Lies and Other Drugs (Lies Trilogy Book 1)

by Coralee June

  "Luckily, you can't really tell me what to do. I'm not going home. I happen to like New York, it's very pretty here. Maybe I should finish my degree at Blackwood University," I said. My voice was now louder and breathy. I was practically jogging down the street towards Young’s cafe now. Like if I ran fast enough, I could escape this phone call. I could practically hear the gasp of my mother on the other end of the line, but I kept speaking. "I'm staying. I'd appreciate it if you’d respect my wishes. Let's all just do each other a favor and continue to pretend the other doesn't exist. You didn't give two fucks about me until President Robinson called you. Must be exhausting to care more about your image than you do your own blood."

  Once again, there was nothing but silence that met me on the other end of the line. I wondered if all the drugs had muddled my mom's response time, or if I said something that actually stuck this time. For so long, I'd been navigating their ridiculous rules and hoity attitudes. I told my mother that I hated her one night when she was on a bender. I blamed her for my unhappiness. I cried on her kitchen floor as she smashed cocaine with a cut up credit card. But nothing ever stuck. At least now she felt something. Maybe she should take the pills she so desperately wanted to shove down my throat.

  "We’ll be in touch, Octavia," Liam finally replied before the line went dead. For a moment, I debated on calling them back. I wanted to call them out on their bullshit. I wanted to scream that William’s body was still cold. A year wasn't enough time. The lies were still too fresh. But the truth was, they wouldn't care. My mother was too self-absorbed to see that everything was a cover-up. She wanted to blame herself for William's death because the idea that she influenced him made her feel good. Even if it was that influence that brought him to an early grave. She was selfish like that.

  I kept walking, the rage that was boiling within me making my chest heave. Sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and I almost forgot where I was going. That strange urge to run once again filled my veins. The fire in my veins was the only thing keeping my pulse. I was certain that if I stopped, I would fail. Failure simply wasn't an option.

  When I arrived at the cafe, I took a moment outside to compose myself. I clenched and unclenched my fists probably fifty times. And I peered in the window, staring at Young for a moment as he sat there. On the surface, he looked calm and composed, but I wondered if he ever felt like I did. I wondered if he ever wanted to ruin what ruined my brother. I wondered if he had the capacity to hate.

  And then his eyes flashed to mine, and I saw the evidence of his anger reflected in his eyes through the tinted glass. Nathaniel Youngblood did, in fact, have the ability to hate, and he hated me. Young looked like a predator sitting in the dark cafe. It was late afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set, making the cafe take on a moodier vibe than before.

  I walked inside and stood by his table. "Hey," I said.

  "Sit down," he ordered. It was that tone of voice that both made me want to purr and do the complete opposite of what he said. He avoided my gaze, opting to look out the window. He was wearing a relaxed grey shirt and jeans. Normally, I would argue with such a crass demand, but I sat down because my feet were killing me, and I hadn't eaten all day. Priorities.

  "Why did it take you so long to respond to my text?" he asked.

  "I was arrested."

  Young took in a deep breath, testing his patience as his lungs expanded. I tried to picture the guy Samuel spoke of, the selfless friend that broke into a professor's office. The one fucking a married woman to keep them both enrolled in this pretentious school. Did he take care of William? I had it all wrong, he and I were alike. Young shook his head and looked around, as if half expecting someone to walk in the cafe and spy on him. What was wrong with this woman that he feared her?

  "So she's the reason you kept William a secret? Didn't want a jealous lover on your hands, kicking you out of your stupid little school?" I asked, my voice gradually growing louder with each syllable.

  "You shouldn't have talked to Samuel. He already feels like shit for all of this," Young said while pulling a flask from his coat pocket and putting it up to his lips, gulping down whatever liquid was in it with a hiss and a wince. The scent of alcohol was strong, making me think that he’d spent all day indulging.

  I had an inkling of what happened a year ago. I was just a confirmation away. "You worried he's gonna go off the deep end?"

  "Fuck, Tav. You’re an insensitive fucker. Why?"

