Page 28 of Lies and Other Drugs

It felt good.

I flipped back over, daring him to look me in the eye. Grabbing a condom from his nightstand, he slipped it on before sliding into me. "Fuck. So tight," he growled before pulling out then slamming back into me.

I pulled him as close to me as possible, the muscles in his torso rubbing against my smooth skin as he pumped. I whined and squirmed, feeling how wet I was as the liquid heat pooled between my thighs. "Don't stop," I pleaded, the needy tone foreign to my ears. It felt too wrong to stop now.

Young ignored my whimpers and stopped to nibble my neck. My eyes screwed shut, ignoring the sensual way his lips moved against me. After a moment, he started again. Punishing me with his thrusts like it was my fault we were attracted to one another. Like it was my fault I reminded him of all he'd lost. Like it was my fault we were connected by anything in the first place.

He slid. In and out. In and out. Grabbing my waist with one hand while holding himself up with the other, he braced us against the mattress. I looked him in the eye, something I knew I'd regret but did anyways. It was quick, nothing more than a lapse in judgment. There was love in his gaze. There was hope. And I knew he was thinking ofhim, the faint tears welling up in the corner of his eyes said as much. He wasn't expecting me to follow through with this. I called his bluff, and I was breaking him.

I was no better thanher.

And then, I don't know what came over me. I could have continued, could have let him fuck me to completion and hate himself in the morning. "Stop," I choked out. Though I didn't want him to.

"What?" he asked, cocking his head to the side and staring at me like I was crazy. I didn't miss the relief on his face, though. I didn't miss the way he was putting distance between us.

"Can we watch Breakfast Club?" I asked while sitting up and sliding off the bed. I found one of his discarded shirts on the ground and used it to wipe the wetness from between my legs before throwing it on the floor and leaving his bedroom. I couldn't tell you the color of his walls. What his comforter felt like. I was in and out of it too quickly to care.

Finding my dress, I squeezed it on and settled on the couch. Young came out of his room fully dressed, still hard as a rock, an incredulous expression on his face. But thankfully, he didn't mention what had just happened. Instead, he sat down and pulled up the movie on his DVR. "William's favorite," he mumbled under his breath.

Yeah. I couldn't let him off that easily.

Chapter 17

The next morning when I woke up on the couch, I didn't tell Young goodbye. I didn't see the point. It's not like we were cuddling in his bed, dreaming about a future where whatever attraction was bubbling between us made sense. The bottom line was, he loved my brother and always would. And I'd always resent him for his part in William's death.

So I got up, gathered my belongings, and ignored the curious stares from a flustered Samuel as he sat at his kitchen table eating breakfast. I exited through the front door without so much as saying goodbye. Instead of calling a cab, I walked back to the hotel. It was a good distance, granting me time to think about the shit storm that had become my life. I thought about William most. There was no use in feeling guilty. Death had no bro code. There was no protocol for fucking your dead brother's ex-boyfriend. Maybe it was my way of paying him back for not telling me everything that was going on in his life.

Young and I were bonded by nothing more than attraction and sadness. William was our only connecting piece. So why did it feel like my soul was ripping in half every step I took away from his apartment?

At the hotel, Noah was sitting on the perfectly made bed, cradling his head in his hands. He perked up when I walked through the door. "I didn't think you'd stay the night there," he rushed out before standing and greeting me with a kiss. “I was worried, I’ve never once questioned whether or not to call you, but I was worried I was overstepping…” His words brought on a strange emotion that was clawing at my stomach. I hadn't felt guilt over breaking my brother’s dead heart. And I didn't feel guilt for stirring up memories within Young. But I did, however, feel something similar to the emotion as a result of the sadness in Noah's eyes. I felt uncertain about the way he was looking at me. I didn’t fear much, but I feared that Noah might actually finally give up on me.

"Sorry," I said, my voice sounding uncharacteristically shy. I kind of hated myself for a little bit. And then I hated Noah for making me feel shit that didn’t matter. Wasn't that the point of this entire journey, to combat all these stupid emotions that did nothing but make me hate myself?

