Tears and Other Fears Read online

  I brought my attention back down to the phone, but my fingers were shaking. I scrolled through the photos while my mind lingered on the picture of Young. He was so damn beautiful. Perfection used to intimidate me, and Young’s body lacked flaws. I guess he saved them all for his relationships.

  It wasn’t until I finally landed on a photo of a familiar face that I relaxed. “Here he is!” I exclaimed. Young sat up in bed and leaned over, he was eye-level with my breasts as I stood beside him, both of us hunched over William’s cell phone.

  It was a group photo, but Renon had this effortless way of drawing my eyes to him that came across even on this tiny screen. I hadn’t been feeling particularly artistic since William died, but there was something about Renon’s cocky posture that had me itching to paint. Or maybe it was the photo of Young in this very bed. Either way, aside from the spit roasting graffiti art I painted over a month ago, I hadn’t painted in ages. I kind of wished that I had a brush in my hand and a canvas beneath my palm.

  Using my index finger, I pointed at Renon’s face. It took Young a moment, but after a few breaths, he spoke. “Yep, that’s him. I’ve seen him around but never really noticed,” he said. His face was twisted up like he was trying to sort out some sort of puzzle. “This photo was taken in front of my frat house,” Young said, obviously trying to sort through who Renon was. I knew there was another puzzle piece to William’s life that was about to click into place. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to handle it, but I guess now was as good a time as any.

  “Maybe he goes to school with us—with me,” Young said. He squinted his eyes while staring at the phone once more, trying to take in the photograph.

  “Well, this is good then, right? It means he’ll be easy to find.” Young, staring like this photo had some sort of secret that he was unwilling to tell, made me feel anxious. Couldn’t anything just be a goddamn win? We were always digging to the bottom of a grave that was starting to feel like it didn’t exist.

  “The way you’re looking at this picture has me all kinds of curious about what’s going on in that head of yours, Young,” I said. I reached out and ran my hand through his hair, smiling at how soft it was.

  “I just can’t believe I didn’t pay more attention,” Young replied with a frown. “I was at this party. The one in the picture? Samuel was there too. Actually, I think I know him...I think I know him pretty well.” My imagination started running wild, and I found myself imagining Renon and Young making out on the bed. Maybe I was finally horny again? Coming off these meds did have its consequences. Perhaps the first step to detoxing was feeling the inexplicable need to fuck Young senseless.

  “By pretty well, do you mean you’ve seen his dick?” I asked. It was a valid question.

  “By pretty well, I mean I once beat the living shit out of him.” The mental image of them making out vanished and twisted into a fistfight. Still hot. “He had a nickname before. Some weird-ass name like Skull or Fist. He’s changed a lot, but now that I’m looking at this photo...” Young took William’s phone and turned it off, and I wished that I had a moment to send the photo of Young to myself first. Good thing I had a pretty decent memory and artistic talent. I’d be doodling his dick for days.

  “This sounds like a fun story. Do tell,” I replied with a grin while shifting on my feet.

  “The guys at Pike used to have fight nights. He’d shown up a few times. I stopped sophomore year after word got out. Mrs. Robinson helped cover it up, but I guess that’s how he met William and Samuel. It’s weird, though. He and William were complete opposites. I can’t see them being friends.”

  I shrugged. “William was the type to make friends easily. He didn’t necessarily go out of his way to meet people, but even you have to admit he had a way of attracting the world to him. Especially those that were bad for him,” I said while staring at Young pointedly. He didn’t bother to respond to my little insult, and I wondered if he was just getting used to me picking at the scabs over his heart. Or maybe he knew he wasn’t right for William and had stopped denying his part in his death.

  “And you’re saying he was giving William drugs?” Young asked.

  I shook my head no. “He was giving him antidepressants. My brother was too scared to go to the doctor and risk my parents figuring out that he had a problem. He had a lot of shame and not a lot of confidence.”

