Page 4 of Lies and Other Drugs

"Hey, Noah," I said. He and I had long since passed formalities. I was his middle of the night drunk dial, and he was the person I felt comfortable enough admitting my murderous thoughts to. Fucked up relationships with quirky, damaged people were kinda my thing, I guess.

"You kill anyone yet, kid?" he asked. It always bugged me how he called me a kid. His superiority complex was a kick to the tits. I was only seven years younger than he was. And I was definitely old enough for the sex we had the night before I left. My skin flushed at the memory of it. His tongue on my salty skin. His frown against my lips. It was twisted and perfect.

His words were slurred as he spoke, and I imagined the smell of vodka on his breath. I don't think I've ever been in a session with Noah where he didn't reek of alcohol. You know the old phrase “Those who can't do, teach?” Well, those who couldn’t deal, told other people how to. And that’s why this world was so fucked up. It was just a bunch of people telling other people how to fight their demons while losing against their own.

I let out a sigh as I traveled down three flights of stairs and out the front door of my apartment building. "Not yet. How was your AA meeting?" I liked to throw back what he dished out. It kept him humble.

"You're hilarious, kid. Simply hilarious." Noah let out a fake laugh, and I rolled my eyes. "Now tell me what you did last night and when you're coming back to LA."

I licked my lips as I walked, ignoring the crowded streets and busy, unhappy people.

"I saw him."

On the other end of the line, Noah let out a slow exhale. I could practically hear the disapproval in his thoughts. He wanted me to get closure, but he wanted it on his terms. He didn't like that I was confronting William’s murderer head on. I was just glad that he didn't call me delusional, that's what everyone at the police station called me when I tried to explain that his death wasn’t an accident.

"I really hate that you're doing this to yourself," he said. "You deserve to be happy."

I stopped at the crosswalk and, after looking both ways, proceeded to follow the crowd of people on their way to work. I took in a deep breath, and the air smelled of smog, coffee and perfume.

"I know he did it."

Noah and I had fought about this many times, and it always ended in the same way. It didn't matter what he said or how he approached the problem, I was determined. Headstrong.

"Okay, so let's hypothetically say that he did it. That your theory about the university covering it up was true." Noah started hiccupping, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he got home. Although he was supposed to bemytherapist, I found myself caring whether or not he got to his apartment in Vienna safely. His wife left him last year, so he had no one to call anymore.

"What are you even going to do? There's nothing youcando. These people have endless funds at their disposal. Blackwood University is a multibillion-dollar establishment. If they hid William’s death, they did it easily. And they'll hide yours, too," he said with another hiccup.

"Well, let's say, hypothetically," I began while finding a seat on a bench outside the front of Uncle Julio's. I had two minutes until my coffee time, and then I wouldn't speak to Noah until his next bender. "That I didn't care. I don't really have much to lose, Noah. Maybe after all of this, I intend to die.”

I waited for Noah to answer me, knowing that he would say some bullshit about my life being worth living, or that I was cherished. He was poetic like that. But instead of telling me that he wanted me alive, the sound of his peaceful snores on the other end was all that answered me.

At least he was home safe.

Chapter 3

My coworkers stopped inviting me to drinks after our shift about three weeks into the job. They learned pretty quickly that I wasn't sociable. I barely tolerated interacting with my customers, and I definitely wasn’t looking for a best friend. I had that sort of social aversion and intensity that made people uncomfortable. It would take someone with zero fucks to get past my resting bitch face. My day went fast, and after clocking out, I didn’t bother to even wave goodbye as I left.

Outside, clouds had begun to form overhead. The wind smelled of smog and rain. You could always tell when a storm was coming, because the street vendors would start selling their overpriced umbrellas and shout at pedestrians to buy them. It was an aggressive tactic, preying on a customer’s immediate need for shelter. Ifthatwasn’t a metaphor for the human condition, then I didn’t know what was. The world was full of people just looking for an opportunity to exploit another’s weaknesses. You could pretend there were good people left, or you could just assume that everyone wanted something.

I lived life choosing the latter.

I didn't mind the rain; in fact, I enjoyed it. It reminded me of the night Mom got so trashed that she started throwing dishes at the wall. William and I escaped outside, running barefoot through the mud. William laughed, even as each step lodged a shard of glass further into his foot. We slept in the summer rain that night, hiding against the side of a warehouse while feeling wild. So tonight, when the first couple of soft drops began to fall on that busy street in Harlem, I didn't rush home like the rest of the crowd. I kept my steps steady, giving the vendors daring glares as they tried to sell me an umbrella. That night taught William and me not to be bothered by storms; people were far more harmful.

“Octavia, wait!” I recognized the voice and squeezed my eyes shut in annoyance. I then opened them with a vengeance, spinning around to look at Samuel as he marched towards me. His eyes were red and swollen like he’d been rubbing them all day. And though his hair was a tad greasy, his pants were still pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. He had perfected the art of looking put together despite whatever life threw his direction. I equally respected that about him and hated him for it.

"How did you find me?" I asked as he moved forward and placed me under his umbrella. I didn’t wanthisshelter.

“I...I followed you.” Well that was unexpected. But not necessarily a bad thing. Naturally, my brain started doing that obsessive thing, thinking of ways to use his empathy against him. From what I could tell, Samuel was a good guy. Or at least, as good as a Blackwood University student could be.

"Oh really?" I asked.

Samuel looked around before staring at the ground. Shuffling his feet, I knew that he was debating on how to word what he wanted to say. Go on, Samuel. Spit it out. Tell me about your concerns, your condolences. "I knew your brother, you know. I should've recognized you."

I held my breath, waiting for my lungs to beg for more air. It was one of those little coping mechanisms I'd learned from Noah. One night when he was drunk, he told me that we breathed subconsciously. It was out of our control. Our brains wanted oxygen, so our bodies made it happen. I didn't like anything holding life over me, so whenever I felt myself on the edge of pain or anger or hurt, I would hold my breath and show my brain who wasreallyboss.

Samuel kept talking. "He was…really nice. I have no words…"

I finally allowed my brain oxygen and sucked in a deep breath. "Good. Then don't say anything." I spun around, intending to leave, but Samuel grabbed my elbow, keeping me in place.

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