Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Read Online Free PDF

the consummation of a sexual encounter left unfinished.
    An antiquated computer stands tall at one end of the
table; any minute now it will be coughing and spluttering its way around the
internet, pausing to catch its breath on social network sites like Facebook and
Twitter. It may have been almost seven years but that’s nothing to him; he’s
determined, ruthless and unrelenting in his search for Francis Parker.
    Before starting his labour of love he glances up at
his noticeboard at the hundreds of faded photographs, held up by coloured
stickpins. Some of the photographs have become frosted and blurred over time,
others have yellowed around the edges but, there is no mistaking the fact, they
are of the same person: his obsession, his girl, his princess.
    Around the board is a length of dusty, gold tinsel, a
left over from six Christmas’ ago. The memory of the Christmas he spent with
her in his head, in his bed, it’s on replay. So much so, that it shifts and
changes with every new recollection, each time there’s a new addition; each
time a confirmation of their festive union. How does something that was once
fantasy become corporal - it just does!
    It’s 0100hrs and another wasted night. No sign of her,
but he knows she’s out there, thinking about him, waiting for him. Every night
he gets one step nearer to finding her.
    He stands eye to eye with her faded image, remembering
her smell, her voice and that look in her eyes, it excites him, makes him hard
and ready. His mouth opens slightly and his hands unwrap, pinning her to the
noticeboard with human hand cuffs.
    “I’m going to find you, Princess.”

2
    I drive to work, weary from lack of sleep and emotionally drained.  Every
time I catch my reflection, my eyes are saying ‘sorry.’ Adele sings on the
radio, "When will I see you again ," and I sniff and take her
words to heart. How will I ever get through the day?
    When I get to my classroom, I give myself time to
regroup. I switch to autopilot mode, with no sense of purpose or direction. I
rummage through my bag and find a couple of painkillers to ease the
self-inflicted agony.
    Please let the day pass quickly ...
     
    After my final lesson of the day, I head home and wish
for more strength and less regret or, at least an equal measure of the two. My
upstairs neighbour is waiting to ambush me.
    "So who’s the lucky fellow then?" she asks
cheerfully. "You must have an admirer Beth?"
    "Hello Pat, I suppose I must, but I can’t imagine
who." I fiddle with my key and push open the door to my apartment.
"Thanks for taking the flowers in for me, I appreciate it. Bye." Not
soon enough, I close the door.
    Dinner is a simple affair, a small tuna salad and an
apple. Not a lot of sustenance but all I can force down under the
circumstances. For some reason, this empty house seems like a vacuous space,
there is no air. I barely have the strength to breath, so heavy is the weight
on my chest. Everything I own resides here, rests on the floor, covers the
walls, sits in drawers. And, what do my meagre possessions say about me? Alone
with a capital ‘A’.
     I collect my mail and throw the bills to one side.
There’s a plain lemon envelope which looks like a birthday card or an
invitation. I open it and there’s a ticket to the new production of Romeo and
Juliet at the Apollo Theatre in the West End for tomorrow evening. It’s a
single ticket and I think I know who has the other. It has a tell-tale cross in
the bottom left hand corner, much like the soft kiss that lingers at the corner
of my mouth.
    Maybe it’s the effect of the salad, but I feel
suddenly energised. For the first time today I exhale; it’s seems like I’ve
been holding my breath for far too long or, maybe, I’ve been holding out for
something, for someone?
    I collect the photographs off the floor and slip them
into a drawer. This time tomorrow I’ll be face to face with the real thing but,
there’s so much to do before then, like finding