Tears and Other Fears

by Coralee June

  “Why was I called up here when we’re having a graduation party downstairs? For fuck’s sake, Samuel, Pastor Anthony is asking where you are. I invited alumni of the school and future partners. You can’t even survive one party without disappointing me.”

  Here we were, in a crowded room full of questions, and yet Mr. Smith was worried about his image. How predictable and boring. I hated boring.

  “Believe me, we’re better off having this conversation up here. You don’t want this getting out,” I replied with a sinister smile before moving to sit on Samuel’s bed. A plume of his cologne wafted over me the moment my ass touched the soft mattress. The smell was intoxicating and made me think of the whips and chains I’d found in his room. You know what they say: People that seek control through sex usually felt no control in their lives. Maybe that was why I pinned Noah down while talking dirty to Samuel. I liked the cogs and wheels of my relationships to grind—figuratively and literally.

  Renon tugged at his tie before answering Mr. Smith. “Your son owes me a lot of money. He approached me last year and wanted to invest in a business opportunity of mine. He figured his connections would like my product. Samuel owes me my percentage and hasn’t paid up. My other investors are getting antsy and are prepared to act if not compensated immediately.”

  I snorted, knowing precisely what Renon was doing—polishing up the truth so it was something Samuel’s father would understand. I guess that’s what happened when a scrappy drug dealer attended business school. I bet he could sell sand to the beach if given a chance.

  “A business venture? That’s what this is about? Listen, unless my son signed a contract with lawyers present, he doesn’t owe you a dime. You can take me to court, but I can assure you, I’ll win. I always win.”

  “It’s not that sort of business,” I replied with an eye roll. “Let me simplify what Renon so eloquently said,” I added before glancing at Samuel. He looked murderous; I could practically feel the tainted drugs on my tongue from his stare alone. Go on, Samuel. Get mad. Feel that revenge. I liked them angry and helpless.

  “Octavia, please don’t,” Samuel croaked out. He lost the right to beg the moment he aided in my brother’s death.

  “Your son deals drugs,” I said, and Mr. Smith flinched before slumping his shoulders. “I don’t know if he’s using or just trying to make some side cash—hell, I don’t know why he would even need side cash. But he owes a lot, and the people sending invoices aren’t afraid to take drastic measures.” I didn’t know if that last part was necessarily true, but I could assume. “Your son is fucked.”

  I watched as Mr. Smith’s face turned red, those rosy cheeks blooming with rage. “Samuel, seriously? Again? Why do you do this?” Mr. Smith replied in exasperation, shocking the hell out of me. “I swear you are my greatest mistake. Do you need more attention, boy? Is that what this is? Do you need to suckle your mother’s tit and let me tuck you into bed?”

  My brow shot up, and Renon stifled a chuckle. “Dad, I just. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

  “You owe seventy thousand dollars, asshole,” Renon replied with a roll of his eyes. “That’s kind of a big deal.”

  “Why, Samuel? Why do you do this? I’ve given you the world, and you fuck it up at every turn.” Samuel looked scarily pale as he slumped against the wall and fell to the floor in an overly dramatic move that made me question how I ever thought he was a dominant man. Samuel Smith was a fucking coward. “Who is the supplier?” Mr. Smith asked while pulling out his checkbook from his pocket.

  “The Mexican cartel,” Renon replied quickly. Shit, those guys didn’t play around. I wasn’t sure what surprised me more, the fact that Renon worked with such an organized organization or the amount of money Samuel owed.

  “Does the Mexican cartel accept checks?” Mr. Smith spat before using his hand like a makeshift table and writing out his son’s debt. “Please tell your employers that I sincerely apologize for my son’s negligence and that I’m grateful for their cooperation. In the future, please come to me on matters of my son, and I’ll rectify the situation immediately.” It sounded like such a practiced line that I had to stop myself from shaking this man by his shoulders and knocking sense into him.

  I stood up, needing to feel like I was on an even playing field with these men.

