Tears and Other Fears

by Coralee June

  “When I look at you, I see privilege. You have money, supportive parents, and every opportunity possible at your feet. People easily support you because they believe you, and despite my prejudice, you’re so likeable that I’m not even mad you have all these incredible things and people in your life. I guess the selfish part of me wants to compare the two of us. What about me, Young? What do I have?”

  “You have me, Octavia. You have me.”

  I started picking at the invisible lint on my black dress. “Don’t forget my drug dealer and therapist. I have them too, I suppose.”

  Young’s face darkened for a quick flash—like lightning—then twisted into a hollow form of resignation. His lips were pursed as he assessed me openly, running his large hand through his messy, dark hair. “I’ll give you whatever you want, Octavia Wilson.”

  Those words made echoes of joy travel up and down my spine. Whatever. I. Want. “Is this some weird sort of penance for William? For breaking his heart?” I asked, wanting clarification of his motives.

  “No.”

  His simple response was likely a lie, but I didn’t call him on it. I was feeling so exhausted, slipping back into the version of me that wanted to lie in his bed all day.

  “You should probably get going,” I said as my shoulders slumped. Old habits die hard. I should have been elated that he was so perfect, but instead I was pushing him away.

  “I’ll stay if you want me to.”

  I wanted him to. “Go.”

  Young gave me a cellphone before he left. He claimed mine wasn’t up-to-date, but something told me he wanted a phone he could track. Silly man, didn’t he know I’d crunch technology between my teeth if I wanted to be lost?

  The lock screen was a shirtless photo of Young. He was biting his lip and sending a smoldering look into the camera, like he was peering right into my soul. I kind of liked having a sexy photo made just for me. There were five contacts in the address book.

  Young.

  Noah.

  Renon.

  Mrs. Youngblood.

  Mr. Youngblood.

  I sent a quick text to Renon while pacing the floors, asking when he would be back from wherever the fuck they went. He responded with a cheeky message that had me rolling my eyes.

  “One orgasm coming in hot. Two hours. Be ready.”

  That cheesy, cocky motherfucker.

  “You owe me four. But I want them from Noah.”

  My phone pinged, but I didn’t bother to read his message and decided to stalk around the penthouse instead.

  I was terrified to get back in bed. I knew that if I slipped under the soft sheets that smelled like Young, I would fall into that helpless sense of exhaustion again. I was fighting to feel functional. The key to surviving soul-sucking sadness was to outrun it.

  So I cooked. I stripped naked—slowly. Then, I put on one of Samuel’s shirts from his bedroom, then cut it up until it fell off my frame. I drank ice-cold water until my stomach sloshed, then did some yoga poses I found on YouTube.

  When all of that didn’t distract me from the heavy hold my lids had over my eyes, I stripped again and started sending racy photos to Noah to encourage a sense of urgency. For someone that was used to loneliness, the quiet sure scared me.

  I was sitting naked on the couch while picking at my toenail polish when I heard the front door open. I spun around to greet Young or Renon or Noah, but felt a shockwave through my system when I was greeted by Samuel Smith.

  I didn’t bother to hide my body. I didn’t have anything Samuel fucking Smith hadn’t already seen. I did, however, hide the slight tremor of fear caged around my soul. I wasn’t normally so afraid of conflict, but something in his eyes had me wondering what lengths he was willing to go to for revenge.

  He was bruised from where Young had hit him. The black and blue shiner looked painful and was haphazardly covered in makeup. I wondered what his parents thought of the graduation-day style choice.

  He had a blurred sort of expression that sizzled with angst and alcohol. He was definitely drunk; I could tell by the way he swayed. “Octavia,” he greeted. “I wasn’t expecting to find you naked and waiting for me. This is just perfect.”

  I stood up from my spot on the couch, poising my hands on my hips as I stared him down. “What are you doing here, Samuel?” I asked. “I thought Young made it pretty clear when he beat you up that you’re no longer welcome here.”

  My phone was sitting on the couch. I eyed it like it was the impotent gun I’d stolen from Mrs. Mulberry. If I called, would anyone answer?

