novel are not the author's property. K.M.Liss no
association with the lyrics or their creator or any vocalist they
are attributed to. They are added purely to carry and demonstrate
the storyline.

 

PROLOGUE

 

At times I was
calm, but my guilt and grief simmered within me like anger. I raged
at a world that didn’t care—but mostly, I raged at myself.

My
self-administered punishment was deprivation.

I no longer
sought out pleasure in life.

Absence was all
I deserved.

I lived a
quiet, simple life of routine.

Work, eat,
sleep. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat…

That triple
heartbeat pumped me through my days.

I focused on
what was left.

My life was no
longer my own.

I’d
dedicated it to her.

To my
dear, sweet sister.

 

 

 

 

Amanda

Tomorrow was
the first anniversary of the most horrific day in my life.

And today was
dragging heavily, like an invisible millstone hanging around my
neck. I couldn't focus on my work and sat at my desk staring at my
bulging in-tray in a trance.

John, the
legal clerk
,
placed another
pink, very urgent file on top of it with a hesitant hand. “Sorry,”
he muttered as he scurried away, retreating to his desk around the
corner.

The extra
workload barely registered in my brain. What did one more file
matter?

The pile was
becoming a monster—a fluid beast emerging from the tray like a
strange new life form, one with the ability to topple and drown me
in pink, green, and blue waves. I found the prospect increasingly
appealing.

Not only was my
in-tray my worst enemy, my filing pile was almost as bad. In truth,
my whole desk was a mess. I could barely see the desk top, as it
was covered with piles of paper and law books.

So much for the
paperless digital age. It hasn’t made much headway into law just
yet.

I sighed
heavily as I glanced around the office. An office that would become
mine in the near future. It was uninspiring and could do with a
makeover. It looked shabby and uncared for, and smelled stale. Not
a great advertisement for Preston Legal and the high caliber of our
services. The gray filing cabinets were depressing and dreary, and
many of the drawers were out of alignment; the white vertical
blinds were stained with condensation; the carpet, a worn pale gray
plush, was badly in need of a clean. And as for the walls, I wasn’t
sure what color they were supposed to be. Maybe they were white
once.

God help me, I
don’t have the time to think about interior decor, much less so, to
organize it.

Perhaps my
father could sort all that out, before he departed? I was sure
better surroundings would improve my general mood and enthusiasm no
end. I needed my spirits to be lifted somewhere in my life.

I placed my
elbows on my desk and lowered my head to my hands. I rubbed my
temples and then my neck with my fingertips to ease the knots of
tension, constantly present, just below the surface. My skin felt
clammy and hot despite the air conditioning whispering like a cool
breath from above.

A year ago, I
could never have dreamed I’d feel like I did now—so screwed up
inside, so defeated and old. A year ago, I didn’t know my mother
was to die the next day, or that my sister was about to utter her
last word.

My hand sought
out the chain around my neck with its dangling heart charm. This
was all I had left of her, this small piece of gold that she had
always worn, some photographs and my memories. My mom hadn’t been
one for possessions.

My chest
heaved, and I fought hard to bring myself out of my sudden low.

I left my desk
for a quick coffee break. I badly needed the five-minute reprieve,
a change of scenery to bring fresh enthusiasm to my working soul—or
not, more likely.

It wasn’t that
I didn’t like my job. I did, but there was just too much of it. I
was swamped.

I stood at the
coffee machine and on a whim pressed the cafe latte button for a
change. It rumbled to life, reluctantly spewing the
revolting-looking brew into the plastic cup. I picked it up and
took a sip, scowling at the bitterness as it hit my taste buds.

Cafe latte, it
is definitely not, nor is it any other kind of coffee. I’ve had
enough. No more of this torture by coffee.

I made an
executive decision. I would venture out to Home Depot for a new
office coffeemaker this weekend. I could allow myself the simple
pleasure of a decent cup of java to ease my passage through my
working life.

I slowly
shuffled my way back to my seat, trying not to arrive there, at
that highly pressured location in my world, but failing
dismally.

Placing my hot
cup next to the two half-drunk cold ones, I made a last-second
diversion to the bathroom.

The door
squeaked closed behind me, and I found myself standing in front of
the vanity, gazing into the mirror.

I look like
shit.

Dark shadows
lay beneath my eyes; a tight, pinched look sat around my mouth; and
fine lines were beginning to form across my forehead, a reminder of
how often my brow was furrowed.

And worst of
all, my eyes were dead.

My unmade up
face was a constant reminder of the wrecked mind living within.

My God Mandy,
what a state.

Tears started
to form, and my vision blurred. Salty liquid stung the back of my
nose. I fought my tears back. I’d done enough crying.

I took a deep
breath.

What did I
come in here for? No reason whatsoever.

I washed my
hands for the sake of it, the floral fragrance of the hand soap
rising pleasantly in the air.

