Page 8 of Lies and Other Drugs

"You feel better now?" I asked, biting my lip. Noah was always dancing around the meat of the conversation. For a therapist, he rarely got deep about his own issues. He was too busy prodding at the gritty details of my fucked up life for that.

"Much. Spill. Where are you? What are you doing? When are you coming home?" I could tell that he was forcing himself to concentrate. He always elongated his syllables when he did that. Once I knew that my breathing had settled and my pulse was no longer racing, I launched myself off the brick wall and finished my trek home with newfound determination.

"I kissed him," was all I could force out.

"Who?"

"Him.The guy I came here to kill. I kissed him," I replied, turning the corner and looking off in the distance. I was only about twelve blocks away from my apartment. It was late at night, probably dangerous for me to be walking home, but I didn't care. I liked danger and impulsive behavior. I liked that chronic feeling of being all over the place. The therapist my mother used to make me see prior to Noah used to call it my “manic episodes,” but I just called it living.

"I'm starting to wonder if you're above my paygrade, Octavia," he said in a gruff voice that almost sounded angry like he was holding back. He wouldn’t be the first professional to give up on me.

"I’m not even paying you," was my sarcastic response. "He was at a charity event. We had to bid in an auction for kisses. I cleared my account and kissed him on stage in front of all of them."

Reaching up behind me, I pulled the two pins holding my hair up in an intricate updo and let the strawberry ringlets fall over my shoulders. "Is this the part where I ask how that made you feel?" Noah asked. He was always joking about being unconventional. I used to think he made fun of traditional therapists because it made him feel better for being such a failure.

"I don't know,you'rethe therapist. Is this the part where I'm supposed to say I feel guilty?"

"No. But it would make me feel better if you told me that you hated it," Noah mumbled, and I had to hold the phone away from my ear to compose myself. That sounded a little too close to jealousy, and I didn't have the time—or longevity—for attachments. The road I was on didn't leave room for a future for men I cared about.

"I didn’t hate it,” I began. In fact, if I were being honest, there was a moment when I almost thought I loved it. “He cried," I choked out while touching my cheek. I could still feel his wet, salty tears flowing down me, rubbing against my skin with his grief.

"I don’t remember you beingthatbad of a kisser," Noah laughed.

"I just wasn't who he wanted to kiss," I replied cryptically. I wasn't ready to say out loud what my mind had already worked out. I knew William was gay, but I hadn’t even considered the possibility that he was dating Youngblood. William liked sensitive men that played the guitar and wrote poems in the dark. Nathaniel wasrigid.

"This is all so fucked up," Noah replied. I could hear the sounds of water splashing on the pavement.

"Are you pissing outside again, Noah? You got a public indecency last time that happened," I scolded with a smile.

"No, actually I'm pouring out the rest of my bottle of whiskey. I didn't go out tonight." Noah was handsome enough and still young. Not even thirty, he could probably start over if he really wanted to. It wasn't too late for him.

"Are you going to try being sober for a few days again?" I asked, more bite to my tone than I’d planned on having. If he was pouring out his drink, then that meant he was going to give sobriety a shot for the third time this year.

"Maybe. Been thinking a lot lately. It's time to let Arielle go," he choked out.

And there it was. The real reason Noah and I bonded so well. We were both grieving people taken from this world way too soon. It wasn't fair. His daughter was just two when she drowned at her grandmother's pool. The gate was left open. They tried to revive her, but it was no use. He’d never shown me a picture of her, but I couldn’t help but wonder if she looked like him. Light brown hair and bright eyes.

I swallowed. I didn't want him to get better. I didn't want him to give up on this pain, ’cause then what would we have in common? "You never talk to me when you're sober, Noah," I said, ignoring the comment about Arielle. He was right, really. I was a narcissist. I couldn't talk about him, nor could I help him. I couldn't give him words of comfort or encourage a better life. All I could offer were little distractions between the moments that mattered. "I'll call you, Octavia," he replied, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah, whatever."

I hung up the phone before he could draw out more of my insecurities and fear of abandonment. Misery wanted company, but the company always left.

* * *

Youngblood was leaning against my front door when I finally made it home. The moment he heard my heels clicking against the tile, he jolted to attention, stiffening his frame to stare at me. "What the hell took you so long? It's been two hours!" he cursed.

He looked kind of cute like that. Flustered. Ruffled hair, as if he'd been pulling at it for the last hour. "I walked home," I replied with a shrug, not really sure why I was even offering him an explanation.

I went to open my door, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to face him. "Why'd you run away? Wasn't that what you wanted?" His breath smelled like mint and his touch felt like regret. The stain on his shirt, spaghetti. Sweaty palms. And I thought Youngblood had his shit together.

How could I tell him that I didn't know what I wanted? One kiss. Onedevastatingkiss, and I was nothing but a mess of emotions and realizations. I needed a moment to figure things out. I’d always been impulsive. Hell, even coming here was a last minute decision. One day, I just woke up knowing that if I didn’t do something soon I’d end up losing William for good. Anger over his death was all I had left. And since I was using all my free time to research Blackwood University, I figured why not?

"Want to come inside?" I asked while pulling out of his grip before twisting the key in the lock and opening the door. Youngblood blanched, seemingly shocked by my invitation. The shocked look on his face had me smiling. We had only just kissed a couple hours ago, after all. What kinda woman did he take me for? I mean, I’ve been known to fuck men for less, but not my brother’s ex-boyfriend.

"I'm not inviting you to fuck me, Youngblood. I'm just tired of walking in these heels. Come on, look at them!" I lifted a leg to emphasize my point, showing off the six-inch stiletto with disdain. His eyes traveled up and down my silky skin.

"Right. Right," was his mumbled response as we filtered inside. As expected, Mrs. Mulberry was sitting on the floral print couch. With junk food splayed across her stomach, she'd fallen asleep mid-bite, looking hauntingly dead for a sleeping woman. I went over to her and checked her pulse.

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