Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel Read Online Free PDF

left
my apartment. The place was beginning to reek and I really needed to put the
rubbish bins out, but there was no desire inside me to improve my current state
of affairs. I was imprisoned in my own head, and I didn’t have it in me to care
about the bad smell, or the fact that I hadn’t washed since I’d gotten back
from the party six days ago. The dark thoughts had latched onto me, and, like
any virus, they spread like wildfire.
    All things considered,
I was feeling pretty good about myself, and when I say that, I mean I was
feeling like a long bath and a bottle of benzodiazepines were calling my name.
    I apologise for such
morbidity.
    I always thought that
Kelvin finally getting punished would set me free, and now that it hadn’t, life
was losing its appeal by the day. I was startled out of my morose thoughts by a
loud banging on the door. A couple of my friends from the club had called over
throughout the week, but I hadn’t let them in. I didn’t show up for several of
the performances I was booked to do, and my phone had been ringing off the
hook. In the end, the battery had died, and I was finally given some peace from
the persistent pestering.
    Now it seemed someone
had gone out of their way to find me again.
    There were several more
bangs before a voice I hadn’t heard in months sounded through the door. It was
Phil.
    “I know you’re in
there, Nicholas. You’d better open this door before I call up the fire brigade
and have them knock it down. I swear to God, I’ll do it. In fact, I’d quite
enjoy watching some hunky Germans knock down a door.”
    His stern yet humorous
tone made the tiniest hint of a smile play on my lips. If it were anybody else
at the door, I would have ignored their presence. But it was Phil. One of the truest
and most loyal friends I had in this cold world, and I had to admit that I had
missed him, even if he did like to lecture me constantly.
    Dragging myself out of
bed, I shrugged into a T-shirt and walked to the door, undoing all the locks
and finally opening it. The second I looked at him, I smiled. He’d bleached his
hair since I last saw him. It was kind of hilarious, but suited him in a weird
way.
    “Philip! What on earth
have you done to your beautiful hair? You look like you’re getting ready to
move to Ibiza and relive those crazy ’90s rave days of yours.”
    He stared at me, mouth
agape. I bristled. I knew I must have looked a terrible sight. I’d hardly eaten
anything in days, and I could tell I was sporting huge grey bags under my eyes.
    “Oh, Nicholas,” he
said, his voice full of sympathy. I hated the very sound of it.
    I turned and walked
back into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. He followed me in and shut
it behind him. I rummaged around in the cupboards, trying to find the last
dregs of alcohol and coming up dry. Running a hand shakily through my hair, I
sat down on my sofa and eyed him.
    “Dave called me up two
days ago and told me how worried he was about you,” said Phil. “He said nobody
had been able to get a hold of you for almost a week, and the last time you
were seen you were a complete mess.”
    “You shouldn’t have
come. I’m fine,” I replied, folding my arms defensively across my chest. When
Phil didn’t get angry, but instead gave me his sympathetic eyes again, I felt
like crying. I knew I was the opposite of fine.
    He walked to me and sat
down right beside me. “Nicholas, look at this place. It’s not fit for a dog to
live in. I’ve never understood why you punish yourself like this. You have the
money for somewhere nice, and yet you select the most awful of places. You’re
hurting so much already, there’s no need to add to it.”
    “There’s nothing wrong
with this place — it just needs a bit of sprucing up. I don’t see the point in
spending money on a big fancy apartment when it’s just little old me. One room
is enough.”
    “Let’s not pretend your
choice of living quarters has anything to do with