  Since when did I rely on anyone else?

  “Young isn’t here. And by the looks of it, neither is Renon or your shitty therapist.” He gave me a predatory once over, and I shivered.

  “So what, are you here for some nefarious plans, Samuel? Is this the part where you pull a gun out of your trench coat and spill all your fucked up secrets while cackling like a lunatic?” I asked in a teasing voice. Samuel was a prideful motherfucker that wanted to be taken seriously; I knew it was a hit to his ego that I wasn’t showing how terrified I felt.

  “Guns are loud and messy. Besides, you’re more about poetic justice, aren’t you?”

  He wasn’t wrong, and it pissed me off to know that he had me so figured out. I was always seeking meaning and purpose. Whatever he had planned for me would echo the journey I’ve been on for the last year. Samuel was thoughtful like that. Ignorant, but thoughtful.

  “You know,” Samuel began while walking closer to me. I wrapped my arms around myself and took a step backward. “At first, I was mad about your dud of a gun. I wanted you dead. Hell, I never wanted something so bad. But you didn’t even care. You looked just as disappointed to be alive as I was to see you still breathing.”

  I gritted my teeth as he nonchalantly shoved his hands into his pockets. I watched him wrestle around as if he were seeking something in the tight denim jeans he was wearing. “But now? Now, I’m happy it played out like this. You look terrified to die, Octavia. I can see it in your eyes. You’re trembling. I have that sort of effect on you, don’t I?”

  He took another step and another. I lunged for my phone, but he grabbed me before I could get to it. I felt his strong hands grip me tightly, pressing so hard I knew that I would bruise.

  “But I’m going to enjoy killing you. Now, you’ve got something you’re afraid to lose—something to live for.”

  His hot breath smelled like whiskey and was like an angry slap in the face as I tried to jerk free. Within seconds, he was throwing me down on the ground, and I tried to crawl away despite the harsh throbbing in my head from where I’d hit.

  His large body pinned me beneath him, pressing his knees between my legs. He was heavy as he pressed down against me, sandwiching me between the floor and his chest. With one hand, he pinned my wrists down while rummaging through his pocket once more. There was once a time that I appreciated his commanding strength, but now it felt lethal. I hated how vulnerable my naked body made me feel.

  “Fuck you,” I screamed before spitting in his face. The sick bastard licked my saliva off his chin with a grin.

  “It’s like old times, having you beneath me. I’d love to stay and enjoy your body one last time, but we won’t be alone for long.” He must’ve found whatever was in his pocket, because he slammed his palm over my mouth, and I felt something slip past my lips.

  A pill.

  A fucking pill.

  I worked my tongue, trying to force it out. All the while, Samuel laughed while zeroing in his green-eyed gaze at my throat. “Now you get to die the same way William did. I’m so glad I kept that batch.” His voice was strained.

  I bucked my hips, trying to force him off of me. My bare skin rubbed against his clothes, and I could feel the pill dissolving in my mouth. It had a bitter taste that made me sick.

  “That’s right, baby. Take it. Just swallow, I know you want to. You miss William, and I miss my life before you came—” A harsh grunt escaped his lips, cu
tting off his words. I had slammed my leg into his, praying it shocked him enough to give me an advantage. I just needed time.

  Samuel was right. I wanted to live. I was terrified to lose the five contacts in my overpriced smartphone.

  The hand holding my wrist tightened, clutching me harder. His nails dug into my skin, breaking it open and allowing blood to pool out. The hand over my mouth was relentless. He pushed my lips tightly against my teeth. I breathed in through my nose, choking on the smell of alcohol seeping through his sweaty pores.

  “Swallow it, you cunt,” he demanded while eyeing my throat once more. I bucked, and he released my wrists to pick my head up by my strawberry blond hair and slam it against the hard floor. My vision turned black as I felt the pill jolt down my throat.

  Samuel threw me a sinister smile, and my stomach dropped. He got off of me, and I pulled myself up to a sitting position. The pill was gone. I’d swallowed it.

