Delia Bay

by Lauren Cooper

  Lauren Cooper

  Delia Bay © 2018 by Lauren Cooper All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Lauren Cooper

  Cover Photos: Adobe Stock, Pixabay, Lauren Cooper

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Lauren Cooper

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  First Printing: September 2018

  Self Published

  For everyone suffering through life. Know that there’s a light in the dark. Always.

  L

  xoxo

  With Special Thanks to Owen Harris.

  Without your help Reid wouldn’t be the character he was destined to be.

  Ben

  Without your I-pod Reid and Luna would never have been the characters they are today.

  Thank you for your words, your help, your understanding.

  You are my rock. My breath and my love.

  I love you. The sun, the Moon and the rest.

  L x

  To V Theia & AJ Daniels.

  Thank you, evil witches, for pushing me to finish this book.

  Much love babes!

  Playlist

  Misery Business - Paramore

  Mama - Jonas Blue

  All I want - Kodaline

  Snow - Red Hot Chili Peppers

  The Kill - Thirty Seconds to Mars

  Jealous - Labrinth

  Wherever I go - One Republic

  Oh Child - Robin Schulz

  Teenagers - My Chemical Romance

  Future Looks Good - One Republic

  Youngblood - 5 Seconds of Summer

  Heaven - One Republic

  Mountains - Biffy Clyro

  Faded - Alan Walker

  Slow Hands - Niall Horan

  Back To you - Selena Gomez

  Neon Lights - Demi Lovato

  Supermarket Flowers - Ed Sheeran

  You & I - One Direction

  Wings - Birdy

  Know no better - Major Lazor

  The Night We met - Lord Huron

  Savages - Sunnery Hames & Ryan Marciano

  I was made for loving you - Tori Kelly

  Bring me to Life - Evanescence

  In The End - Linkin Park

  God Bless This Mess - Bon Jovi

  Don't let me down - The Chainsmokers

  Start Again - OneRepublic

  Born to be Yours - Kygo

  One Last Time- Ariana Grande

  Cold Water - Megan Davies

  Something Just Like This - The Chainsmokers

  Good as Gold - Greyson Chance

  Young & Beautiful - Lana Del Rey

  Secret Love Song - Little Mix

  Love Me Like You Do, Sugar - Megan Davies

  Superhero’s - The Script

  Flowers In Your Hair - The Lumineers

  Wonderwall - Oasis

  CONTENTS

  Playlist

  Prologue

  Blood & Ink

  Sea Salt & Drinking Malt

  Moving Vans & Beer Cans

  Child’s Play & Chevrolet’s

  Gin & Green

  Guitars & Dive Bars

  Raindrops & Flip-flops

  Poppy Seeds & Sun Rises

  Late Nights & Lightning Strikes

  Spotlights & Dark Nights

  Whispers & Whiskey

  Dirty Sheets & Heartbeats

  Surf Boards & Music Chords

  Playing & Fading

  Raincoats & Short Shorts

  Ice Creams & Fuck Up’s

  Neon Lights & Blinding Lies

  Heart Attacks & Leather Jackets

  Fireflies & Night Skies

  Meadows & Tornadoes

  Big Scars & Little Stars

  Date Nights & Street Lights

  Savages & Bonfires

  Deep Sea’s & Lost Keys

  Rotten & Forgotten

  Cliff Tops & Sugar Drops

  Memories & Enemies

  What If’s & Maybe’s

  Broken Hearts & Fresh Starts

  I Love You’s & New Rules

  Nightmares & Fairytales

  Heartbeats & Tears

  Memories & Apologies

  Finding & Forgiving

  Young & Beautiful

  Final Goodbye’s & Sparkly Skies

  Popping & Snowing

  Daybreaks & Sun Rises

  Woohaa’s & Battle Scars

  Blue Skies & Rainbows

  Author Note

  Prologue

  THAT FEELING AS IF everything around you is blurred, like the ground has fallen from beneath your feet and you’re floating. Floating in nothingness, the unknowing. The sick in your stomach burns like acid, the dryness in your mouth has you swallowing but nothing happens. Nothing.

  The pain hits you directly behind your eyes, rendering you blind and helpless to the next few steps you’re forced to take but never realize you’re actually taking.

  Your hands tingle as if they’re numb, the need to touch you once more, stronger than the need to breathe. Just a feather like touch of your skin could shock my system enough to carry on.

  Your chest moves of its own accord but the pain of your heart ripping itself into tiny shards never leaves you. The pain is always there, you just learn to wake up each day and accept it as a part of who you are now.

  You just keep moving. Somehow, it’s as if your body goes into shock but knows what to do with itself. You may not eat or sleep, but you get the important things done. The things like funerals and burials. Poems and songs. Hymns and goodbyes.

  Only once that’s over do you stop. You stop moving forward and your body gives up on trying to help you through it. It’s at that point the people around you force you to eat, to have a shower and get some sleep. But what happens when you have no one there to force you to do those things?

  Well.... you end up like me.

