Moments Of Beauty

  Copyright © 2017 by JB Heller

  All rights reserved.

  Published by- JB Heller

  jb@jbthindie.com

  'Cover Design by- Melissa at MGCoverDesign

  Editing by- Editing by Elizabeth

  Formatted by – Integrity Formatting

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  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.

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  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  PART TWO

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by J.B. Heller

  Dabbing at the small cut that splits my eyebrow, I wince as the stinging sensation from the peroxide spreads through the incision as I clean away the blood that is seeping from the wound. It’s not too deep so I am just going to need to put a small butterfly bandage on it and hope the skin starts to knit itself back together quick.

  Tonight, while helping my old man get his drunken arse in bed, he tried to pull away from me and ended up elbowing me in the face. I’m most likely going to have a black eye in the morning which is going to go perfect with my busted brow.

  He’d never intentionally hit me, not yet anyway. I can see it in his eyes though, he’s thought about it. He hates me enough. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t done it yet.

  But even without his fists, he manages to inflict pain. His cruel, hate filled words repeat in my head long after he’s passed out.

  I push the sides of the gash together with the thumb and forefinger of my left hand while applying the butterfly with my right. It should be healed enough to take it off on Sunday afternoon.

  Wrapping the bloodied cotton balls up in a tissue I throw them in the small bin I keep in my bathroom for just such occasions, then retreat to my room. Dad will be passed out until morning now, and I don’t have to worry about running into him again, but my room is my sanctuary and where I spend most of my time when I’m home.

  Photos I’ve taken over the years cover my walls and they somehow bring me peace. Taking in the moments of beauty I’ve captured through my lens soothe me as I fall asleep.

  “Best concert EVER!” I gush to my brother Ben, who surprised me with tickets to P!NK’s sold out concert tonight. I seriously have the best brother in the world.

  “She’s pretty awesome, huh. That thing she did in the ribbons, hanging from the ceiling while she was singing . . . That was intense,” Ben says.

  I nod emphatically, “I know! She’s a true performer. That would take so much work, moderating her voice, controlling her body as she tumbled and swung through the air in those silks. She must have amazing concentration.”

  “And balls of steel,” Ben adds. “You wouldn’t catch me swinging off a regular ceiling from a piece of fabric, let alone the roof of a fucking stadium. No fucking way. I felt sick just watching her.”

  I snort, Ben has a terrible fear of heights. As in he’s so bad, he can’t climb to the top rung of the ladder without sweating bullets and praying for his life.

  “Thanks for tonight. You didn’t have to do this. But, I’m glad you did.” I smile over at him as he steers his car onto our street.

  He reaches over and messes up my hair, “It wasn’t just for you, you were just my excuse to check out P!NK without losing my man card.”

  “Ha-ha,” I say with a roll of my eyes while smoothing my hair back down.

  I honestly don’t care why we went, it was freaking awesome.

  Mum and dad are already in bed when we walk inside. We have pretty laid back parents. As long as we’re together they don’t mind if we miss curfew. Like tonight, it’s already two AM, and our regular curfew is midnight.

  I flop back on my bed and stare at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. I love my life.

  The world is an ugly place, with moments of beauty thrown in to make it bearable. At least that’s how my world is.

  Sitting under the same tree I’ve sat under for the last four years, eating the peanut butter sandwich I threw together before rushing out of the house this morning, I look out at all the other students laughing, smiling, flirting, completely oblivious to the moments going on around them.

  It’s the little things that reach out to me, that catch my interest and draw me in.

  And then there she is. I’d know that smile anywhere. I tilt my head as I examine her from afar. Eliza Quinn is the embodiment of everything beautiful in this world.

  It’s not just one thing that makes her beautiful, it’s the combination of lots of little things.

  The chocolate brown of her long wavy hair is thick and smooth, and I imagine silky to the touch. Her eyes aren’t just blue, or green, or brown, they’re all three. A ring of each blends into the next before coming to the black centre of her pupil. I’ve never seen anything like them. And her smile, that smile alone has bought peace to my chaotic mind on more than one occasion.

  It’s not because it’s her smile per se. It’s just a genuine smile in a world full of fake ones. I don’t understand why people do that. Pretend to be feeling something they’re not. Pretend to be someone they’re not to please those around them.

  Then again, the expression plastered on my face ninety percent of the time is one of indifference. But that’s generally how I feel toward those around me. I don’t plan on sticking around, so why bother trying to make friends with these people? Especially when I know that it wouldn’t matter how great a friendship we formed, as soon as I possibly can, I’m out. I’m gone. And I’m not looking back.

  When I leave this place, I won’t ever come back. There’s nothing for me here except a lifetime of bad memories.

