Page 9 of Lies and Other Drugs

"You didn't choke on a chip, at least," I said before shaking her shoulders to wake her. If she slept like this, she'd be sore as hell tomorrow, and I'd never hear the end of it. Arthritis made people bitchy, apparently. Maybe that was my problem. "Wake up, Mrs. Mulberry. I brought home a guy worthy of your infamous spank bank," I said with a laugh while ignoring Youngblood’s flustered cough.

Her eyes shot open, and I watched her slowly move to a seated position. I knew that would get her up. Her joints cracked with every movement, and I winced at the cadence of groaning bones. "A gentleman caller, you say?" she replied with a mischievous grin. I looked at Youngblood and had to bite back a laugh at his pained expression.

Rolling her neck, she bit her lip before standing, sauntering his way with barbeque chips still clinging to her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and I found myself not trusting the integrity of her crop top. If it were any shorter, she’d be showing off her nipples. "Well hello, I'm Meredith Mulberry, but you can call me Beautiful," she chirped out while holding her hand out for him to kiss. I crossed my arms over my chest, watching her shamelessly flirt with who Nathaniel Youngblood— the elite, rich, and cocky charmer that just so happened to also be my brother's ex-boyfriend.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Beautiful," Nathaniel rumbled in a low voice that I'm sure Mrs. Mulberry would be imagining well into the morning. I recognized his expression as the same one he used on the girls at the Pike party last night. “My name is Nathaniel Youngblood.”

"I'm off to bed. Feel free to join me, Nathaniel," she cooed before turning around. She kissed me on the cheek then, winking with her devilish blue-grey eyes before easing her way down the short hallway to her bedroom.

Once she was out of earshot, I made my way to my bedroom while stripping out of my dress. I called over my shoulder, “So how long had you been fucking my brother?” I asked. I swear I heard a choking noise, but I ignored it. He didn’t deserve polite avoidance. For all I knew, he was still responsible for William’s death. They say crimes of passion are the number one cause of homicide, and based on his kiss, I’d say Nathaniel felt pretty damn passionate about my brother.

“How did you...” he began as I stepped out of my dress. I’d opted to go braless, and I felt his eyes on me as I found jogging pants and an oversized shirt to change into. I thought the only thing between us was heat, but maybe there was a touch of attraction, too.

“I’m intuitive about these things. William didn’t tell me, but our kiss, it…” I touched my lips before finally staring at him. His eyes were red as if he’d been rubbing away the tears he didn’t want to fall all night. Grabbing my cell phone, I opened it up and clicked play on the last voicemail from William, listening to it again with new ears. This whole time, I took his words at face value, but there was a deeper meaning in William’s sad voice. Youngblood’s eyes welled up with each word, confirming what I already knew.

“There’s this guy...Youngblood...Na-Nathaniel Youngblood…”

When the voicemail stopped playing, he reached forward as if trying to grab the phone from my hands and listen again. I recognized the feeling. We were both clinging to the memory of my brother. But I was a selfish bitch, pulling it out of his reach before he could grasp it. He wasn’t allowed to havemymessage.

“So that’s why you think…” he choked out, unwilling to say the words out loud. Here was the proof, wasn’t it? If Youngblood were as close to William as I’d assumed, then he’d know that Williamhateddrugs. He’d rather burn to death than die from our mother’s addictions.

“So that’s why I think that you killed him? Yeah. I mean, wouldn’t you come to the same conclusion?”

Nathaniel looked around the room, cringing at my mattress on the floor and suitcase full of clothes. I hadn’t really settled here. What was the point? He sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he had to say next. For a brief moment, stark tension balled up in his chest before he slumped in defeat. “Ididkill him, Tav. I killed your brother.”

Chapter 6

Nathaniel Youngblood was a motherfucking coward, dropping a bomb like that in my lap then running like a little bitch. Here I was, starting to feel bad for him, and he had the audacity to flee. I didn't chase after him, there was no use. Before, I was okay with not knowing the specifics. I was okay with taking a stab in the dark—pun intended. That was one of the many perks of being impulsive and chronically angry. I had no reservations about lashing out blindly.