  Blood & Ink

  THE NEEDLE PENETRATING my skin doesn’t hurt half as much as my aching body has been for the past ten years. The ink pushing between my pores didn’t make me flinch the way she had. Lying on the sickening PVC bed in the middle of the day, the sun pouring in through the window and highlighting the black skull decal on the front, the buzzing sound of the needle and the fact that I’m still breathing is starkly contrasting to the way she was laying the last time I saw her. Dark and quiet. Still and unmoving on the morgue slab. The needle digs deeper into my shin, but I welcome the sharp pain. It takes me away from the living, breathing agony that lives permanently in my chest.

  “Nearly done mate” the white bearded guy with a piece of straw sticking between his teeth mumbles, the vibrating needle in his chubby palm drowning most of him out.

  “You’re a trooper fair play” he huffs but doesn’t look my way as he concentrates on getting the last of my sparrows’ wing done. Its decent work, if I do say so myself. I didn’t spend the last of my pay check for some shoddy art. Granted, I didn’t pay my electric bill this month but fuck it.

  I like the dark anyway.

  I shoot my eyes back towards the window, leaning my heavy head on my palm and watching people walk past on the sidewalk, going about their business and hiding every deep, dark secret they have from the world. I don’t hide. I live my life through my ink, through my drawings or music and by not giving a fuck what anyone else thinks. At least th
at’s what I tell myself. I keep to myself mostly, but these days that’s proving harder and harder to do and it was about to get a lot more difficult.

  What with Gus upping and moving across the country and taking me with him. The city was the perfect place to hide, you could blend in with the rest of the idiots here and no one would question you. Down in a small town that would be much more difficult, and I just had to deal with it, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Gus yet. The bar was doing great here in Bancroft, but he’s decided that he prefers being on the Beach. I don’t know why I had agreed to go with him, but it might have had something to do with him promising me that this beach was, and I quote “The Dog’s bollocks” and the fact that he’s thrown in a cabin for me to crash in. Rent free.

  Do I want to be tagging along like some lost puppy? Of course not. But I have fuck all here and why not? Gus doesn’t have any family either, he treats me well and he’s one of those people you call a friend when you hardly even know them. Besides, he’s the only human I seem to have any sort of connection with other than the punters that regulate at the bar, and they’re always pissed out of their skulls anyways.

  “All done” The buzzing needle suddenly stops and the sharp sting that follows where the guy wipes at the spilt blood and ink on my leg has me wincing ever so slightly.

  “Cheers” I mumble as I make a move to get up. My leg is pretty red from its ordeal, but I’m pleased with the outcome. I could have had done it in two sittings, but I wanted it done before we leave on Saturday.

  “Whatdaya think?” the Santa-clause look-alike asks with a proud smirk on his beefy cheeks.

  “It’s great, how much do I owe you?” I mutter, watching as he wraps my leg in cling film.

  “Straight one-hundred bucks” he gets up from his small stool that creaks from the relief of not having his weight on it any longer and heads towards the front. I grab my wallet from my back pocket, the leather fraying and almost falling apart around the edges as I pull out my last bill.

  “Thanks” I force a smile and head for the door.

  “Anytime. You come to me from now on mate” I hear him say behind me, but I don’t bother to tell him I’ll never be back here. Not even for a visit. Who would I visit anyway? Their graves?

  Yeah, never done that. Never will. At least not until the day I join them there and at the rate I’m going that won’t be very fucking long.

  With each passing day the niggling at the back of my skull to just end it all grew. I had nothing, no-one and absolutely zero fucking ambition for anything.

  The weather was pretty fucking cheery for Bancroft today, much to my disappointment. I preferred it when the sky matched my mood and the heavens hammered down with rain. Luckily for me the town I was moving to was famous for its glorious summers and shit winters, perfect for someone like me.

  I walked the few blocks to my apartment, dragging my feet as I went, the almost derelict building was falling down around the few of us who remained here. The caged elevator was a death trap that no-one dared use, even suicidal people like me opted for the stairs instead. Even those weren’t great.

  My front door was much the same, there was hardly any point in me having a sodding key when I could just nudge it with the tip of my boot and have it swinging on its hinges.

  Owing to having no electricity, I grabbed the last of my beers from the dead fridge and slapped myself down on the beaten-up sofa that was also my bed. I didn’t have much, I never needed it. What was the point in buying things if I wasn’t going to be here to enjoy them anyway?

  Once upon a time there was a blissful period where I had everything a man could ever need. A roof over his head, caring parents, a steady part time job and a drop-dead gorgeous woman between his sheets. Well, at least when my parents didn’t know about it. They’d have hit the roof had they known about half the things their teenage son was up to.

  The beer was Luke warm as it trickled down my throat, I ground my back teeth against the bitter, cheap taste but swallowed it anyways. My guitar, or Aurora as I called her was winking at me from the corner of the room. Resting in her case where she always was unless she was strapped to my chest. I tried to resist the urge to play, my fingers burning around the glass bottle that wasn’t so much like the feel of strings. With each strum of my fingers a new wound would rip itself open on my skin. Tearing until I was practically bleeding. I couldn’t do it much longer I knew that for sure. The more I played the more it cut. The more it cut, the more I bled and there was only so much blood inside these veins.

