by Coralee June
That damn tether pulled at my gut, yanking me towards him. And to my surprise, he excused himself from the man he was talking to and headed towards us, too. “Fuck,” Samuel muttered under his breath. Young filled out the black suit he was wearing well; his broad shoulders looked like they could carry the weight of the world. His dark eyes assessed me with hunger and tension crackled with growing intensity as he closed the distance between us. “I need a drink,” Samuel whispered to no one in particular. Above us, a crystal chandelier showered the room with sweet specks of light that accentuated how handsome Young looked.
“Tav,” he greeted me before bending to kiss me on the cheek, lingering just long enough to make the greeting more than friendly. It was the first social setting I’d seen him in where he actually thrived under my attention. He didn’t shy away or look like he was playing a part. What had happened recently to make him seem so...light? “Where’s Noah?” he asked. My stomach clenched.
“Probably drunk at a bar,” I said quietly, refusing to think about the spiral of self hate I’d just sent him down.
“That’s weird. I just spoke with him. He was very much sober and looking for you,” Young replied with a knowing smile. Shit. Noah didn’t give in. Not that I really wanted him to. It was just another one of our games. Maybe I wanted him to stop me? I really needed to hire a second therapist to help me work through the issues I had with my first.
“Oh?” I asked while avoiding Young’s gaze.
“Yep. He sounded worried. You wouldn’t happen to be up to trouble, Tav, would you?” He was way too laidback. The woman must really not be coming here, because he wasn’t acting burdened by his responsibilities or the role he was supposed to play, nor did he seem concerned by my presence.
“Well, I’ll just call Noah and have him come pick you up,” Samuel offered while pulling his phone out of his pocket.
I opened my mouth to argue, but Young interjected first. “I think I’d like to dance with Tav first. We can call Noah afterwards.” I didn’t miss the curse coming from Samuel’s mouth and the way my heart fluttered. Damn all these feelings. Damn them all to hell.
“What makes you think I want to dance with you?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest with a frown.
Ignoring Samuel, Young leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “I thought you learned last night, Tav. I don’t really give a fuck what you want.” Cocky bastard. Did he think he won our little game of sex chicken last night? I only stopped because I had a wild, random case of empathy, and I certainly wouldn’t be letting it happen again. I set my purse on a nearby table, staring for a brief moment before directing my attention back to Young.
He placed his hand at my lower back, guiding me towards the dance floor as music played. It was a soft guitar and violin. A few other couples were dancing, but this didn’t seem like the sort of event where you could let loose and gyrate your hips like a mad woman, and it definitely wasn’t the sort of event where you wore tight little dresses and shot older women with a gun you only knew how to operate because of YouTube.
“Are we going to dance now?” I asked him with a smirk. “Are we going to pretend like we don’t hate each other for a minute?”
A new song started, and Young pulled me closer, the scent of his woodsy cologne subtle yet tempting as it washed over me. “You know you don’t hate me,” he whispered, a sense of hopefulness washing over his expression.
And then we were clumsily navigating the dance floor with Samuel’s eyes on our backs, Young’s hand on my waist, and Noah’s heartbreak on my soul. Young moved with confidence. I bet his mother made him take dancing lessons once upon a time. “You not working tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re like her sex slave, right?” I asked. Young went stiff but still guided me to the music with ease.
“I guess that's a very general way of wording it,” he replied in a curt tone before spinning me and crushing me to his chest, pressing our bodies tightly together as we moved.
“You’re a much worse dancer than William was,” he whispered in my ear, and for some reason, I hated that Young was comparing me to William right now.
“He was better than me at a lot of things. When did you even have the opportunity to dance? I thought he was your dirty little secret or your owner would get jealous,” I said. Young seemed to ignore my cruelness and just continued forcing us to sway to the soft beat of the music. I couldn’t tell you what the song was or if we were moving in time. But I could tell you every fleck of color in Nathaniel Youngblood’s chocolate eyes.
“We would dance in his living room,” he whispered. “Naked.” I initially scowled at that visual. I considered myself to be a fairly progressive individual, and picturing my brother naked grossed me out as much as it would the next girl. So instead I imagined myself. “You’re better in some ways, too,” Young added, his words a whisper over my skin. I nuzzled into his neck, not caring if it was appropriate. I wanted to ask him in what ways I was better than William, but some part of me felt like that would be playing into his trap. He didn't need my encouragement to elaborate though. "You're better at saying what you need. You're brave. You're stronger than he was."
Strength was relative. What one person viewed as strength, another could find cowardly. If my brother weren't the victim in this scenario, I'd think that Young was the courageous one for stealing that test for Samuel. If I weren’t so mad, I would have thought he was self-sacrificing and strong to keep going back to a woman he obviously resented all for a friend and a degree.
But it cost me William. So my perception of strength was his weakness.
"Just dance with me, you asshole," I pleaded, not lifting my head from his shoulder as we moved.
“I…” Young began. “I want to get to know you better, Tav. Last night was...I realized…”
I relaxed against him and sighed. “You already know everything that matters, Young. Everything else is just bullshit.”