  Tossing the paper I’d wrapped my sandwich in into the bin a few metres away, I bite into my apple and enjoy the sweet juice as it coats my tongue. Stretching my legs out in front of me, I cross my ankles and lean back against the trunk of the large shady tree that has become my viewing post.

  I mentally snap images in my head as I see a guy tuck a strand of his girl’s hair behind her ear, his fingers lightly grazing the shell as he does it. That small moment of contact is so perfect in its simplicit
y. Such a simple gesture, but a moment of beauty.

  Shifting my focus, I see one of the new guys on the football team smile with so much pride it shines in his eyes. Click- another moment. If I had my camera I’d zoom in on his eyes, the way they glow says so much more than words could.

  Chirping pulls my attention away from the football player and up into the branches above me, where a mother bird is flitting around her nest chirping to her babies inside. I keep watching until I see two tiny heads pop up, their miniscule beaks held wide open waiting for their mother to feed them. Click- another moment.

  Loud booming laughter coming from the picnic tables to my right draws my eyes, it’s Mr. Popular, also known as BJ King, laughing at one of his own jokes. The other guys in the group are laughing with him, and so are the girls, although the looks on their faces tells me they don’t really get the joke.

  I scan their faces until I see Eliza’s again. She’s smiling but I know she doesn’t find BJ’s joke amusing. She’s simply being polite. I’ve actually never seen her be rude or act like a bitch toward anyone. Even when they deserve it.

  We’ve been in the same schools since kindergarten. That was when I first noticed her, my first day of kindy. And my eyes had been constantly drawn to her ever since.

  I doubt her friends know she brings two extra lunches to school every day and leaves them by Jason Thorn’s backpack every morning since she noticed he never had any of his own. Jason’s parents were crack heads, everyone knew it, and he was picked on relentlessly for it, seeing as their drug habit meant he and his younger brother had to rely on the charity of others to get by.

  Eliza has never once made a big deal out of giving them food, she’s discrete about it. Which makes me wonder if she doesn’t want her arsehole friends to know she isn’t like them or if she doesn’t want to further embarrass Jason and his brother by openly giving them lunch every day.

  I’ve never actually spoken to her myself, what would the point be? I’ve observed enough of her over the years to know I like her. And if I am completely honest, her smile is the one thing I’ll miss about this place when I leave. Her smile is a solitary slice of beauty in my otherwise ugly existence.

  “I’m out Johnno, you need anything done before I leave?” I ask my boss as I wipe my mud covered hands off on my jeans.

  Johnno looks at the garden bed I’ve just finished removing the rocks from and shakes his head, “Nah you’re good to go. Good job though, Patrick was supposed to have had that bed cleared by Wednesday. Lazy prick. Wish all my boys were as good as you.”

  I smirk, “You knew Pat was a lazy prick when you hired him.”

  With a shrug Johnno nods, “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, good help is hard to find. And you won’t drop out of school to come on full time for me, so what choice did I have? This is your fault if you think about it.” He chuckles and I roll my eyes.

  Working for Johnno Reganzani is one of the few things I enjoy. I like the physical labour and the reward of seeing a project to its end. Johnno inherited his landscaping company from his old man when he passed, and he’d put me on as a labourer when I was thirteen.

  I’d had to prove myself though, I worked a week for free just to show him I could keep up with his crew. And I’ve been outworking them ever since.

  “You want to take the ute today?” Johnno asks as I’m walking over to retrieve my backpack from the tray of his run around ute.

  I look over my shoulder at him to gauge whether he’s serious or not. He’s been asking me if I want to use it for the last few weeks, but I haven’t taken him up on his offer. I like to earn my way, I’m not a charity case.

  He’s watching me intently, then he throws his arms up in the air, “For fucks sake, Hux, take the damn thing. Consider it a pay rise, but you can put your own damn fuel in it. I ain’t payin’ for that.”

  He only threw in that last part because he knows I won’t let him put fuel in it if I do take him up on his offer. Scratching my neck, I consider it briefly, then shake my head, “Nah, I like walking.” I shrug, “Besides, it’s not exactly a chic magnet.” I grin at Johnno as I throw my pack over my shoulder and start backing away, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  His response is to narrow his eyes at me then flip me the bird.

  I think I’ll miss Johnno when I leave too.

  It’s just after five in the afternoon and I decide to take the bush track home instead of walking the main streets. It will take me longer to get home, but it’s a perfect opportunity to snap some shots of the sun rays shining through the overhead greenery onto the stream that flows through there.