  "Why what? State the obvious? When you told me that you killed my brother, you genuinely thought you did, didn't you? You thought he killed himself out of some fucked up love for you?" With white knuckles, he gripped the table, muscles flexed as his plump lip trembled. "You don't deserve relief, but I'm going to give it to you anyways. You should have said fuck this school, fuck her, and picked William. Because if you loved him half as much as you say you did, your duty to Samuel and to your pride wouldn't have mattered."

  A group of students walked by, eyeing us and whispering. Guess his little meeting spot wasn't sacred anymore. Good. "But here's a secret for you. My brother didn't kill himself. Did you know that our mother's an addict? She's struggled with pills her whole life. William didn't kill himself, because we made a promise to one another to never go out that way. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how tempting it was. William would have never betrayed me like that."

  Young closed his eyes and sighed. "Tav," he began, "people break promises all the time."

  "Not William. Not us."

  He could question my faith in William all he wanted. I knew it. He was my twin, we were connected in that innate way that science and fate and reason couldn't explain. I knew him as I knew myself. William did not commit suicide.

  "So what are you saying? That someone did it? They arrested his dealer, Tav," Youngblood said while looking out of the window.

  I stood up, not wanting to talk with him any longer. What use was a man determined to be a martyr? I needed someone that wanted to find the truth, not linger in his self-hatred because it was easier. "I'll talk to you later," I said.

  "We're not done talking, Tav," he said. I made my way outside, walking towards the hotel Noah was staying at when a hand grabbed my elbow. The vendors were coming out again, selling umbrellas in that pushy way they liked to do. We stopped on the busy sidewalk to stare at each other.

  "Let's go back to the apartment," he said.

  "I don't want to go back there." A man with grey hair and curious eyes stared at us, giving me the look of someone silently asking if I needed a friendly face to intervene. I drew my eyes back to Young when the first raindrop fell.

  "William didn't kill himself. The real culprit is right in front of you. Use that pretty little brain you're paying a shit ton to cultivate!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the street buildings and blending in with the thunder overhead.

  Nathaniel cupped my cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to kiss my lips as the rain poured down around us, pedestrians scurrying past to avoid getting wet while we let it drench us to the bone. "Tav, I hate how much you and he are alike," he whispered before kissing me again. Despite the cool April rain, there was a fiery sizzle of arousal in the air. The hardness of his body pressed against mine was the only solid thing in my life at that moment.

  I broke away as his statement became clear to me. "Why?" I asked.

  "Because it makes wanting you feel wrong," he whispered.

  “Don’t you know, Young? With us, everything is wrong.”

  Chapter 14

  Noah was pacing the hotel room when I got back. I was tired, my lips swollen, eyes bloodshot. My phone was dead, my patience spread thin. I was a shallow echo of nerves, just waiting to lash out at someone. "I found William's killer. Nathaniel has a jealous lover," I said with numb certainty. Young didn't want to see what was in front of him, but I sure as fuck did. The woman in the alley was responsible for my twin's murder, and I wanted nothing more than to make her pay.

  "Are you sure?"

>   "Positive."

  Noah sat down on the bed in our tiny hotel room, running a hand through his hair. "Shit, Babe." Walking to the kitchenette, I turned on the faucet and filled up a cup with water before drinking it. Turning to face Noah, I spoke again. "You know, for a therapist, you sure are bad with words," I said, a small and faint glint in my eyes.

  "For a woman with a vendetta, you sure do miss your target," he replied. Touché, Noah. Touché.

  I moved to sit down on the mattress beside him, resting my head against his shoulder while I stared at the brown hotel door. The room smelled of Noah's cologne and microwaved room service. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back. I was arrested," I explained, preparing myself for his response.

  "Oh. And here I was thinking you were going to explain why you're sopping wet and sitting on our bed," Noah said with a humorless chuckle, like my odd quirks were something normal that he'd just learned to navigate. I kind of loved that about him. "Did Samuel or Nathaniel bail you out?"