We spun and swayed until we weren't really dancing, just walking to the music in the corner of the room, alone in our own little world while ignoring everyone else. I enjoyed Young’s company too much.
And then, he went rigid. Tight, static energy traveled through him, prickling my skin. I knew almost immediately that she was there. I didn't turn to look at her. Was this how my brother felt? Second best to a sick woman with an infatuation with Young?
“She’s here,” Young whispered with a frown.
“So? What difference does it make? You’re supposed to be a secret, right?”
Young pulled away, and after briefly glancing over my head in her direction, he then turned back to me. “She gets...jealous. She doesn’t like seeing me with other people.”
"Go," I whispered. I swallowed. My body contradicted my words, and my fingers tightened as they clung to him. What kind of fucked up situation was this?
"It won't always be like this," he whispered while pulling away to leave me on the dance floor. What a cliche.And he was right. It wouldn't. Because this ended tonight.
Chapter 19
I made my way back to the table where I had set my purse down, preparing to hide behind gunsmoke and mirrors for this little showdown, but when I got to where I’d discarded my purse earlier, it wasn’t there. I didn't usually consider myself to be a negligent or forgetful person, but when I noticed that it was gone, as well as the gun inside of it, my heart began to race. I had to find Samuel.
I looked around the room, searching for his easygoing smile. I was hoping to see the pretty boy that made me forget shit with his body. And of course my eyes wandered over to where Young was standing. In the light of day, the woman holding him by the balls looked just as ugly as she did in the dark when she was gripping his cock. But now, each wrinkle and sign of age was covered in caked on makeup. She was wearing a black dress which artfully covered her skin, hiding the unfavorable parts of her body that no amount of plastic and makeup could disguise the aging of.
I then noti
ced that she was artfully holding on to the arm of President Robinson, looking like an accessory as he patted Young on the back.
Holy. Shit. She’s the Dr. Robinson’s wife? Did he not notice how she was looking at the younger man standing next to him? Her eyes savored every inch of Young like she was getting off knowing that they were getting away with the affair right under his nose.
Everything was suddenly making sense. She had the power to help sweep William’s death under the rug. The night after I caught them was when President Robinson had the police bring me in. His wife must have tipped him off. And no wonder Young and Samuel felt trapped, she literally could end them.
How had I missed this? My fingers itched, and I closed my eyes pretending that the heavy metal of Mrs. Mulberry's gun was in my palm. I reached into my dress pocket and pulled out my phone to send a quick message to Samuel.
“Where are you? I need my purse.”
After a few moments of staring at Dr. Robinson, I got impatient and sent Samuel another message. All the while, I made my way towards the back of the room so as not to be spotted. I knew that if President Robinson saw me, tonight would be over before I could end it with a bang.
"Samuel?" I texted once more.
Mrs. Robinson placed a hand on Young's arm, throwing her head back and laughing all while her husband looked adoringly at her. Was this some kind of civic arrangement? Did her husband willingly help hide William's death? Image was everything for these people, and it wouldn't surprise me if they’d do anything to keep it under wraps.
And I was about to let the entire world know.
Finally, Samuel responded. “I have it with me. I went to one of the back rooms. Follow the east hallway all the way to the end.”
I read and reread his message a few times, confused why he would escape to the other side of the building with my purse. For the third time that night, I got an uneasy feeling about Samuel.
I kept my face and gaze to the ground as I shuffled between the finely dressed crowd. Once out the door, I increased the pace of my strides and made my way down the hallway, following his instructions. It was dark, the only lighting a red glow from an emergency sign at the end. The classroom and auditorium doors lining the hallway were closed, and the murmur of the crowd in the banquet hall quickly faded.
At the end of the hall, I took a moment to steady my breathing. One of the many things that William taught me was how to trust my gut. I wasn't sure if it was our hard toxic home life or just his empathic ways that made him so connected to the energies around us, but I learned to sniff out danger long ago—and the end of this hallway reeked of it.
I placed my hand on the door knob, lingering for a moment to breathe in the musty air and settle my racing heart. I was anxious, but strangely at peace. Whatever happened would happen. I was helpless to stop it. There was no winning this race for answers. When I opened it, I took in the empty classroom and the silhouette of Samuel's frame as he stared out the window.
"Your purse is by the door," he said in a low voice. I took a moment to stare at his back, cataloging the rigid way he was standing. It was so unlike the playful, easy-going man that I'd gotten to know these past couple of weeks. The room filled to the brim with tension, and I kept my eyes on him as I bent over to pick up my bag. It was significantly lighter.
"If you're looking for your gun, I took it," he said.
Still, he didn't turn around, but I noticed movement. He was shifting his weight between his legs and looking down at something in his hands. That familiar sense of danger was banging against my chest with full force.
"Is this the part where you reveal that you were the bad guy all along?" I asked in a playful voice. Everything was finally coming together, and I couldn't believe how I didn't see it sooner. "It was you. This whole time, it was you." At that, Samuel spun around, revealing his red eyes and shaky palms. Mrs. Mulberry's gun was in his hands, and he looked like someone had punched him in the gut.