  This was so anticlimactic that I felt that deep-seated need to lash out. It was almost too easy—too bland. This was the reveal I got? After everything? It was a hollow sort of relief. Things were falling into place, but it wasn’t big enough for me. I wanted Mr. Smith to roll over in a fit of rage. I wanted him to disown his son and wrap his pudgy hands around his throat. I wanted broken glass, flailing fists. This wasn’t nearly enough for the months of pent up fury and grief I suffered through. Mr. Smith seemed desensitized to Samuel’s antics like he was used to cleaning up his son’s messes.

  I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit.

  But all I got was the click of a pen and the scratching of seventy thousand dollars on paper. “He killed my brother,” I said with a growl the moment Renon had the check in hand.

  Mr. Smith’s eyes widened but then fizzled out. “You. I know you. You’re that crazy chick. The one whose brother overdosed on campus? I heard you’ve been causing quite a stir. I thought you were admitted.”

  At the mention of crazy, I preened. I guess I learned to wear that label like a badge of honor. I conditioned myself to accept their prejudice. “Your son likes crazy, apparently. He fucked me, knowing that he was the reason for William’s death. Then he held a gun to my chest.”

  I expected to shock the ugly man, but he didn’t bat an eye. He didn’t tense. He didn’t have the decency to look ashamed for what his son had done.

  “He knew the drugs were bad, and he gave them to my brother,” I added with conviction.

  “Sounds like that was a risk your brother was willing to take,” Mr. Smith replied callously. He didn’t even seem surprised. Maybe he knew all along. Perhaps he knew what his son was capable of. Maybe the world was as fucked up as I believed it was.

  “Your son killed my brother. What about the debt of a life?” I asked, my voice rising. A hand clasped around my wrist, a subtle warning from Renon that made me want to rip off his hand.

  “You can’t prove that my son had any involvement in your brother’s death,” Mr. Smith replied calmly, though there was a glower hidden behind his stare. “No one would believe you.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I replied darkly.

  “Look. You want money? I’ll pay you what I think your brother’s life was worth, okay?” Mr. Smith replied. “I know your stepfather, you know. Liam? We’re good friends,” he added while pulling out his checkbook. “We both attended Blackwood together. We learned a lot of things together. What battles to pick. The importance of discretion and how a reputation was worth far more than money. We also learned about the value of life.”

  He finished writing, then tore off the check. “It’s because I respect him that I’m giving this to you. Heed my warning. If you accuse my son of anything, I’ll sue the ever-living shit out of you. If you create problems for my family? I’ll have you sent back to that hospital. If you step out of line? I’ll end you.” He tossed the check at me, but I let it float to the floor. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  I didn’t look down. I didn’t have to. I knew it was worthless.

  I stood there in silence. No tears staining my cheeks. No pain filling my chest. Empty. Empty. Empty. Nothing. Nothingness. The absence of feeling or grief. Or terror and agony.

  I was stone, baby. Motherfucking stone.

  And then I acted. Without assessing the amount, I bent over and picked up the check before walking up to Mr. Smith. I reached behind my neck to pull the pin holding my halter dress together, forcing the material to fall and revealing a healthy portion of my breasts. As expected, Mr. Smith stood momentarily stunned, as if not sure whether to think I’m crazy or to reach
out to grab the useless balls of fat engorged on my chest. “Mr. Smith,” I began before reaching up to palm his chest, plastering the check against his jacket. The entire room was silent. “I might not have attended Blackwood, but it’s taught me something, too,” I rasped.

  “Oh?” The motherfucker was growing hard.

  “Yes. I learned that you should always keep an eye out for unknown variables. You should always fear those that are unpredictable—or crazy.” I lifted the sharp pin and pressed it through the paper, through his clothes, and dug it into his skin. He tried to move away, but I didn’t let him. I pressed even harder, knowing that if he jerked away, it would hurt more. “Keep your money, Mr. Smith. I prefer to be paid in blood.”

  “Get the fuck out of my house,” he gritted before wrapping his meaty hands around my wrist. I then pulled it out, using the sharp tool coated in his blood to readjust my dress.

  “Come on, boy,” Mr. Smith finally said to Samuel as he rubbed at his chest. I was sad that the dark color of his suit hid the blood pooling there. Mr. Smith left the room, and Samuel pulled himself off the floor to follow after his father, not sparing me a glance. Renon was staring at the check in his hand as I thought about priorities.

