Page 1 of Tears and Other Fears

Chapter 1

“Favorite color?”I asked as Young drove his pretentious rental car out of the parking lot. He had one hand on the steering wheel, looking relaxed and laid back. He acted like we didn’t just take a leisurely stroll out of the institute I’d been forced to stay in for the last month.

Young didn’t take long to break me out of hell. After one phone call to his lawyer brother and a rushed evaluation by my piss-poor psychiatrist, I was headed out the door with all my belongings in hand. It was anticlimactic, and if it weren’t for the prescription drugs still coursing through my system, I’d be disappointed that there wasn’t a bit more pomp and circumstance. Jerry, the chronic flasher, didn’t even whip out his dick one last celebratory time. The bastard waved goodbye, all normal-like. After everything we’dbeenthrough. I should have exchanged emails with him so he could send me unsolicited dick pics, but it was too late now.

“Trick question,” Young answered while exiting the highway towards the airport. “William didn’t have a favorite color.” It was true, William didn’t like having favorites; he hated to disappoint people or inanimate objects or our shitty parents. “His favorite sound was a fan, though. He loved white noise.” I swallowed. Maybe William liked it because it drowned out his dark thoughts. I was starting to like the sound of my screams for the same reason.

I kept wondering when reality would yank me back to the white room with a single twin bed and drawings on the wall. I was scared that all of this wasn’t real, so maybe that’s why I still clung to Young’s arm. My tight grip made our drive a bit awkward, but I’d never cared about that shit. It felt like I was waiting for karma to drop a confetti bomb and laugh in my face.

Although, my time at the hospital wasn’t necessarily worthless. It brought me to Young and refocused my sense of purpose. Before, I’d been too busy fucking and painting and pining over my drunk therapist to keep my eyes on the prize. Now I just had one simple goal.

End Samuel.

Another bonus was that Young had completely changed my opinion about being wealthy. It might have bought you more trouble and secrets, but it also bought you out of hell—Thorne Institute being hell in this instance.

“I hated that he always slept with it on,” Young mused while twisting his face into a scowl. “I prefer silence.” Of course he did. It was another way I was completely wrong for him. I was like a constant scream, always belting out the injustices of the world until my throat was raw.

“William always slept with a fan on at home. He told me it was to drown out my snoring. Maybe you snore, too,” I replied in a bored tone while openly observing Young. He chuckled at my bland insult, but I couldn’t smile back.

The drugs were a severe buzzkill for my libido, but even the bitch trying to take my feelings couldn’t stop me from appreciating how beautiful Young looked just then. Maybe I liked him for saving me. Maybe I liked him because William did. Perhaps he was just another warm body I could use up to forget my temporary place in this temporary world with temporary feelings that were bleeding me dry.

Or maybe, I liked him because he was handsome and sad. That seemed to be my type. Noah certainly fit that bill. And now that I knew more about Samuel, he kind of did too. I liked disasters, and the men surrounding William’s death were catastrophic.

Young’s phone started to ring, and he lifted it off the dash and looked at the caller ID, frowning when he saw Noah’s name flashing on the screen. “You going to answer that?” I asked, challenging him to show his true intentions. If he brought me to Noah, I’d lose my fucking mind. Well, more than I already had.

“No,” he replied.

I liked that Young was Team Octavia. I felt like the last pick in middle school soccer, but the sentiment still made me feel…something… I just didn’t know exactly what yet. My feelings were jumbled and out of sorts, like a box of puzzles stored away in my grandmother’s old hutch. I couldn’t compartmentalize the anger and disappointment. It was just swirling in my gut, like constant bees stinging me.

“He keeps calling, wanting to know if you’re okay. I have a couple of drunk messages, too,” Young explained. “I can’t believe that he’s a fucking therapist. If someone needs to be admitted, it’s him.”

I cringed. No one ever needed to be admitted against their will. “No. He’s just…obsessed with me,” I replied, honesty scraping against my voice with the blunt edge of the knife in my back.

“Oh yeah?”

“I have that sort of effect on people,” I added. “Hell, you flew to Georgia to see me. Samuel sends me flowers every Tuesday. Noah is on another bender. Admit it, I perplex you.” If Young was surprised that Samuel was sending me flowers, he didn’t show it. The roses were a ridiculous gesture intended only to make me question everything. Every time the nurse brought them to my room, I’d eat a petal, internalizing his remorse before throwing the rest away. They upped my medication the first time I did that.

I was feeling sluggish again. Tired. It was hard being myself for Young. But for some reason, I didn’t want to slip back into the numbness whenever he was around. I wondered if he had this same sort of effect on William.

“You’re pretty cocky, don’t you think?” Young asked, neither confirming nor denying my statement.

“No. I just understand an obsession when I see one. And you’re obsessed with the idea of me, and I’m selfish enough to feed your mania.” I knew blind devotion when I saw it, had lived and breathed my own sense of toxic devoutness since I got a diagnosis at the age of sixteen. I knew what it felt like to have something buzzing under your skin so hard that the only relief you could get was to act on those impulses. I knew what it was like to have your feet dragging you towards something terrible for you while feeling helpless to stop it.

And in case you needed help following along, I’m the terrible thing Young was drawn to.

We pulled into the airport, and I was hoping that the drive would last longer than it did. I had no fucking clue what I was going to do. Before, when I’d left for New York, I had a plan. I knew all the variables, all the pieces on the chessboard. Now? I just knew the end result. This was one fucked up game of Chutes and Ladders that I was determined to win.

I once listened to a motivational speaker. He said that the key to success was to visualize what you wanted most in this world. I wanted to find a gun that actually worked and put a bullet in Samuel’s skull. I wanted to see Noah and knee him in the balls. I wanted to fuck Young and feel whole for a little bit, maybe steal the love he had for William and keep it for myself. My laundry list was long and toxic and all kinds of fucked up, but it was keeping me going.

Mom called me yesterday to let me know that I was not welcome in her home. Surprise, surprise. I’d rather stay at the institute than go crawling back to her. My next step to freedom involved severing all ties, legally binding or otherwise, to my mother’s hold over me. She didn’t actually give a fuck about what I did, she just didn’t want me ruining her cushy marriage with Liam.

Young stayed in the driver’s seat, patiently waiting for me to say something or allude to some decision I’d made. He was so fucking patient with me. I told myself I was annoyed, but I was really endeared by his ability to ride out the storm that I was. “When is graduation?” I finally asked.

William would have walked the stage—shouldhave walked the stage. Sitting in a large auditorium while listening to a list of names that survived college seemed like the appropriate thing to do. Was that the meds talking? Making me want to do the proper thing? Or was it my need to feel something again?

“Next week,” Young answered in a timid voice.

“Can I listen to Noah’s message?” I asked while holding out my hand to Young and bluntly changing the subject. I wanted to hear how miserable Noah was. Wanted to drink up his guilt and puke it at his feet.

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