But now, the next day, I felt an emotion more infuriating than anger. Now, I felt curiosity.

Curiosity was an emotion more dangerous than anger. Curiosity led to answers, which led to guilt. And guilt never led to anything. It just left you staring down the barrel of heartbreak, wondering what fucked up questions got you there. It kept you up at night, made you question everything. Like who you were and what you were doing with your life. It made you overanalyze every look, every pause. Every sigh. Nathaniel kissed me like a man on a mission. He cried like someone truly grieving, and there was a weighty sense of regret in the way he admitted to killing William.

And fuck, I wanted to kill him back. I wanted to take the pistol Mrs. Mulberry hid under her pillow and hold it to his temple. I wanted to pull the trigger and sit in his blood and brains for a bit, really soak in the magic of the kill before killing myself.

But now, I had this pesky little thing called curiosity bubbling below the surface. It was gnawing at me, making me toss and turn all night. I came here wanting to be seen, wanting to make everyone so uncomfortable that they couldn’t function, but instead all I wanted to do was hide. I itched to talk to someone, anyone, that might have an understanding of why Youngblood did it. Why kill someone he supposedly loved?

I sat down for my morning breakfast with Mrs. Mulberry, who was humming to herself and cursing the news anchor. I burned her breakfast, but she didn’t seem to mind. "Why do you look like your dildo's made of thorns?" she asked while taking a bite of the black toast I'd prepared—she’d slathered it with butter to make it tolerable. Her idioms never made any sense to me but always brought a reluctant smile to my face.

"The man that killed my brother was fucking him, too," I said. Didn't matter, she wouldn't remember. She nodded her head, soaking in my words while trying to come up with a witty way to respond. Mrs. Mulberry liked making people laugh, branding herself as the inappropriate one in the room. Even now, her sheer nighty gave me a clear view of her breasts. She was brazen and brave. She accepted who she was without hesitation. People could either accept her or move on. I liked that about my roommate.

I’d expected her to make some dirty quip about how she wanted in on that, she instead stood and made her way to the cabinet, opening it up and pulling out a bottle of vodka that I'd watered down when coming here. She couldn't mix alcohol with her meds, and I didn't want to add another drunk to my list of people to babysit...I'd done that enough with my mother. I was always doing that with people, making decisions for them.

She poured some into a plastic cup then handed it to me, her outstretched fingers shaking as I grabbed it. "Nice breakfast," I said while swallowing it down without a second's pause. I sputtered when the liquid hit my tongue. Fuck, it really was vodka, not the watered-down shit. When did she replace it?

"Seeing your face right now is priceless," she said with a clap while bending over. "That was the exact expression I had when I found out you watered down my booze."

I blanched, setting the cup down and refusing to drink any more. She clicked her tongue at me before laughing. "You should let loose more. You think I don't notice things, but I do. I notice enough to lock up my gun and hide my pills. You're a self-destructive one," she said while twisting her long grey hair into a braid.

My eyes widened in surprise, but I settled back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest and really taking in my crazy roommate. "I'm not always here," she said while tapping her temple, a manic smile covering her face, "but I'm aware enough to know that you're in love with your therapist and have plans on killing a man you know nothing about. I also know you're kind, in a really fucked up way. You don’t feel things the way other people do, and you’re stronger for it."

Well damn. "What else do you know, Mrs. Mulberry?" I prodded.

"I know that we all have a part to play. In an hour or so, I'll zone out, disappear intoher." Mrs. Mulberry had a sad look in her eyes.

"Who isher?" I asked.

"She's the bitch trying to steal my memories. She likes to be complacent. All day, she sits staring at the world. She doesn't cling to the unknown as I do. She doesn't search for answers. She's mindless. She's killing me. You know her too, even if you don't want to admit it."

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