  I was sure I’d already died a thousand deaths. How was it possible to feel so much pain and still be alive? My organs surely should have given in by now, but of course, my body was stubborn and was I fuck ending it myself. Call me a coward, call me whatever. I’m not doing that. That doesn’t mean I don’t want out. Maybe one day I’ll be able to do it, but for now I can’t. I can’t seem to leave the same place that she once was, living and breathing. But that’s why we’re headed to Delia Bay. Gus is getting on a bit now, but the old man refuses to quit, instead settling on working at a bar he’s bought down there instead. Apparently, the sun is good for his complexion. Fuck If I know what he’s talking about, the guy is as wrinkled as an old sack of potatoes and about as steady as a twig in the wind. I couldn’t have it on my conscience if something were to happen to him and I wasn’t there.

  Glancing around my tiny studio apartment, I don’t feel anything. Not depressed at my lack of belongings, or sickened by the peeling, old wallpaper or the stained and cracked wood floor. Or the sad fact that all of my shit fit into three measly boxes and a tiny suitcase.

  Reality Check: I have fuck all.

  Swigging back the last of the shitty beer I stand and reach for Aurora. No matter how hard I try, the pull towards her always wins in the end. The weight of the guitar in my arms is almost feather like, she’s getting on a bit now, but I’ll never trade her for a newer model.

  Fuck That.

  The city street lights flicker on outside the dirty apartment window, finally giving me some light that I don’t have to fork out for. Granted, I am looking forward to a better view than the brick wall I currently have. I haven’t even seen this cabin that Gus is letting me stay at, but anywhere is better than this shit hole. Especially with the drugged-up dude upstairs blasting his shitty music every damn night.

  Yes, I buy weed from the guy, but he could at least put some decent fucking tunes on.

  My fingers strum across the strings effortlessly, setting my blood on fire and filling my lungs with much needed air. Closing my eyes, I inhale the dusky scent that comes with playing my beauty. The ever-drugging feeling of calm and total terror washing over me like a tsunami, forcing me back to that time when my beautiful girl was still here with me. With each strum of my fingers, I feel her coming to me, long black silky strands of straight hair brushing through my finger tips and tickling at my face. Those piercing blue eyes of hers glaring up at me as if I was the only thing in her life that ever mattered. Her soft voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear so delicately I can’t make out the words. All these things I took for granted, because there was never supposed to be a time where neither of us mattered in this universe. Until I didn’t. Until we made something so fucking precious I didn’t matter anymore. I cradled her that night in my arms as if she’d just given me the best gift someone could have asked for. Because she had. With each new chord I strike a new image comes back to me, maybe because we fell asleep that night to the sound of music streaming through my iPod dock in my bedroom, with my palm pressed safely across her abdomen and my lips promising that everything was going to be okay into her tiny pixie ears.

  We didn’t tell anyone. It was our secret for a few weeks until we knew we couldn’t hide it any longer. Not that we wanted to hide it. We wanted to keep our little poppy seed to ourselves for a while. At only seventeen years old we knew what our parents would say, but they didn’t know how much we loved each other. They had no fucking idea ho
w much Aurora meant to me. It was only that Christmas when she’d bought me my first guitar did they really guess how special she was to me. I had no idea that she was going to get it for me, or that she had saved all year for it. I’d spent the last four or so years before then borrowing my friends or nicking the one from the school music room, but she’d gotten me my very own, fit with a case and a strap and all the trimmings. I knew then that she was mine and so did my parents. My girl. And my baby. It was my forever after and it was ripped away from me almost ten years ago.

  Snapping my eyes open I still my fingers. The symphony having gotten away from me and with wet cheeks I put Aurora back in her case and jump into a cold shower before dressing and heading for my last shift at the Bar before the big move.

  Time to toughen up Reid.

  The bar was packed as usual, the regulars that would head here after work for a pint or ten before dragging their sorry asses home to their wives had arrived and perched themselves in the usual spots.

  I’d dragged myself from my pit of misery, shoved my legs into ripped jeans and picked my favorite fitted black t-shirt and slipped my years old leather boots on. My trusty boots would be coming with me to Delia, well, because they’re the only shoes I own.

  Gus was off chatting with the guys, the crook in his back more prominent these days than it ever had been. The man was old, there was no denying that, but he refused to quit. Hence why we were moving the entire damned bar to Delia starting tomorrow.

  Gus’ was old and dingy, but one of those places that kept the punters coming in with its fake historical charm. I had hopes that Delia Bay would be a little bit prettier to look at, but I knew better than to get my hopes up. Don’t people feel sad when they leave behind a place and start fresh somewhere new? Is that what I was supposed to be feeling when I wiped down the old oak bar for the last time? Or when I helped Gus pull the jagged old door closed with a slam and turn the rusty key in the lock before passing it under the door?

  I felt nothing. Not anymore.