  “Say hello to William for me,” Samuel said as my head throbbed. I could practically feel my brain expand and pulse with pain.

  Samuel took one last look at me, and I cringed, my limbs shaking with dull anger. I was too weak to lash out. I almost couldn’t think about the pill sliding through my body, because my skull left me feeling disoriented. “Fuck you,” I slurred.

  Samuel Smith didn’t even bother responding. He just left the penthouse with the calmness of a soulless killer. Was this how it was with William? Did he turn his back on my brother with a smile?

  Crawling. Dying. Crying.

  I picked up my cell phone and dialed the one person I knew would be my savior. I could barely see the screen, my vision so blurred. Noah answered on the first ring.

  ”We’re almost there. I’m trying not to get my hopes up with those naked photos you sent, but you seem eager to see me, Octavia. I can’t keep up.” His words shook me. My vision was going black.

  “Noah?” I croaked. His name felt like a curse and a prayer.

  “Octavia? Are you okay?” he rushed out; I could hear the concern in his gruff tone.

  I could only choke out two little words that I knew would reach him. Two words that I never asked him for.

  “Save me.”

  Epilogue

  Renon

  “She’s in ICU. Critical condition.”

  That’s all the text said from Noah. We had been out having dinner, minding our own business and chatting about addiction and all its bullshit forms when Octavia was attacked. I just wanted to get to know the guy, figured it was only polite since we were both getting our dick worshipped by the same girl.

  Well, I was getting my dick worshipped. He was apparently suffering a case of blue balls. I’d feel bad for the guy if I weren’t happy to have more of her attention. Regardless, I was in the business of addiction, and that man looked like he’d be interested in what I’m selling. When I ordered a beer, his pussy ass hands trembled with need, though for some reason, I didn’t offer him a sample. It just didn’t come up in conversation. I was telling myself it was because he didn’t seem interested, not because I didn’t want to break Octavia’s heart. Fuck. What the fucking fuck is fucking wrong with me? Fuck!

  I didn’t do this. I didn’t do hearts, flowers, and empathy.

  And now I was here with a gun in my hands, figuring out how to handle this Samuel Smith situation. I told myself that I signed on to lodge a bullet in his skull because I was feeling murderous. Not because some chick with fantastic tits was currently recovering in a hospital suite on the rich side of town. Fucking Nathaniel Youngblood and his connections.

  I didn’t know what it was about Octavia that had my nuts in a twist, but I wanted more. That beautiful, mind-fuck of a crazy girl. I wanted to see her.

  I’d punched a fucking hole in the wall when I found her naked and seizing on the ground. Noah had to call the ambulance, because I was too pissed off, and I couldn’t stay to make sure she was okay, because the police have been on my ass for months.

  Samuel Smith was going to die. Slowly. Painfully. He’d been a thorn in my side since we took him on. I figured he’d be a good pusher. Had the capital to pay for the drugs, and the connections to make cushy rich pricks comfortable. Dealing made people uncomfortable, but he seemed personable enough to sell the good shit to the people that liked a hit without the stigma of a shady kid in a bad part of town.

  If I could go back and tell him to fuck off, I would.

  It was almost too easy to sneak into his house and wait on his bed. He was out with some friends, probably celebrating graduation and Octavia’s death. Or maybe getting drunk and high enough to forget the hit he had on his head. He didn’t even seem to care about getting caught anymore, and that sort of recklessness was bad for business.

  His parents were out. The house was quiet. I sat there on his bed, staring at the floor where Octavia and I had fucked, while thinking about how ridiculous this all was. She’d warned me. She’d really warned me. And here I was, craving my next hit. I needed to fuck her out of my system. Yeah, that was it. Once she was better, I was going to drive my dick so far into her that it got bored and looked for a new pussy to obsess over. I never stayed interested for long. I was a wanderer in every sense of the word.

  But she was sad. The other night, she reminded me of her brother, curled up in bed, looking for a solution for her mind. Maybe that was why I crawled beside her and held her as she slept. I always liked William; he was a good guy. I felt bad when I got word that he died from our bad batch, though I’d never admit it. This job was all about the brand, and if I started acting like I cared now, I’d be swarmed with addicts blaming me for their repossessed house and rehab stints.

