Page 21 of Lies and Other Drugs

"The night before William…" Samuel took a meaningful pause, questioning what he should say and deciding on an answer. "The night before William died, he saw them together. You want to blame Nathaniel? This mess wouldn’t even be happening if it weren’t for me.”

Chapter 12

I’d never been arrested before. I was always the one pleading with cops while Mom cried in her handcuffs. So when the police cruiser pulled up beside me as I walked back to Noah’s and my hotel twelve blocks away, I didn’t think anything of it. The only crime I was guilty of committing wasthinkingabout murder. Oh. And vandalism. I was currently thinking about how I could strangle Samuel while I fucked him. Trick him into wrapping rope around his throat.

“Miss Wilson?” a police officer asked. I turned to stare blankly at him, a bit angry that he was ruining my current murderous train of thought.

“Yes?”

“Ma’am, you’re going to have to come with me,” he said in that authoritative voice I hated. I could’ve outrun him. His stomach pressed over his duty belt, and grey hair was scattered in his mustache. But instead of arguing or causing more problems for myself, I nodded. What was the worst that could happen?

Did you know that they don’t actually read you your rights? Every show I’ve ever watched, they start spouting about how you can keep quiet if you’d like when they put those tight as fuck cuffs around your wrists. I was almost disappointed when he just gently guided me into his cruiser and locked me up. I didn’t fight him, mostly because I was curious what this was about. Damn curiosity strikes again.

We rode to the 28th precinct. They didn’t book me in. They just stared at me as I silently followed after the officer that brought me there in a mindless haze. I felt curious eyes on me as we walked. “Sit here,” a gruff voice instructed after opening the door and gesturing towards a table.

“Kinky,” I said with a grin before brushing by the officer’s pudgy stomach and settling in the chair. The room was cold, ridiculously cold. It was a subtle discomfort, one that crept up on me the longer I sat there. It was making it hard to keep calm. The chair was also hard, causing my legs to tremble and the base of my spine to ache. There was no glass mirror in the small room like I’d expected. No two-way mirrors for them to observe me.

But the cool temperatures weren’t the worst part. It was the silence. It was so quiet that I wanted to scream. I would have gladly let someone yell at me if it meant I could just hear something other than my own breathing and idle chatter down the hall. I sat there for two hours with nothing but my thoughts chaining me to the desk. Samuel. Young. Noah. I thought about all the things we were chained to. All our vices.

William was chained to his depression, apparently. Samuel was chained to his image. Young was chained to a woman holding him by the balls. Noah was chained...to me?

We were all just a giant clusterfuck of epic proportions, and I couldn’t even bring myself to feel something other than blinding anger at it all. Samuel told me what caused William to…

No, I still believed that he didn’t do it—couldn’t have done it. No matter what happened, a promise was a promise. We were blood. Iknewhim, didn’t I? I knew him better than anyone else. William Wilson didn’t fucking kill himself.

“Miss Wilson?” I looked up, and for the first time since painting that lovely portrait of President Robinson, I smiled. There he was, president of the most prestigious university in the country, in the flesh. His face was flushing, like he was angry but trying to hide it. I knew my little stunt would get his attention, but I had no idea that he would go to such lengths to reprimand me. Guess having such a prestigious position of authority made you a bit egocentric. Couldn’t have anyone thinking less of him.

“Thank you for coming so willingly,” he said before nodding to the officer behind him and sitting down at the table across from me. I almost snorted at that. Willingly? Did I really have a choice? He was wearing a black suit, too tight to cover his body.

It made me think back on when I was studying vocabulary words for my SATs, back when I was too scared to tell Mom and Liam that I wanted to go to the Art Institute in Los Angeles. One of the flashcarded words wasproboscis. It was mostly used in zoos but could be a pretty pretentious way of saying motherfucking large nose.

And Dr. Robinson had a proboscis only a mother could fucking love. It was red, swollen, lumpy and took up half of his face. I needed an entire wall to paint it because canvas simply wasn’t big enough. “I’m not really sure I had a choice,” I said. “Did you like my painting?” I asked, gauging his reaction. As expected, his already red face turned a brighter shade, and to taper down the fury he was feeling, he unclasped and clasped his expensive watch before looking at me.

“I’m more a fan of the classics, Miss Wilson. Though your medium was quite impressive. I thought surely the texture of the brick would limit you, but the expressions you captured were...vivid,” he said. Spoken like a true academic elitist.

I snorted, the sound like a jackhammer. “Is that why I’m here? Am I being charged with vandalism?” My voice sounded a little too giddy, and I had to rein it in. Jail could be fun.

“Why are you here, Miss Wilson? As in New York? I was quite surprised to hear that you were at the Pike auction which, by the way, I heard that you ran away before paying,” he said while cocking his head to the side. His brown eyes were clouded as he leaned back in his seat. Mr. Robinson was a mouth breather.

“I’m here for a few reasons,” I explained.

“Enlighten me.”

“William didn’t kill himself,” I answered. “Blackwood University shoved his death under the rug. You were very quick to make him a distant memory.”

“Can you blame us? It was very bad publicity,” Mr. Robinson said with a shrug. “Parents don’t want to send their sons and daughters away to a place where nice young men die of overdoses. It was sad, yes. But I was eager to get past that little blip in the public’s eye.”

Any normal person would have been offended about his crass wording, but not me. I appreciated the brutal honesty. The validation that William’s death meant nothing to these people just bolstered my resolve for revenge. “He was unstable,” President Robinson continued. “It was unfortunate what happened to your brother, but coming here won’t bring him back.”

“I’m not looking to bring him back. I’m looking for answers,” I barked out, the anger within me bubbling to the surface. Something about this entire meeting had me wondering what all President Robinson knew about my brother. Was he also covering it up?

President Robinson stood up and started circling the desk, an intimidation attempt dulled by his heaving breaths and sweaty palms. “Are you unwell? I called your parents today. They seemed unaware that you had left California. We’re all very concerned, Miss Wilson.”

Threat received. Still didn’t make a difference.

“I’m not really required to keep them updated on my whereabouts.”

“Your mother explained to me your troubling mental health history, Miss Wilson. She’s concerned that she needs to work on getting some kind of control...to help you.”

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