Page 2 of Lies and Other Drugs

I wasn’t sure why he felt the need to note anything about me. Maybe it was just his flirty way of appearing like someone who remembered shit about his conquests. I looked around the room for Nathaniel, curious about what he was doing. Had he finally found a girl for the night? Was he still pretending to drink? “You can try, but I guarantee he won’t be interested,” Samuel said. I was being obvious again. I guess it didn’t matter now. I didn’t care. I never cared.

“Who says I’m interested?” I asked in response, deflecting. I was interested in Nathaniel Youngblood alright, just not in the way that he thought. I was interested in slitting his throat. I was interested in making him pay.

“Call it a hunch,” he replied.

I continued to scan the crowd, looking for the man in question. At this point, it was too late to pretend and wear the mask of indifference. Around us, people moved in slow motion, dancing on my brother’s metaphorical grave without a care in the world. I almost gave up on finding Nathaniel again, but then my eyes connected with a dark, stormy expression, hiding in the corner across the room.

He looked feral. His stare was meant to intimidate and break, but I refused to let him get to me. I returned the glare without hesitation. We’d never met, but I knew everything about him. I spent months researching him. The coward didn’t show up to William’s funeral, but he recognized me. He was one of those sick fucks, the type that would dive in deep and get off on the damage he inflicted. I bet he learned about William’s past and our fucked up family. There was recognition in his expression.

I represented what he’d done, and I was here to be a tangible reminder of the consequences of his actions. Maybe men like Nathaniel Youngblood had too much power. Perhaps they didn’t feel guilty, or they thought they were above justice. But I had a plan in place that would make him hate himself. I wouldendhim.

“I stand corrected,” Samuel choked out. He was staring between us in shock. The whole room seemed to grow quiet, but it was really just being drowned out by the bloodlust pounding in my ears. I didn’t break eye contact. I wanted him to see me. Truly see me. I hoped he recognized William’s and my similar features. Our reddish blond hair. Our noses. The anger buried within.

I ignored Samuel and walked towards Youngblood, bypassing the drunks that were coupling up and disappearing upstairs. I didn’t stumble, didn’t tremble. When half of yourself was gone, you didn’t experience fear or anxiety. I was a shell of myself and used it to my advantage.

Once we were chest to chest, I took the red cup from his hand and sniffed it before taking a sip. As expected, it’s water.

“Do you not drink because you’re afraid you'll spill your secrets?” I asked him. Why not dive in with the hard-hitting questions? There was no point dancing around it. “Or is this your way of penance? My brother overdoses, so you avoid anything of that nature?” I downed the drink, making sure not to break eye contact as I gulped down each drop.

“I never really liked to drink,” he said. His voice sounded sexy up close. No. That was the wrong adjective. I’d add it to the list of things to talk about with my therapist tomorrow.

“Neither did William,” I replied. Neither of us did. Watching Mom nearly kill herself all our lives with her various addictions made it lose its appeal.

That's how I knew the university was lying. That's how I knew that they were trying to cover up William’s death with some bullshit story. My brother couldn’t have overdosed, because he never wanted to end up like our mother. He was drugged.

I looked up at Youngblood and frowned as he brushed his thumb along my bottom lip. I froze in place as icy hate filled my veins. How dare he touch me.

“You look…” he began before shaking his head and pulling his hand back. “You look just like him.”

There was a brief moment, a flash of guilt, sadness, and pain. Youngblood’s features softened, and his chocolate eyes seemed to flood with disappointment. I took that weakness and committed it to memory. If I reminded him of William and it hurt him, then I’d play up our similarities. I’d make sure he saw me at every turn.

"Is it hard to look at me?" I asked while peering up at Youngblood. "Do I remind you of him?" I wanted to gauge his guilt and use it against him.

"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?"

Men like Nathaniel Youngblood manipulated others into feeling pity for them. I knew his type, and I would never feel sorry for him. I had proof that he was the reason my brother was now dead, and I'd make sure he paid for it.

"No."

I dropped the red solo cup on the floor and checked my watch. I had about six hours left before I had to make it to my job at the diner. Dropping out of college, moving to New York, and plotting my revenge had its consequences. But in the end, it didn't matter. I'd be joining my brother soon.

"I'll see you around, Youngblood," I said with a threatening growl. Turning around, I ignored everyone's intrusive stares and the whispers.

“Is that William Wilson’s sister?”

“Why is she talking to Nathaniel?”

“I heard she’s insane.”

They weren’t wrong about that. Didn’t they know the best people were fucked up? We were the ones not limited by society. Samuel had his mouth dropped open in shock. Predictably, the music stopped. Everyone was staring at the spectacle, and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t enjoying ruining their buzz. These assholes were partying almost precisely a year to the date of my brother's death. I wanted nothing more than to ruin their good time.

"Enjoy the party," I said to Samuel before making my way through the crowd and outside.

My plan had three parts involving Nathaniel, and each step was just as important as the last.

Step one: Make him see me. Ruin every good time that he had with my presence. Remind everyone at the Pike house that William Wilson existed, and that he wasn't going away.

Step two: Ruin every good thing in his life. Spill his secrets, spend his money.

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