  More anger coursed through me. I was going to ruin Samuel Smith. I wasn’t a hit man, had only a couple deaths under my belt. My boss liked to stretch out the gore, initiate us dealers with death so they had blackmail over everyone in the ecosystem. But I knew my way around a gun. I could strangle a man twice my size if need be.

  “Hurry home, Samuel. I’m waiting,” I whispered into the darkness. Maybe I was going crazy. I just wanted to get this over with so I could sneak into the hospital and check on my…Octavia.

  She wasn’t mine. Nope. Not mine. I didn’t do attachments.

  The front door opened downstairs, and I got off the mattress with a smile. Showtime. Popping my neck, I stood at the ready, aiming my gun at the door.

  Good bye, Samuel Smith.

  Thank you for reading!

  Thank you so much for reading, and I’m so sorry about the cliffhanger. I didn’t plan on ending the book this way, but you know how Octavia is. She likes to leave us guessing and on the edge of a cliff. She’s probably somewhere fucking a hot nurse and laughing at all of our concern. I promise Octavia will be okay. She has a lot of chaos left in her system.

  This series is very hard for me to dive into. Octavia is a profound, perfect, pain-in-the-ass, mess. We both went on a journey together of acceptance and healing. The final book in her story will echo that, and I’m looking forward to seeing her version of happily ever after.

  If you connect with Octavia, I love you. I think everyone deserves to read books about people that remind them of themselves. Even if Octavia is just a version of you that you push down and hide from the world, I hope you let your wild out of your cage for a bit and enjoyed the freedom she has to offer.

  Much love to you all. I’m so thankful to be on this journey with you.

  Xoxo,

  CoraLee June

  * * *

  Ps. Keep reading if you want a little preview of Burnout, my angsty taboo romance that released in August.

  Burnout Preview

  Everything I owned was on my back: three outfits, a cellphone with a cracked screen, and a folded up photo of Mama I couldn’t look at because it hurt too fucking much. I stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the red brick building in front of me.

  I was avoiding eye contact with the balding homeless man three steps to my left. He was playing his scratc
hed up and out-of-tune guitar while singing off-key for tips. From the looks of it, he wasn’t making much. If I had money to spare, I’d drop a nickel in his jar out of pity.

  The humid air smelled like charred BBQ and grime. A steady summer breeze kissed the beads of sweat dripping down my face, effectively melting the cheap makeup I’d capriciously painted on to hide the dark circles under my eyes. It was sweltering hot, the air so humid it felt like I was walking around in a cloud of morning breath.

  What the actual fuck was I thinking?

  I’d asked myself that question numerous times on the drive from Lucas, Texas, to here. It had been a long trip. Not because the distance itself was necessarily daunting, but because I stopped every thirty minutes to park and convince myself to turn back. I could run away. I could escape this, if I really wanted.

  So why didn’t I want to?

  My older brother’s loft in Memphis was in the South Main Arts District. It looked nice on the outside and had that hipster vibe I loved, with traditional architecture to compliment the design. Patches of manicured grass littered the walk up, making it look homey. It seemed nice enough, but I learned a long time ago that just because something—or someone—looked pretty on the outside, didn’t mean they’d be just as beautiful within.

  I’d been standing outside for a while now, like a statue on the concrete. Drunks and tourists walked by with beer bottles in their hand, straight from their boozy brunches. My car was parked precisely two blocks away. I could run to it, get inside, and use the last thirty dollars my brother sent me to fill up the tank and get the fuck out of here.

  “You gonna stand out here all day?” a voice asked. The smooth, Southern drawl was laced with skepticism. My hard stare flickered to the doorman of the building, and I had to cup my palm over my eyes to shade my light-sensitive gaze from the beaming rays of sunshine over us. I’d caught the older, slender man staring at me multiple times, trying to gauge if I was trouble or not. I guess I did look suspicious, standing out here while deciding what I wanted to do with my life.