Page 22 of Lies and Other Drugs

Mr. Robinson went to sit down, eyeing me with scrutiny before pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his sweaty forehead. “I’ve decided not to press charges, considering the turmoil your family has gone through. However, I must protect my students, faculty, and staff from your current instability and manic behavior. So, effective immediately, you are hereby banned from campus, Miss Wilson. If we see you there, you’ll be arrested,” he says, spit forming in the corner of his mouth.

I shrugged, infuriating him. He was used to threatening people and having them listen. I didn’t fit the mold. “Okay,” I said.

“And call your parents. We wouldn’t want you going down the same path as William. There are places that can help you, Octavia. Places I’m sure your parents would have no problem getting you into.”

Fucking diddle dick. I bet he rubbed one out in his office at the university, coming over his desk and feeling like a god. Was this how he controlled everyone? Was this how he got what he wanted? “Yep. Wouldn’t want to be murdered,” I said.

“Careful, Miss Wilson,” he said while standing and attempting to straighten his wrinkled suit. “Spreading lies about my school is grounds for defamation.”

I stood up too, following him to the door. I wasn’t one to lie. I was addicted to truth. My truth, the truth of my brother’s murder, and lately Young’s truth, too. So I wasn’t sure what possessed me to lie, but I blurted out the false statement before I could stop myself.

“Oh. I have the proof,” I said with a wink. Mr. Robinson’s eyes went wide, the tale-tell sign that there was something which gave him reason to fear. Bingo. Intuitive artist for the win. I was on to you, President Robinson.

“What good is proof if no one believes it?”

“What good is a lie if it can be proven wrong?”

“You’re free to go, Miss Wilson. Be careful,” he said with a sigh, and for some reason, I got the sense that we were both leaving this meeting thinking that we’d won.

In the hallway, I headed to collect my belongings, lingering to listen in as President Robinson shook one of the sergeants’ hands and said, “I’msolooking forward to seeing your son at Blackwood next year. Such promising talent.”

So he had the police in his pocket, too?

Once I had my phone back, I saw that I had eight missed calls from Noah, three from Samuel, and one text from Nathaniel.

Ignoring the calls, I clicked my texts and read it.

Meet me at the cafe.

Pocketing my phone, I started walking towards William’s favorite cafe. Where they sold bitter coffee and broken dreams.

Chapter 13

Ididn't know how to feel about my meeting at the police station. President Robinson was obviously trying to threaten me, and I couldn't care less. But something about the way he mentioned my past and my mother had me reeling. I’m not limited by the diagnoses a shitty doctor gave me as an adolescent, and certainly my mother didn’t care enough to interfere in my adult life. Not unless…

Not unless I was putting her life with Liam in jeopardy.

And as if conjured up by thought alone, my phone started ringing in my pocket. I pulled it out, and unsurprisingly, my mother’s name was on the caller id. "Octavia?" she asked as soon as I answered, not even giving me the chance to say hello. Her voice was that shrill tone that made people want to throw up. She’d also given up on her Southern roots and tried to have a sophisticated air to her voice. The syllables lingered just a little too long to sound authentic, and she liked to use big words that she didn't know the meaning of.

"I am simply appalled that the President of Blackwood University called me," she said in a melodramatic tone.

"It's nice to hear from you, too," I replied. A cough in the background let me know that Liam was listening close by. I pictured them in their posh living room, both hunched over the phone and mouthing to each other what to say next.

"Why onearthare you in New York? We are paying tuition for the Art Institute." I couldn't help but smile, I dropped out of the Art Institute months ago. While I took the time to sort myself out and move here, I didn’t bother to tell my mom that I was done with school. It was the sort of impulsive decision she would have frowned upon. Their tuition checks were now being sent to a nonprofit organization that helped rescue animals. Figured Mom could give back. I was sure by now they set up a wing in her honor.

"Well, I heard it was pretty out here. Liam always talked about how wonderful Blackwood University was. I thought I'd go visit the place that killed my brother," I said with a smirk. I was walking down the street, barreling past pedestrians and shops. The weather was nice, thanks to the looming summer.

Naturally, my mother went silent for a good minute before she spoke. "Octavia, I'm concerned for you. President Robinson says that you've been up to no good. It's simplyessentialthat you come home. Have you been taking your medicine?"

That was the thing about my mother. Any little problem, and her first response was to pop some pills to make it all better. When I was a little girl, she thought I was supposed to take medicine to dull my extreme emotional outbursts. And now that I was an adult, she wanted me to take medicine that would make me feel again. Nothing was good enough for her.

"Sorry, Mom," I began with a smile. She opened herself up for this insult, really. "Unlikeyou,I don't pop pills every day." I imagined the shocked look on her face, and smiled. Her thin lips were probably drawn into a line of disapproval.

"Octavia, I think it's time you come home," Liam said. I sincerely hated his voice, it was assuming and aggressive. The low growl in his tone made everyone else in our family bend over backwards to appease him, but not me. He thought he could boss me around?

"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. Maybesheshould take the pills she so desperately wanted to shove down my throat.

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