  "No. President Robinson just had a little chat with me, then I was free to go. Basically, he wants me to leave."

  "Do you want to leave?" Noah asked, and instead of answering him, I stood up and stripped from my wet clothes, my pebbled nipples perking up in tight little peaks as a rush of air hit them. Noah's eyes roamed my body as I stretched my arms over my head.

  "I think I'd like to stick around and finish what I started," I answered finally before dropping my hands to my side and shrugging. And this time, I wasn’t saying this to push Noah away or make him hate me. I was just clinging to my truth like it was all I had left.

  "I see," was his shaky response.

  "Why do you stick around, Noah? What is it that makes you feel like you owe me something?" I wasn't sure why I wanted—no, needed—to know that, but right here and now, it seemed important. My expiration date was coming to an end. I would pretty soon confront the woman in the alley, and everything would come to light. I'd do what I came here to do, leaving him, Young, and Samuel behind. Many wouldn’t understand why I could approach this so clinically. They didn’t get why my plan had to be so rigid.

  "Aside from the obvious?" he asked.

  "Pretend I'm oblivious."

  "I like you. Possibly love you. I'm the therapist, right? So I could sit here and tell you that my need to save you stems from my inability to save Arielle. I could say that I'm projecting my issues on another grieving woman. Or that I'm addicted to you. I have an addictive personality, so it wouldn't be a stretch." Noah stood and made his way over to me, his eyes went hooded and dark as they took in my empty gaze and parted lips. "But the truth isn't something I can easily explain. I crave you, not in the same way I crave a drink. I want to save you, not because I couldn't save Arielle, but because the idea of never talking to you again makes me fucking sick."

  Noah wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close before nuzzling his head in my neck, peppering me with kisses. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll wait until you can actually stand to look me in the eye when we fuck. I'll wait until you no longer feel like you should punish yourself with this dead end you're on because you couldn't save William." I went stiff in his arms, his words hitting just a little too close to the truth for comfort.

  “And if I asked you to go?”

  “I wouldn’t.” He pulled away then kissed me with tenderness. Noah’s and my kiss was this subtle thing that just kept growing and growing. It started with our lips touching, testing the waters of a real kiss, one of those that burrowed itself in your soul. And then it was a crescendo of the last year, overflowing and challenging us to stop holding back. It was too much.

  I opened my eyes, just to watch the way he kissed. Eyes closed, soft expression that teetered on adoration and awe. I then pulled back when I saw how much love was hidden within his relaxed face. “Don’t hold back on me now,” he growled before wrapping his hand around my head and pulling me back for more. I felt bad, offering him the scraps of my heart. But he adjusted, escalating our kisses into something that felt less like a declaration of love and more like the intense attraction we had for one another.

  Wrapping my arms around his back, I lifted up his white shirt, breaking apart for a split second to pull it over his head and toss it to the side. Cupping my breast, he kneaded my flesh. His sensuous mouth felt divine. I matched the rise and fall of his heaving chest against mine as he guided me to the bed.

  He abandoned me for a brief moment to grab a condom from the nightstand and slip it on. I rocked my hips as he settled on top of me, parting my thighs so that he could slide inside. Then began the never ending cycle of pumping and ravenous devouring. My body was his. My mind was mine. My heart couldn’t decide who it belonged to, but it beat in time to his. I dug my fingers into his back as he kissed my lips, thrusting deep until we were both jolting the headboard of the hotel bed against the wall.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  “Go slow,” I moaned, wanting to prolong the crushing tempo. Then I looked Noah in the eye. I saw the struggling man I didn’t want to get better, and I felt bad that I’d never be what he needed. Because if misery loved company, then grief loved alcoholic therapists with tempting tattoos and blue eyes that made me feel like home. I was grief. He was misery. We were two bodies worshipping one another.

  And instead of the angsty fuck I thought I wanted, I decided to let him fuck me slowly, deliberately. I wanted to savor his soul until we exploded together. He held me as though he would never let go, and I fucked his cock like it was a goodbye.

  “You’re so perfect,” he moaned.