"I thought for sure you would've figured it out before now," Samuel said. Shifting the pistol into one hand, he used his free one to run it through his hair. He wouldn't look me in the eye, and it was the first time I had ever actually seen Samuel Smith. “You’re so smart. Chronically distracted by your own inability to settle. It was easy to guide you where I wanted, but still, here we are.”
"Young was going to choose William, wasn't he?" I closed my eyes, a rookie mistake. But I was already at Samuel's mercy.
Samuel let out a sigh before answering me, "We just had one more year. We couldn't just end it now, and he was going to ruin everything. It wasn't just the degree, it was our reputation." But what kind of reputation did you get from murdering someone?
"Do you plan on killing me here, Samuel?" I asked.
"Yes," he said with certainty. His voice was like steel, unyielding. "You're going to ruin everything. At least this way, I can ruin you first."
I walked up to Samuel, keeping my eyes fixed on his stocky frame. His blond hair didn't seem so bright now. His green eyes weren't as alluring as they were before. He didn't look like a pretty boy; he looked ruined.
I walked forward, the only sounds in the room were our mixed breaths and my high heels on the tile floors. I moved until we were chest to chest. It was like the night we fucked each other senseless, I should've known then that we were always meant to hurt one another—always meant to kill one another.
"The drug dealer, you knew him. What, did you spike William’s drink?"
Samuel reached out and grabbed my chin, pinching my face between his thumb and index finger just enough for it to hurt. "I got a faulty batch. My dealer had just called to warn me. But I didn't have to sneak it in his drink. William took it willingly."
"You liar!" I yelled. With any luck, someone would've heard me and would come to check on us. I was prepared to destroy myself while seeking revenge. But now, I felt this strange urge to live. To see Noah's face once more, to dance with Youngblood in the dim lights again. And to take a knife and drive it through Samuel Smith's chest.
"You know I'm telling the truth. You know, deep down. I saw William crying in his upstairs bedroom, so I offered him a little peace. I'll never forget the way he stared at me, and now that I've met you and learned of your stupid promise to one another, I think that he thought of you in his last moments. He thought of your disappointments, but he didn't care enough."
Samuel's words were deadlier than any gun.
I could feel everything and nothing all at once, I cared but didn't care. I believed Samuel, but I didn't want to. William was always the weaker one, William was always the one burdened by his emotions. Where I was impulsive, he would take years to make decisions. I accepted the vast feelings of loneliness, and he had a persistent need to be surrounded by people.
"You still gave him tainted drugs. You still knew what you were doing. You're a coward," I spit out, not really knowing how else to insult someone who felt less than even I did.
Samuel pressed the barrel of the gun up against my chest and let out a sigh before speaking. "You know, my father would make me apologize after every punch until I was so broken that I couldn't speak anymore. If I failed at school, I'd have no money, no name; he would have killed me." His voice wavered for a moment, and I realized that I was thankful that my brain didn't allow me to feel fear. Fear made people do terrible things.
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Am I supposed to understand why you killed someone now? You were gonna let me blame her, weren't you?" I asked. I shoved him, not caring that the gun was still pressed against my chest bone. He didn't falter, instead he leaned over me.
"In some ways, it is her fault. It's all of our faults. I gave him the drugs. Nathaniel broke his heart. Mrs. Robinson owns all of us. Hell, the drug dealer gave me faulty drugs, are you gonna blame him, too? Do you want to blame the school, Octavia? After all, he wouldn't be dead if he’d never come here."
I slapped him. I slapped him so hard my fingers stung.
I had hal
f expected him to pull back the safety and press his index finger against the trigger, ending this entire standoff. However, Samuel looked at me like I was insane, and I guess I was. "I have a gun to your chest, and your solution is to slap me?" When I first started this path to answers, I thought Nathaniel was the one to get off on other people's fear. I thought he intimidated William.
But I couldn't have been more wrong. It was Samuel who liked to inhale the fumes of my fear like it was a drug. And when I didn't give in to what he expected, it enraged him. I think men that were beat down craved control. Samuel was just another broken little boy that wanted to feel half as powerful as he thought his father was. And in another time, in another world, he and William would've gotten along really well. They had more in common than he thought.
"Go ahead. Shoot me. But let me tell you something, I'm not afraid if you. I'm not afraid of death. I'm not afraid of consequences. When I was a little girl, my mom used to tell me that I was broken. But I think it's the rest of the world that's messed up, not me. Because you're controlled by everything else but yourself. And the only person that controls me, is me."
A bead of sweat traveled down Samuel's cheek, hitting the floor. He was all talk, he wouldn't actually shoot me. The man had to use faulty drugs and a weakened disposition to kill William. This was too public. Too messy. Too personal. Samuel liked to hide behind his personality, and I doubted that he was strong enough to do what it took.
"You gonna kill me? I'm waiting." My voice was taunting, as if I actually wanted him to. And maybe I did. I kept going back and forth between my desires.
"You're fucked in the head, Octavia."
"Is that all you got? Does it make you feel like a big bad man to insult me? Maybe I like being fucked in the head.”