August Booth Novels & Stories

I guess it's from lack of rest. “Just consider it.” Augustus is a being of fire, or insusceptible to fire, since we definitely realize he can't kick the burnt bucket,” I chime in a bit, “and until a couple of months earlier I had no idea that it's a... whatever it is — talk. Gabriel narrows his eyes, he doesn't really see what I'm trying to reveal to him. What I'm talking about is that Augusto is the body's bully — let it go, trying to collectively turn down the volume of the individuals passing by us.

Her shoulder length hairs were tied in a ponytail making her face features more vibrant. Augustus held the cigarette in his hands and stood up to leave. Lisa Rose tried to persuade him to stay but he just left with the cigarette in his hands. When the manager saw Augustus leaving so early with a serious expression on his face he felt distressed and scolded Lisa Rose to not make him stay late.

10 gauge, and he liked to have it handy if anything unusual happened. “I hope you don’t decide to shoot that thing off in here,” Augustus said. “It’d take a wall out if you did—not to mention us.” “I don’t shoot yet,” Bol said sullenly, keeping his options open. Call waited until Augustus filled his plate, since there would be no getting his attention until he had food before him. The young Irish boy had stopped crying and was putting away beans faster even than Augustus—starvation was probably all

August drawled sarcastically, lifting his eyebrows. “We haven’t tested my effectiveness yet,” Toby pointed out, adjusting his grip of the chef’s knives. “Let’s talk in twenty minutes.” “No,” Aislen held a finger up at him in warning. “No Toby, stand down. August, what the f-k?” She fisted her hips. “What the actual f-k do you think you’re doing? I thought we agreed that I’d stay here and out of trouble?”

“Good then.” “Well, I have something to say,” August said in a final tone. “Since your schedule isn’t that tight today, I would be getting off work early.” “And why is that?” “Because of you, Giovanni Rueben,” August sighed. “You make me sick I can’t stand you anymore.” “I’ll take that as a compliment so yes, you may leave.”

I asked and I could already feel my face blushing knowing the fact that I’m that certain someone. “Yeah, someone. He’s actually shirtless right now.” I looked at myself and I don’t even have to ask who this certain someone was because I literally know who it was. I eventually grabbed my shirt and slipped back on them. “So why’d you slipped back on your shirt?” August asked. “Because I’m feeling cold.” “Lies.” “Huh?” “Never mind.” August paused and then grabbed his glass of whiskey. “I think it’s about time for another toast.”

My throat tightened. “Yes,” I managed. “I did.” “Good.” She smiled wider. “Do you need help with anything?” “No, thank you.” I hesitated, then added, “Do you need my help with anything?” She shook her head. “Nothing at all.” Her calm was grounding. Normal. I clung to it. Before I could say anything else, his voice cut through the air behind me. “Camilla.” I turned slowly. August stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, posture rigid. He was glaring hard enough to make my stomach flip. There was something coiled about him now, something sharp and restrained.

Augustus’s laughter. Turning to look at him, her eyes remain focused on the boy as he laughs with his teeth showing, his busted lips long forgotten. She has never seen Augustus laugh like this, especially not in the open, so when she realizes that him laughing in front of her means he trusts himself to open up to her, she smiles despite herself, feeling comforted. Augustus turns to look at her before nodding to himself, ready to start. “Fine, I will tell you about myself. My name is Augustus Rimbro, and I’m from America.”

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I take in my living room, which is still in complete disarray, and debate whether or not I should attempt to clean it before going anywhere, but in the end, I decide against it. Kicking aside a lamp, I make my way out into the bright day and then make my way to Morte Diem while the woman’s face consumes my thoughts. When I arrive, August is coming out with a backpack that seems to be stuffed with his things hanging from his back. “Going somewhere?” I ask, eyeing him curiously. “Taking a trip,” he admits. “There’s something I need to do.” “What about the club?” Morte Diem was August’s baby that he built from the ground up, and it was just beginning to pic