  “Don’t lie to me,” I replied in a breathy tone. “Not here. Not now. Tell me the truth,” I pleaded. The truth was the last bit of relief I could cling to. The one thing holding me back from being selfish with Noah.

  Noah stopped, going still inside of me before giving in to my request. “The truth? Babe, the truth is I’ve never loved someone like I love you.” And he made sweet, sweet love to me. That cliche type of fuck, where you were nothing but moving bodies and silent declarations of shit that mattered. It was beautiful and teasing. My back arched off the bed as I unraveled in his arms. He watched my half-opened eyes and parted lips with awe. Like my orgasm was a reward, letting himself go only after he’d gotten his fill.

  Then we rolled on our backs, looking up at the ceiling as our breath slowed. We didn’t touch or cuddle. He knew enough about me to treat me like an animal that was easily spooked. So we lay there in awe of what our bodies could say. It was by far the best therapy session we’d ever had. Maybe, just maybe, I had a breakthrough.

  Noah and I spent the next day exploring each other’s bodies and enjoying the seclusion of our crappy hotel room. We didn’t talk much, mostly because there wasn’t anything that could be said that hadn’t already been hashed out. Noah was afraid I’d tell him what I was thinking. For a therapist, he sure didn’t like to explore the depths of my mind.

  Samuel invited me to dinner that night. He called, and I could feel Noah’s eyes on my back as I agreed to meet him. That obsessive part of me was back. The part that wanted to dissect my new enemy and prepare for the end. But then there was another part of me that craved more than answers. I craved Samuel’s unforgiving body. I craved his bites, hits, slaps, and thrusts.

  Noah wanted his love to be enough, but it wasn’t. I wanted some pain, too. So I got dressed in one of the few nice dresses I owned. I pretended not to hear his sighs and ignored the sad look in his eyes and the lingering kisses he tried to tempt me with.

  I also ignored the impulse to call him a selfish bastard. This was why I couldn’t have nice men. I was temporary. Flighty. “So you’re going to go? Just like that?” he asked as I sat on the bed—with messy covers that smelled of sex—to put on my heels.

  “Yep,” I said. My answer seemed to echo around the small room covered with our discarded clothes.

  “Even after yesterday, after everything?” Noah was trying to work through this. It was cut
e watching him try to psychoanalyze me.

  “Look. I’m going to go have dinner with Samuel, find out more about the lady Nathaniel is fucking. Then I’ll probably have a nice little hate fuck with the pretty boy to burn off some steam. Then I’ll come home to you, and we can cuddle and shit, okay?” Unlike Noah, I didn’t need alcohol to say what I wanted. For months, he would only call me when he was drunk, because he was afraid to want me sober, and he couldn’t understand how and why I’d act on my desires with nothing but a whim.

  “I hate this,” he muttered, a look of disgust on his face.

  “No, you hate that I’m not afraid to want the things I want, fuck the people I want to fuck. Love…” I stumbled over my words, angry with myself for saying it out loud. “Love the people I want to love.” I ignored the way Noah’s eyes brightened at that part and continued. “I’m going to kill the people I want to kill. I’m impulsive. Obsessive. Angry. I warned you, Noah. I warned you not to fall for me. I’ve got zero fucks and an expiration date.”

  Noah just stared at me like I had three heads and a dick growing in my pants. Silence welcomed me as I ran a finger over my soft skin, appreciating how the dress left little to the imagination. “Okay, Octavia. I can handle that,” Noah said. Noah had a thing for things that hurt him. It’s why he was an alcoholic, and now it was why he’d love a woman that would inevitably hurt him.

  My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I just stared at him. Maybe part of me was hoping that he wouldn’t be able to handle this and that he would finally run away for good. And maybe the other part of me was suddenly exploring the possibilities of a man that loved me so much that he didn’t care about my issues. He just cared about me.

  So he kissed me. Long and hard. He was doing that manly thing where he wanted to burn his memory on my lips. And I was certain that I’d be thinking of him later—between murderous plots and angry sex, of course.