  Young nodded in understanding, and I hated that it was so easy for him to get. I didn’t really have to explain my brother’s habits to him because he already knew. “But he’s supplying Samuel. In fact, Sammy boy owes him quite a bit of money.”

  “I think I would know if Samuel was doing drugs. We lived together. I never once saw him hitting anything harder than pot.”

  “You might not have noticed, considering you had your tongue buried so far up Mrs. Robinson’s cunt you couldn’t see anything else—not without a bushwhacker.” I snorted at my own joke before feeling twitchy again. I should have emailed that damn photo. Why the fuck was I hesitating? Impulsivity was the hallmark of my personality. I didn’t think about consequences or guilt. I didn’t consider other people’s feelings. Young was ruining me, and I didn’t know how I felt about it.

  “There’s a party tonight, maybe he’ll be there. I’ll take you,” Young said.

  Smiling, I trailed a nail down Young’s bicep before walking around the bed and joining him on the mattress. I lifted up the covers and shimmied beneath them before turning on my side, giving my back to him. “I’m taking a nap,” I said.

  The last few days had taken a lot out of me. We’d flown across the country, talked about some heavy shit, and blackmailed the cunt he was fucking. And despite all of that, there was nothing but sexual frustration between us. It was a lot of work—feeling shit. It almost made taking the pills they offered at Thorne Institute seem worthwhile.

  Chapter 4

  I was getting ready for the party, flipping through all of the two dresses that I owned that were appropriate for a night out. I didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell me why I wanted to look good. There was something addictive about knowing Young wanted me, and I found myself obsessing over seeing the heated look in his eyes whenever I could. William always said that I was obsessive, and my interest tended to flip on a dime. Something told me that by the end of the night, I’d find something else to focus all of my attention on, but for now, I was okay with making Young drool.

  Someone knocked on the door, and Young moved from his perch at the kitchen island to answer it. I didn’t pay it any mind, knowing that Samuel was with his parents and was too chicken to return here.

  It wasn’t until I heard Noah’s voice while I slipped on my black bodycon dress that I froze. “Please just let me talk to her,” he pleaded through the cracked door. Young didn’t open it any wider and maneuvered his body to block the entrance.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Young replied in a bored voice. I stood up and straightened my dress, mentally taking inventory of my hair and makeup. I hadn’t bothered to fix myself up yet and knew that I probably looked exhausted from traveling. Good. I wanted him to feel guilty.

  Heels would’ve made the outfit sound fierce, and I regretted walking up to the front door without them. I tapped Young on the shoulder, giving him an award-winning smile, which wordlessly told him to move out of my way. I saw the way his fingers twitched, likely considering reaching for the cell phone deep in his pocket. I was unpredictable; I couldn’t blame him for wanting to have the police on standby.

  I held my hand on the doorknob and opened it wider, revealing Noah on the other side. His hair was combed over, and his icy blue eyes were looking me up and down. He wore a red shirt and dark jeans, paired with dress shoes. I kind of wished that he looked terrible. I also kind of wished he would’ve smelled like alcohol. It made it easier to hate him when I could call him an alcoholic, but instead, he looked good. He looked like he kinda got his life together this past month, and it pissed me off. How dare he go off and be happy whe
n he did such a terrible thing to me?

  “I guess getting rid of me was a good look for you,” I said in an animated tone.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Noah asked.

  “I don’t kid about attractive men, Noah. Just like you don’t kid about mental health. Or crazy women. Or grieving girlfriends.”

  Noah took a step forward, but I braced my hand on the doorframe, prohibiting him entrance. I checked over my shoulder and saw Young staring at my back, and I wasn’t sure if I was comforted by the gesture or a little offended by it. Since when did he know me to not be able to handle myself?

  “I thought of you so much,” Noah said. “I was so wrong to do that,” he added.