I stopped
looking in the mirror. I wasn’t worth looking at. I made no sense.
Nothing made sense.

Leaving the
bathroom, I returned to my personal hellhole. The
eight-foot-by-eight-foot prison where I spent so much time. I sat
down with a thump and a sigh. My head felt wooly with all the tasks
I had swirling around in it, vying for my attention.

I really wished
my father would help me out a bit more, instead of spending so much
time enjoying his “winding-down” phase—winding down for retirement
in a year, and permanently stuck in his golf cart. He was the
reason my in-tray was so goddamn full.

Actually, no.
That wasn’t fair. My current situation was as much my own fault as
his. I shouldn’t have agreed to take on all this work two months
ago. At the time, I thought it would be cathartic and might take my
mind off things. But I’d regretted it increasingly ever since. It
wasn’t the right time for me to overburden myself.

He’d certainly
taken me at my word. Work had been flooding my way ever since, like
a tidal wave from the legal deep.

I really should
tell him to take it all back again, and that I couldn’t handle the
pressure. But I didn’t want to see the disappointed look in his
eyes or to hear his opinion of that ludicrous suggestion.

I knew he was
testing me—seeing what I was made of—making sure I wasn’t going to
break under the strain when he finally retired and left me to run
Preston Legal, full time. But I didn’t think I was going to pass
his test. In fact, there was no doubt about it. In my eyes, I’d
already failed. And I was beginning to wonder, was he already
seeing that too?

I sighed
deeply, my chest heaving.

I’d never
been good at handling situations with my father. He didn’t really
listen and was dictatorial and controlling. It didn’t matter what I
thought or what I said because only
his
opinion mattered. He was one of “those men,”
or so my mother told me. Only interested in himself. Which was why
they had divorced ten years ago.

Having worked
with him for the last eighteen months, I completely agreed with her
summation.

I was dragged
out of my mental wandering by the noise of the outer door swinging
open. I shifted my gaze as a familiar gray head of hair appeared
above the reception privacy screen.

Think of the
devil and he appears. Like a sign—a bad omen.


Good
afternoon, Mr. Preston,” Janice, the receptionist-come-PA, said as
he passed her by.


Yes, and
what a lovely one it is,” he replied in a chipper voice which
grated on my nerves.

Sometimes I
just hate him.

He’d obviously
performed well on the green, or else she’d have got a plain old
“Hello.”

He arrived at
my desk, en route to his glass paneled office cubicle, situated
next to mine.

He was fresh
from the course, in full golf attire. Today he was sporting a
striking pair of deep blue checkered pants and a white polo shirt
that matched his snowy shoes. I could honestly say I hated golf
wear with a passion. Actually, I just hated golf, period.


Amanda!
Good news from the club.”


Let me
guess. You’ve won the Ryder Cup?”

He tutted.
“Don’t be silly, the Ryder Cup isn’t for two months … and sadly, I
don’t have quite enough talent to make the team.”


I
noticed some of that talent on TV the other day. Rickie Fowler’s a
sweetie.”


But much
too young for you. You should be looking at
thirty-plus.”


Seriously
, Dad
, I was simply making
an observation that he was an attractive man. I don’t think we’re
going to be dating each other.”

That seemed to
go in one ear and out the other without registering a word. He
continued full flow, with his worldly advice on men and love and
all that jazz.


No woman
wants to marry a sweetie, darling. Men need to be men to keep the
attention of women. Remember that when you’re sizing up their
potential.”

I sighed with
frustration.


I’m not
sizing up anyone’s potential.”


Perhaps
you should start thinking seriously about that, Amanda. And make a
better choice this time. Franklin was never right for you. It was a
shame you wasted two whole years coming to that conclusion. Don’t
waste any more of your precious youth on men like him.”


God, how
did we get here again? Please leave me alone,” I
pleaded.


No I
won’t,” he replied firmly. “You need to get out and meet someone.
Or that’s how you'll end up. Alone. And I can't sit by and allow
that.”

Why does he
keep bullying me? Why doesn't he understand?


You know
I can’t do that. I can't go out.”


Yes.
You. Can. This reclusive phase of yours is ridiculous. Who are you
hiding from?”


I’m not
hiding. I’m just comfortable at home, looking after
Abi.”

He sighed
deeply. “I know you are, darling. And what you do for Abi is
wonderful. But comfort isn’t enough, is it? It isn’t living. You
need to live.”

How can I live?
Shut up, shut up, SHUT THE HELL UP.

That was what I
wanted to scream at him, but I didn't. I meekly placated him.


I’m
going to the Patriot's game with Calvin, next weekend.”

That was a
complete lie. But I wanted him off my back.


Are you?
Well, that’s a good start. That'll be fun for you. Try to push
yourself to get out some more, okay?”

Yeah,
right.

The only place
I’m gonna push myself is deeper inside my own fucked-up head.

BOOK: Delecto - Games of Mastery (part 1)
7.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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