  I once heard that what we choose to neglect eventually dies. It’s why priorities were so pivotal to how we approached life. If William were a plant, he’d have dry soil and wilted roots. The Smiths showed what their priorities were, but I still clung to mine.

  And I wouldn’t rest until their blood was nurturing the seeds of my brother’s memory.

  “Fuck, Octavia,” Renon said once the room was cleared. “You really are crazy. But I guess crazy works, because I got my money.” He then eyed the check greedily.

  “Crazy? You have no fucking idea.”

  Chapter 11

  I stared at the open door in Samuel Smith’s bedroom for longer than what was appropriate. I felt like an immovable statue, like cold stone growing through the floorboards of his house. Someone was talking to me, but the roaring in my mind couldn’t be bothered to comprehend the words. There were only a couple of times that I could remember feeling this much anguish.

  The night that William died. The morning Mrs. Mulberry passed peacefully. And the day Noah deceived me. It seemed like every bad thing in my life was a tumbleweed from William’s chest. When he died, it set the chain reactions that led me right here to this moment.

  Mr. Smith wanted me to leave his house, but I felt rooted to the spot. I almost wanted him to call the cops on me just so I could have the opportunity to cause a scene. My face moved when the vision of me screaming and flailing as armed men drug me from the Smiths’ beautiful home flickered across my angry mind.

  “Octavia,” Renon said somewhere outside the storm raging in my mind. His voice was like thunder, and I was a hurricane, and life was a torrential downpour of disappointments and fucked up people.

  “Let’s go,” I said when I felt like I could breathe. It was a slow inhale, and the finality escaped my chest with a boom. There was one variable I hadn’t accounted for: Samuel would never pay because this system of corruption and entitlement would always protect him. I wasn’t believable enough.

  “Let’s stay. What is he going to do? Call the cops?” Renon quickly rushed out. I finally tore my eyes from the door to look at him, and relief flooded his expression. I didn’t understand it. So I looked at the door again. “Octavia. I owe you three orgasms.”

  “I don’t want them anymore,” I lied. I wanted lots of things. Most of those things could be accomplished with sex. I wanted to scream so loud the walls shook. I wanted to feel something stronger than my grief. I wanted to pound out the frustrations in my head.

  I felt his heated body at my back. I felt the bloodied pin release, letting my dress free. I felt the thin fabric fall down, baring my breasts once more. His words sunk under my skin and tattooed my heart. “Let’s have hot, angry hate-sex, Octavia the Vengeful.”

  He was tempting me, and the idea that Young could come looking for us at any moment sent my self-destruct function into overdrive. “You couldn’t handle my version of angry, Renon the Drug Dealer.”

  “Bet I could.” He gasped while cupping my breasts from behind. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and he took full advantage of that, pulling at my nipples like they were strings on a guitar.

  “I’m warning you,” I began while rolling my neck. He lifted his hand to brush my strawberry blond hair back, then sunk his teeth into my soft skin. “Once you have a taste, you’ll want more. I’ll hurt you. Make you bleed. And you’ll get hooked on something far worse than the drugs you push.”

  He spun me around and grabbed my ass, his hard fingers digging so far into the thick muscle that I almost—almost—winced. “I’m in the business of temptation, Octavia. I think I can handle it.”

  I smiled, then shoved at his chest so hard he fell to the ground with a loud thud. I was sure the people below us could hear. The lamp on Samuel’s nightstand shook. He gasped at me for a moment as I bent over to brush a spec of lint off my stiletto. I straightened, and his eyes traveled the long lines of my legs, like an artist planning the strokes for a blank canvas. I had a feeling that I’d be bruised and blood red by the time we were through with one another.

  After stepping closer to Renon, I sunk my heel into his chest, pressing hard enough to inflict pain. It was always about the pain. His heaving breaths became labored as I leaned forward, pushing him into a lying position. His eyes were hooded and hot. Heat licked my inner thighs as I twisted my foot. “I’m going to make you scream, Octavia. Everyone in that damn party is going to know what we’re doing up here. They’re going to know my name because you’ll be belting it over and over.”

