Writer's Notes:
'Real Love' is my personal tribute to JammyJimmy's (JJ) story, 'Threads: The Island'. I give JJ credit, because credit is due, for this story and for my own inspiration and entrance into writing. 'Real Love' is actually the first story I wrote, even before 'Tale of Two Teens', my first published story.
As I was writing this story way back when, I was hoping JJ would be the editor. Having been unable to make contact with him, I have been reluctant to release it. Some say JJ has passed away, but I don't know. JJ, if you read this and want this story removed, please contact me. Several readers have relayed to me, both publically and privately, that they would like it released.
Therefore, 'Real Love' is an unauthorized, reimagined rewrite and sequel to JJ's story, 'Threads: The Island'. The general storyline in JJ's story is embedded in this story. Several of the character names have been changed because this is my story. Anyone who has read JJ's story will identify the characters quickly, starting with my main character, Bradley Weber, formerly known as Kyle Watson in JJ's story.
This story is long, but tolerant and filled with several emotions. If you stick with it, you will experience euphoria, happiness, sadness, sorrow and it will make you horny. You'll be disgusted, pissed off, scared and you'll grieve, cry, frown, smile and sometimes, you'll laugh, I hope.
'Real Love' starts off slow, but gains speed with age. Feel free to leave comments about what you like and what you dislike about the story. Feedback is a good thing for those writers who want to know what reader's like and dislike about their stories.
Please don't be mean in the comments because those that put in many hours over a period of several months, and thought into designing and writing these stories don't appreciate it, nor do they deserve it.
I do hope you enjoy the 'Real Love' series. Just don't forget one important detail -- it's fiction. Please do give us 'not so professional' writers a little slack.
JJ, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, fair winds and following seas my friend.
Let the saga of Bradley Weber continue...
MDSW
* * * * *
The next thing Brad realizes is he can feel someone dragging him. Or maybe the floor is moving. Everything feels weird and his head feels like it's going to explode. Someone is pulling on his arm, locking his wrist in a grip like a vice. He can tell there's light, but doesn't dare open his eyes because of the constant star bursts exploding in his eyes.
The arm tugs him again and he groans. He raises his free hand to push it away.
"Brad? You awake?" he hears a voice asking.
He can sense urgency and concern in the tone, but it's loud to him.
Brad tries to say something, but there's a horrible bitter smell in the air, and a foul taste in his mouth. He screws his face up in disgust, then grimaces at the movement as more star bursts go off and the pain in his head intensifies.
The sudden recognition of nausea makes him want to curl up and as the hand releases his arm, he does just that, lying on his side on the floor in the fetal position.
"Come on, Brad. It's Connor," the voice says softly. "Let's get you up on the bed so you can lie down. Let me have a look at that head of yours."
Brad licks his lips.
"What?" he tries to say, but it comes out more like, "Wug?"
"Brad, get up," the voice says again. "Come on, one wee move and you can lie down kiddo."
He feels a hand gripping his arm, pulling him into a sitting position and his head spins radically. Then an arm grips his belt and he feels himself being pulled up and twisted to the side. His stomach lurches, the lights went berserk, feeling like gravity is shifting all over the place.
Something soft and warm presses against the side of his face, right down his body and he realizes that he's lying on his side now. Hands lifted his legs up and he's able to curl up again and his back feels sticky.
"Brad, you've been knocked out, so you'll feel a bit groggy, probably have a cracker of a headache too, but just take it easy," the voice tells him. "You're safe, everything's under control here."
"Wug?"
He lays there for a minute, his head spinning, his eyes closed, his stomach churning and he feels really confused, but slowly his thoughts begins to make sense. He's Brad. The guy's voice is Connor. He's Scottish. He gets laid. A lot.
He feels something damp being pressed to his head and he groans. It feels like he's being squashed with a hammer and he pushes a hand up to swat it away.
"Easy, Brad. You've banged your head. This will make it feel better," Connor tells him. "I want you to lie here for now, and nae moving, okay?"
Brad has no intention of moving. Everything is spinning, his head is trying to explode and he doesn't want to open his eyes.
"I'll be back in a minute, okay? You're safe here. Just stay lying right there. Nae moving."
Brad holds up a thumb and he hears a few limping footsteps. A door closes. His hand gropes for something to try and dim the light and he finds a pillow.
He pulls it over his head and groans as the world spins.
Time drifts by and he hears voices. Some of them sound serious, concerned and some of them sound high-pitched and scared. A door opens and closes a few times and once he thought he feels someone stroking his leg, but it's all just a confused jumble of noises as he drifts in and out of consciousness.
He becomes aware of a voice.
"Brad!"
This is a different voice. Higher pitched than the coarse Scottish accent he heard before. Someone American. Someone familiar.
He licks his lips.
"Kelly?"
"Yes. It's me, Brad," she responds and he feels her try to cradle his head. "Are you okay?"
"Head. Sore," he manages. "Thirsty. Blurry. Aching. Can't focus."
"Okay, I'll get you some water. Just stay there," she tells him as tears come to her eyes.
Her hands left his face and he hears footsteps going away.
Brad tries to open his eyes, but everything is incredibly bright. He screws his face as he squints through his eyelids, feeling a little relieved that the explosions of stars has reduced, at least for the moment.
Everything is blurry, but he can make out a white wall, covered in black picture frames. It looks like black and white photographs in them, but he can't make out any of the details. A couple of chairs sit beneath them and he realizes he's lying on a bed.
Kelly re-appears in his field of view and he jerks his head up to look at her. A sharp stab of pain shoots through his brain and he closes his eyes for a moment until it eases.
Kelly can see his pain, but can't do much about it, but is also very concerned about him.
"Can you sit up, Brad?" she asks gently, her hand touching his face once more.
"Not... sure," he manages to mumble.
"I brought a straw," she says softly and he feels it press between his lips a moment later.
As he sucks, he feels a tiny trickle of water in his mouth and then the straw withdraws.
He squints at her and sees her dipping the straw into a bottle of water, press her thumb over the end then bring it back to him. Brad opens his mouth and feels the straw on his tongue, followed by another trickle of water. Another couple of repetitions has his mouth feeling a lot less dry.
"Do you know where you are?"
"The Island," he mumbles.
His head hurts god awful bad, but he tries to concentrate and figure it out. Nothing seems right here.
"I banged my head."
