Page 18 of Lies and Other Drugs

Noah pulled his phone out of his too-tight jeans and dialed a number. I would have gaped at him, but I had to pretend to not be moved by his strength, touched by how willing he was to face his demons to toss me into mine.

“Denise? Yeah, it’s Noah.” He went silent for a moment, staring at me as she spoke. “Yeah, I know you said don’t call. I just had to say one thing, then I promise not to bother you again.”

More talking. I didn’t want to hear her side of the call. My eyes were on him. My heart was in my stomach. My feet were ready to flee because shit like this meant that I mattered.

“Okay okay. No, I’m sober, actually. Look. We made the most beautiful baby girl in the entire world. And I’m so sorry that I wasn’t strong enough for you to carry you through her loss. We had her for seven hundred and fifty-eight days. She had your eyes and my laugh and your father’s bad attitude. I loved her, Denise. I really fucking loved her. I always will. And I’ll always love you for giving me two of the best years of my entire life. She was the greatest gift I’ve ever received and the hardest loss I’ve ever endured. And I’m so sorry I wasn’t the man you needed. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. But I loved you. I loved our family. And I hope you can find happiness one day.”

His entire speech, he stared at me. Blue eyes filled with unshed tears were locked on my trembling lips. She was speaking on the other end, but I wasn’t sure he heard her. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for letting me speak my piece. I know you didn’t have to listen to it.”

He hung up, and I swallowed the bile in my throat before standing up to grab my purse. “A deal’s a deal, Octavia,” he said.

“I know. I just need more supplies,” I said with a shrug. The canvas seemed too small for what I had in mind. I needed the world. “I need some spray paint,” I added.

And damn. Noah’s smile would have made for the perfect portrait.

* * *

Icouldn’t decide what I wanted to paint. At first, I thought I’d be predictable and draw William’s portrait, the one that should have been the one plastered all over the news the day he died.

But then, I decided that picture was mine, that memory wasmine. So I decided to draw a portrait of the president of the university being spit roasted by Samuel and Young. President Robinson was a dignified man. When he showed up to William’s funeral, he said all the right things, wore a finely pressed suit, and hugged my mother, politely ignoring how high she was at her own son’s funeral. It took a while. Noah silently kept watch, choking on his own spit once he realized what I was painting. “You sure this is what you want to paint?”

“Yep.” We were in a shadowed alcove, the perfect hiding spot. Not that I really wanted to hide. I wanted to be caught, actually. But we weren’t bothered, and I was left to paint in peace.

I’d always lost myself in a painting, similar to how I’d lost myself in revenge, or in Young’s eyes, Samuel’s body, and Noah’s problems. It felt good to paint again. I felt the obsession taking over me, dragging me down into the depths of my perfectionism, making sure I got Young’s smirk just right and Samuel’s orgasm face as accurate as possible. President Robinson looked downright naughty, his pudgy stomach too big to see his dick, and he had puckered lips around Samuel’s cock.

“It’s beautiful,” I said while stepping back and putting the last can of spray paint in a box.

“It’s…” Noah began.

“Graphic?” I interrupted. Noah was a champ all night, not interrupting my thoughts, asking questions, nor complaining that it was taking too long. I was thankful that he forced me to paint again.

It was just a couple hours before sunrise when we left. I’d been told that there was a certain high people got when they broke the law. Their endorphins and adrenaline mixed up, swirling in their gut like a tornado. They got jittery and excited, fleeing the scene like it was a game.

I’d never felt any of that. I think it was fun for people who feared getting caught. But I didn’t feel fear. I didn’t really feel anything at all. But if Icouldfeel that so called high that gets everyone jacked up when they do something they’re not supposed to, Young—I mean, Nathaniel Motherfucking Youngblood—would have killed my buzz right then and there.

Noah didn’t notice him at first, too caught up staring at me, probably analyzing what tonight meant and trying to figure out what symbolism I hid within the painting. But I did. I saw Young pressing a woman with dark hair into the brick wall. I saw him biting her neck. I saw her wrinkled hands wrapped around his cock, revving him up like he was a goddamn midlife crisis sports car. She had a big, fat wedding ring on, too.

Now, I was an artist. It was my natural disposition to notice things. And within ten seconds of blatant staring, I could tell that Young was into it but didn’t want to be. His groans sounded like self-loathing, her whimpers like someone was strangling a pussy, the furry kind with claws.

“Fuck,” Noah said while wrapping his hand around my wrist. He had the good sense to wait and see what I would do, but couldn’t help his need to hold me back.

“Young?” I called out, my voice didn’t waiver or stop. I wanted him to feel the intensity in my tone. The woman opened her eyes from beneath the shadows to look at who was calling out to them then scowled. It was too dark to see who she was.

“Yeah, I see you too, bitch,” I replied. Noah’s grip on me tightened, and I watched as Young’s back went rigid. He removed her hand from around his dick, and since the opportunity had presented itself, I noted that he had a pretty good appendage. Thick and angled just right. And after tucking it in his pants, he turned to face me.

“Don’t say anything. Go home, Octavia,” he warned before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The red lipstick she got on his face looked like blood in this lighting. His eyes were so dark and hooded that I couldn’t tell if he looked at me with arousal or anger.

I laughed. “I guess a year is an appropriate amount of time,” I said with a shrug before looking at her. I wasn’t sure if it was the dark shadows that highlighted her wrinkles or if it was the deep-set frown she was wearing, but I realized that this woman was easily twice our age. She was pretty. But she didn’t age like Mrs. Mulberry. She aged like the weight of her worldly expectations was on her shoulders.

“Who is she?” the woman asked with a snarl, making Nathaniel (he didn’t deserve the nickname) cringe. So he didn’t want her to know about me? Well then, why don’t I introduce myself?

“Just a friend,” he quickly replied.

“I’m the twin sister of the guy he used to fuck,” I answered for him. Something told me that their relationship was only physical, so I didn’t feel bad about outing him—not that I would have felt bad otherwise.

“Shut the fuck up and get out of here. Now,” Nathaniel said, his voice like a growl. If I could feel fear or hope or anything other than anger, maybe my blood would have started pumping at that thinly veiled threat. But there was nothing he could have done that he hadn’t already. I didn’t fear Young.

“Don’t get all pissy with me because I caught you with your dick out, Nathaniel. And with a married woman, no less,” I said while nodding in her direction. He flinched when I called him by his name. “By the way, nice equipment. I can see why William put up with your bullshit. That’s some grade A dick right there.”

---