  I became fascinated with the idea of capturing moments when I was just a kid. I didn’t have much good in my life, so the idea of storing a beautiful or happy moment in a picture appealed to me. I could always look at a picture of my mum holding me in her arms, smiling down at me with love in her eyes and I knew that for a moment, as small as it was, I was loved.

  Now I take every opportunity I get to capture those moments, however brief they are.

  My camera was the first thing I bought when I started working for Johnno. And aside from buying the basic necessities, I save every other dime I make.

  Just as I step into the clearing that opens up for the stream to flow through I see her. I freeze, not wanting her to see me, or to disturb her. Her eyes are closed and her face is tilted up, absorbing a solitary ray of sunshine peeking through the trees above.

  She looks like a freaking angel.

  Before I realise what I’m doing, I’m focusing my lens on her and capturing her in this moment of absolute perfection.

  Her long hair is hanging loosely down over her bare shoulders. I have the urge to kiss that spot where her shoulder meets her slender neck and run my tongue up the column of her throat, tasting her skin.

  I try to disappear back into the bushes I just emerged from, when her eyes snap open and her head turns in my direction.

  It’s him.

  Huxley Haynes.

  The boy who thinks he’s invisible, but I see him.

  I didn’t know anyone else knew about this spot. Well, not exactly, I know I’m not the first person to ever find it, but I’ve never run into anybody else here.

  The expression on his face is comical. Something between terrified and busted. I watch him as he watches me, and I wait for him to say something. But he doesn’t. He just stands there gripping a camera in his hands like it’s a life raft.

  “I won’t bite,” I say, in an attempt to break the ice.

  He frowns for a moment then says, “I know.”

  “So why haven’t you said anything?” I ask.

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, “Ah, I’m not sure what you want me to say?”

  I shrug, “I don’t mind. You could say something like, ‘Hi Eliza, nice running into you.’” I do my best to imitate his deeper voice and he cracks a small grin.

  “Hi Eliza, nice running into you.”

  It sounds so much better when he says it. His voice is deep and husky, it sends a shiver through my body and I grin back. “Hey Hux, what are you doing here? I haven’t seen you here before.”

  He scratches his temple before answering me. “You know who I am?” he asks.

  “Of course I do. What, have I been living under a rock for the last sixteen years?” I ask, incredulous. I’m actually a little offended he doesn’t think I know who he is. We’ve lived in the same town since we were born.

  The corner of his lips lift slightly at the sass in my tone. “No, but I’m not exactly your kind of crowd.”

  I raise a brow, “Are you trying to offend me?”

  He shakes his head, just slightly, “No.”

  “So what’s with the line of questioning?” I shoot back.

  He scratches his temple again, “We don’t, I mean, I’m not,” he sighs and looks at his feet, “I just didn’t think you knew who I was.”

  My hands have moved to my hips now, “Why wouldn’t I? We’ve lived in t
he same town and gone to the same schools since forever.” Then I realise what he means, “Oh, you think I’m one of those conceited bitches who doesn’t acknowledge people I deem as beneath me. How nice of you to judge me when you don’t even know me.”

  His head shoots up and there’s panic in his grey eyes, “No, I don’t think that.”

  I snort, “Really? Cause that’s the vibe you’re giving off right now.”

  He shifts his backpack around and puts his camera inside the open pocket then zips it back up. “This is a really strange conversation,” he supplies.

  “You’re the one making it that way. I was being friendly,” I snark at him. And I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I’m not normally so defensive. But his short answers and the fact that he clearly thinks I’m one of those people annoys me. I don’t care if other people think I’m like that, but not him.

  Swinging his pack back over his shoulder he chews the corner of his bottom lip for a second and nods, “Yeah, okay. Sorry. Guess I’m not a great conversationalist.”

  “Do-over?” I suggest, and when he nods I continue, “Hey Hux, fancy seeing you here.”

  He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of his dirt covered jeans, “Hi Eliza, nice running into you.”

  I can’t help the smile that takes over my face, “So, what are you doing here? And why are you so dirty?”

  Looking down at his jeans he gives me a sheepish grin, “I was de-rocking a garden bed this afternoon, it’s dirty work.”

  I snicker because my mind goes to naughty places when he says that. And the twinkle in his eyes says he knows exactly what I’m thinking, so I don’t hold back. “Dirty work for a dirty boy, huh?”

  He chuckles, “Something like that.

  Oh my . . . I’ve never heard him laugh before, it sounds so good. But that’s when I notice a mottled yellow-brown bruise around his eye, “What’s with the bruise? Did the rocks object to being de-rocked?”

  He grimaces, then clears his throat, “Something like that.”

  Right, doesn’t want to talk about the bruise. I change the subject, “Nice spot huh?” I say, looking around at the moss covered boulders and the crystal clear water around my ankles.