  At least he was man enough to admit that he was wrong, but it didn’t change the fact that he completely ruined me. He teased me with the idea that he could accept me for who I was, took in all my manic murderous thoughts, and spit them out for the rest of the world to deem unworthy. And on top of that, he called my mother. My fucking mother. He knew that she was a shitty person, and he still brought her into something she knew nothing about. She had no right to me. None of them did. And yet he took it upon himself to send me away under the guise that he was helping me. But the truth of it all was, he was helping himself.

  “What do you want?” I asked. I was teetering between having enough energy to handle Noah and not really giving a fuck.

  “I wanted to check on you. When I found out that Young got you out of Thorne, I wanted to make sure that you were okay. It’s not smart to go off your meds cold turkey—”

  I’m usually a bit more eloquent. I’m a good conversationalist; I can get my point across in a blunt way that not only respects my feelings but cuts my enemies up inside. There’s an honesty about the way I tell people to fuck off that I find to be refreshing. So I wasn’t exactly sure what came over me, but I started screeching in his ears. I was so loud both he and Young held their hands against their skulls to try and block out the sound.

  My eyes squinted, and I braced my palms out, shoving them against his chest. “How fucking dare you,” I screamed. “You don’t get to talk to me about the meds they put me on. You don’t get to talk to me like you care. You care about yourself, Noah. Don’t pretend otherwise. Because if you cared about me, you would’ve never called my mother. And you sure as fuck would’ve never helped her send me away to that stupid place.”

  Although I hit his chest, I knew it didn’t do any damage. Noah’s sad little expression still looked like I punched him in the jaw, though. He clenched his teeth, squinting his eyes at me like he was trying to hold back the anger he felt. Oh yeah, Noah, why don’t you tell me how you really feel? “You gonna justify what you did now?” I asked. “You gonna tell me how it was the right thing to do? How you had to save me because you couldn’t save your daughter? Are you gonna make yourself feel better about your little alcohol problem by pointing out all my flaws?”

  I got in his face, each of my words like venom. I didn’t care that we were standing close together. Or that my breathing was rapid now. I didn’t care about the fucking heat pooling between my thighs. I’d always liked a good hate fuck.

  “In all of this, I’m just pissed off that I didn’t see it coming. I should’ve predicted that you were capable of something like this. I should have known that you’d show up today. I don’t need those fucking meds. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. The one person I needed was William, and he’s dead. So go back home, Noah. Leave me alone.”

  I spun around dramatically, making sure to hit him in the face with my wild strawberry hair. I wasn’t sure if it smelled good, but I wanted the last thing Noah felt to be something he craved. The man loved strawberry blonds, and I guess I loved assholes.

  He must’ve reached out to stop me, because Young intervened. I turned and looked over my shoulder just in time to see Young shove Noah out of his apartment completely. “Don’t come back here,” Young ordered.

  Noah let out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for her, too,” Noah said. I didn’t understand the smile on his face. Young must’ve been shocked by his statement also, because he didn’t shut the door. They were stuck in a standoff, and Young wanted to hear Noah’s explanation.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Young asked.

  Noah’s smile ticked up a notch further, and I felt my heart race even more. “Let’s just say I know all about addictions. And Octavia is someone that everyone wants a hit of.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Young yelled with a curse before slamming the door in Noah’s face.

  “Does the idea of being addicted to me disgust you?” I asked. Of all of that, his reaction to Noah’s statement was the one part of that exchange that I was clinging to. At my question, he simply stared at me for a moment, as if contemplating the right way to answer it. I saw the hint of a lie flash before his eyes like he was prepared to give me some bullshit. But thankfully, the momentary lapse in honesty faded. He parted his lips before spitting out a piece of his soul at my feet.

  “No. The idea of anyone else being addicted to you is what bothers me.” And with that bomb of a statement, Young disappeared to his bedroom, slamming the door shut and making the walls of this pretentious penthouse shake.