I made my way to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower, knowing that the entire time, Noah was probably overanalyzing the situation and practicing what he wanted to say to me. I stood there washing and rewashing my skin of Young until I was so desensitized to the hot water that it felt dizzyingly cool. After drying off, I wrapped myself in a towel and went back in the main room.

"I ended up spending the night with Young," I explained, not waiting for Noah’s practiced explanation. I shook out my wet hair before sauntering towards the bed and lying down. I didn’t bother explaining to Noah that I stopped mid-sex because I miraculously grew a conscious. I’d always prioritized myself and William. It had always been us against the world, but now that he was gone, was there room in my heart for someone—or someones—else? Bracing my hands behind my head and staring up at the ceiling, I tried to compartmentalize my emotions. Noah stood there in silence for a good five minutes before joining me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, willing him to lash out. It was so much easier when he was disappointed or too busy battling his own issues to deal with mine. We had a damn good system, and he had to go and ruin it by coming here.

"When do you think you fell for me, Noah?" I asked. Noah settled on the bed, turning his body to fully stare at me. But I didn't look up at him. My skin felt hot. I kept my gaze firmly fixed upon the tiles of the hotel ceiling, counting each one until they were all accounted for.

"You know I'm a psychologist, right? I spent a ridiculous amount of money studying the brain. I could tell you about all the chemicals your body releases whenever you’re infatuated with someone sexually compatible." Noah still stared at me, I could feel his hot eyes running along my skin, practically scraping up my soul as he spoke. "There's instant lust, and of course I felt that with you, even though you looked tired as hell when I woke up that morning after my bender. You were wearing a little black dress that had me gasping for air." Was I? I couldn’t remember. I just remembered crying that night as I spilled my guts about William to a sleeping man.

Closing my eyes, I imagined that morning. I felt foolish for staying the night but didn't want to feel alone. Even though William lived across the country, the moment I learned of his death, loneliness slammed into me like a truck. I could’ve been surrounded by all my friends, my peers, my professors, or even my enemies, but still felt like I was standing in a void and screaming at the top of my lungs for people who couldn't hear me.

Noah was hung over as all hell. A nicer woman would've made sure he had water and ibuprofen when he woke up. But no, not me. I turned the radio up so he could really feel the consequences of his actions. I was the only one allowed to be reckless.

"There have been scientists that tried to explain the moment a human falls in love,” he continued. “They have diagrams and steps. They label each stage like they know what the fuck they're talking about. But the truth is I don’t know when I first started to love you. I guess it was about the time I decided to start loving myself."

Biting my lip, I finally turned to face him. Blue eyes, deep as pools of ice, stared back at me. I had plans for the evening that would completely ruin his faith in us. In order to do what I must, Noah couldn’t be a part of it. He was already fucked up over what happened to his daughter, and his chronic need to save me would inevitably kill us both. Tonight, Youngblood’s dirty little secret would be attending the scholarship event. And tonight, I was going to kill her, then possibly kill myself. A better person would feel tentative about those plans. But I intended to make it as public and gruesome as possible.

But first, I had to ruin the one good thing in my life. "Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?" I asked. My plan was to take him somewhere where the temptation of alcohol was too much, get him drunk, then get him the hell away from me. He’d hate himself in the morning, and he’d definitely hate me. But hate was just another one of those pesky things meant for the living.

"When do you think you fell for me?" he asked. I could've told him that it was the time he told me about his daughter. When he drunkenly cried on the floor of his apartment, grasping my legs and wiping his snot on the denim of my jeans. I could've told him it was that time we ran into his ex-wife at one of his favorite restaurants. And he looked at her like she was the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

I could've told him it was the night I told him I was leaving. I could've told him it was when he called me the first night I arrived in New York, I was sleeping in a shady motel with what I'm sure were cum stains on the ceiling. But I didn't say any of those things. Because admitting that I loved Noah wasn't going to help either of us. He needed to let go. "I'm still waiting for that moment, Noah," I whispered.

Noah’s laugh didn't surprise me. He could always sniff out a lie. "You're a shitty liar, Octavia Wilson," he joked.

"You're a shitty martyr, Noah Scott."

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