  Silly boy. Didn’t he know? I removed my foot, then straddled his body, bending over at the hips to trail my fingers up and down his torso. “My whole life has been a scream, Renon. Do something original—make me whisper.”

  He grabbed my waist and shoved me to the floor. I fell so hard I saw stars but kept my eyes on him. Pinning me down with his body, I writhed like a snake, making it difficult to keep me still. No one was ever good at keeping me in one place. I was a constant moving target. He bent over and bit my lip, forcing blood to pool in my mouth. Reaching up, I dug my sharp nails into his cheek. Leaving scratch marks on someone’s back was for pussies. I wanted the whole world to see that Renon survived my wrath.

  We wrestled on the ground, each of us gaining the upper hand as his jacket was ripped and pants were stripped. His shirt was nothing but fabric on the floor. My panties disappeared after I slapped his head away from my cunt. I wasn’t going to let him taste me just yet. “Fuck, you’re hot,” he croaked when I shoved him and bit his collarbone while stroking his cock. “Fire, Octavia. You’re fire.”

  “Stop talking,” I demanded before wrapping my fingers around his shaft and poising my poison lips at the head of his cock. “If you move, I’ll stop. If you make a sound, I’ll stop. Got it?”

  “Fuck,” he groaned. I removed my hand, and he whimpered. He fucking whimpered. “Okay, okay. I’ll be quiet.” His cooperation was perfection.

  I parted my lips and sunk onto his cock, letting the taste of his precum coat my tongue. Moving up and down, I stopped every time his thigh twitched, every time a gasp escaped his chest. Every moan, every grunt, I stopped worshipping his cock. It was the kind of torture I loved; conditioning him to be at my mercy was just the sort of outlet I needed.

  Before, I’d let Samuel Smith blind me with raw power, but I preferred this. Renon was gifting me with something far more valuable—control.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” Renon said. I took his throbbing dick out of my mouth with a pop and smiled at him.

  “Weak.”

  “Tease.”

  And then we were on each other again. He tugged at the hair on my scalp, yanking me back as I got on my knees. His palm pressed at the center of my shoulders, forcing my hands to land on the floor. I was on all fours when
I heard the distinct sound of a condom wrapper opening.

  Then, there was no warning. No gentle easing of his cock in my cunt. No, Renon fucked like he lived: hard, fast, and without regrets. Slamming in and out of me, I felt my bones shake with the intensity of his movements. He gripped my hair as he fucked me raw, his body smacking against mine and echoing around Samuel Smith’s room.

  We were depraved and violent. Harsh but healing. His body and mine didn’t fit just right or dance in synchronistic moves. We forced two incompatible souls together and got drunk off the wrongness of it.

  “You better not be holding back, Renon,” I rasped when he wrapped his hand around to rub my clit with his fingers. He teased with harsh, uneven circles that had no rhyme or pattern or beat. My reluctant orgasm tore out of me. It was a small one—the pleasure barely rocked my world—but I felt that familiar buzzing in my body and welcomed it home like a prisoner of war.

  “That’s one,” he grunted.

  “That was half of one,” I teased menacingly. Renon was full of himself and needed to be taken down a peg.

  In an instant, he flipped me over on my back and cupped my neck, peering into my eyes as he squeezed. “Half of one, huh?” he asked, pride draining out of his body. I saw the anger burning there and knew it pissed him off to be put down.

  “Don’t worry, Renon. I’ll give you another chance to make me come,” I teased before wrapping my legs around his waist and arching my back. “Now this time, fuck me like you fucking mean it.” I then wrapped my hand around his wrist, wordlessly telling him what I wanted. I desired that intensity between life and death. I wanted my vision to blur and his hand to squeeze until I couldn’t feel the agony in my soul anymore. He happily obliged.

  He squeezed so I couldn’t breathe, but it felt like the first time in forever that my lungs were functioning properly. Maybe that was how they were supposed to feel—deprived and demanding. He slid inside of me, this time slow and firm, moving so teasingly slowly that I wanted to beg for more but couldn’t.