  Chapter 5

  Of course the party was being held at a ridiculously posh frat house. When we decided to pay William’s drug dealer a visit, I had this vision that I would go into a warehouse full of addicts and illegal contraband. But nothing was what it seemed at Blackwood University.

  The music was loud, as to be expected. I found myself walking in sky-high stilettos to the beat of the hard-hitting rap song. Young and I never had the moment—you know the one I’m talking about. The one where I emerged from the bedroom with my hair done and makeup plastered to my face. I wanted him to drag his eyes down my porcelain skin with his sharp stare, linger on my cleavage and bite his lip at the sight of my red mouth. But of course, he simply grunted, probably still angry from our moment with Noah earlier. He didn’t even offer his arm as we walked to the car and left for the party.

  In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder if Renon would find me beautiful. Renon and I had a really odd connection. I had thought about our little adventure in his sexy classic car on multiple occasions. His words stayed with me long after I left him. Renon was profound. Jaded. Personable and selfish. He was like a narcissistic version of me, but more controlled. He didn’t care what anyone thought and was just unapologetically himself. I liked that a lot.

  Naturally, the moment we walked inside the frat house, everyone flocked to Young. It reminded me of the first time I’d ever seen him. He was the guy girls wanted to fuck, and other guys wanted to be. I watched from behind how he greeted them. He said all the right things. Shook hands and patted their backs like the humble, perfect bastard he was. He even politely let girls touch his arm. But there was a fixed way he stood that reeked of discomfort. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be the center of attention. For a moment, I debated on stealing the spotlight for him. But then I remembered that it was Samuel’s job. I wasn’t willing to replace Samuel. I was currently short a therapist, and taking on his best friend’s role would have a significant amount of symbolism that I wasn’t nearly drunk enough to analyze.

  Besides, the bastard didn’t give me my moment. So I left him there to schmooze his buddies. I was going to find Renon. And find him I did.

  Renon was in a backroom, biting his plump lip and playing poker. He looked like all my dirty little fantasies had a meeting and appointed him as the spokesman for my libido. I stared at the way he tugged his lips between his teeth, wondering if he knew the effect it had on people.

  I once knew a girl that would compulsively bite her lip because her boyfriend said it was sexy. There were teeth indentations permanently on her pout from all the gnawing.

  She’d especially do it when she was sad, and it kind of fucked with me. She once told me that it softened t
he blow of her tears, like somehow sexualizing her depression made it easier for others to swallow—she was always worrying about others.

  One night, I tugged at her lip with my own teeth, because I wanted to know how it felt to hide my emotions behind what others expected of me. It was a gentle kiss—tasted kind of like Noah and cotton candy. I haven’t seen her since.

  “Hey,” I said with a smirk when his eyes trailed up my bare legs and short dress. I noticed him linger on my chest then flicker to my face with mischief. He recognized me immediately and looked like I was handed to him on a gold platter.

  “Crazy girl,” he greeted, and if I didn’t have self-esteem made of steel, I probably would have slapped him for the nickname. But I knew the truth. Our brief interaction drove him crazy.

  “Renon the Drug Dealer,” I replied. His smile slipped, if only for a second, before he fixed it back in place. Once he was standing, the girls hanging over him gave me several scowls before adjusting their skirts and pushing their cleavage up. Whatever, ladies. You can ride his dick when I’m done with him.

  He moved towards me, then once we were standing toe to toe, I grinned at the way he breathed me in like I was the drug he dealt. “Found me, did you?”

  “I was hoping you’d be impressed by my investigative skills.” Our banter was dripping with sexual tension.

  “I’m impressed by everything you do.”

  Renon grabbed my hand, then pulled me away from the crowd. Although he commanded the room, it was too loud for others to hear our back and forth, and the moment we rounded a corner, he pushed me up against the wall and wrapped his fingers around my neck, all easy going flirtatiousness fleeing his expression. “What are you doing here? And don’t fucking call me out like that. The first rule of dealing drugs—don’t fucking talk about it.”