Lies and Other Drugs (Lies Trilogy Book 1)

by Coralee June

  I grabbed my phone and flipped through my photos until I was staring at the one I took before we each went off to college. The one of him at the docks behind our house—the photo that should have been plastered all over the news and been put up at his funeral. The light was shining on his strawberry blond hair. His bright eyes were dull. His smile seemed forced now. His cheeks perched in that inauthentic way I used to know so well but had been choosing to ignore.

  “I’ve stared at this photo a million times, and not once have I seen a depressed man. But now that I know? Damn, Noah. My brother was sad. How did I miss that?” I could see through my mother’s act. My stepfather’s money. Noah’s alcoholism. Samuel’s smirk. Young’s tears. And yet I couldn’t see myself in William’s smile.

  “I once read somewhere that the world is just made up of everything we want to see,” Noah said in that annoyingly introspective way I’d come to expect from the sober version of him. “You wanted to see your brother happy, so that’s what your brain focused on. It’s not your fault.”

  “He still didn’t kill himself,” I said, knowing for certain that no matter how sad he was, he wouldn’t have done that. I might not have known about his depression or Young, but I knew about that.

  Noah nodded before standing up. He then wordlessly headed to the spare bedroom where he and I would later probably fuck. I was banking on it. I was also hoping Samuel would have to listen to my moans and think about our night before.

  While I was daydreaming, Noah came back to the kitchen with a box of paint supplies and plopped it at my feet. Every painting tool possible was scattered throughout the box. My fingers itched to reach out and touch the brushes, trail my fingers over the blank canvas.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “When was the last time you painted?” Always a question with a question. Typical. For a shitty therapist, he sure had all the tricks down.

  I opened my mouth to answer him then immediately snapped it shut. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I physically picked up a brush, dipped it in paint, and created something meaningful. I’d painted in my mind. Came up with entire worlds where I was killing and dancing. Streets of blood. A night sky that looked like family.

  Noah observed my expression for a moment longer. “That’s what I thought. Paint me a picture, Babe,” he said without a care before leaning against the kitchen island and crossing his arms over his chest. That pet name was annoyingly cute. At least it was better than calling me kid.

  “Okay. Call your ex-wife and tell her you love her,” I said. I wasn’t the only one facing my demons today. Painting brought me joy, and I didn’t deserve that. Not while my brother was hiding his depression with a man named Young who had beautiful eyes and kissable lips.

  Noah pulled his phone out of his too-tight jeans and dialed a number. I would have gaped at him, but I had to pretend to not be moved by his strength, touched by how willing he was to face his demons to toss me into mine.

  “Denise? Yeah, it’s Noah.” He went silent for a moment, staring at me as she spoke. “Yeah, I know you said don’t call. I just had to say one thing, then I promise not to bother you again.”

  More talking. I didn’t want to hear her side of the call. My eyes were on him. My heart was in my stomach. My feet were ready to flee because shit like this meant that I mattered.

  “Okay okay. No, I’m sober, actually. Look. We made the most beautiful baby girl in the entire world. And I’m so sorry that I wasn’t strong enough for you to carry you through her loss. We had her for seven hundred and fifty-eight days. She had your eyes and my laugh and your father’s bad attitude. I loved her, Denise. I really fucking loved her. I always will. And I’ll always love you for giving me two of the best years of my entire life. She was the greatest gift I’ve ever received and the hardest loss I’ve ever endured. And I’m so sorry I wasn’t the man you needed. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. But I loved you. I loved our family. And I hope you can find happiness one day.”

  His entire speech, he stared at me. Blue eyes filled with unshed tears were locked on my trembling lips. She was speaking on the other end, but I wasn’t sure he heard her. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for letting me speak my piece. I know you didn’t have to listen to it.”

  He hung up, and I swallowed the bile in my throat before standing up to grab my purse. “A deal’s a deal, Octavia,” he said.

  “I know. I just need more supplies,” I said with a shrug. The canvas seemed too small for what I had in mind. I needed the world. “I need some spray paint,” I added.

  And damn. Noah’s smile would have made for the perfect portrait.

  I couldn’t decide what I wanted to paint. At first, I thought I’d be predictable and draw William’s portrait, the one that should have been the one plastered all over the news the day he died.

  But then, I decided that picture was mine, that memory was mine. So I decided to draw a portrait of the president of the university being spit roasted by Samuel and Young. President Robinson was a dignified man. When he showed up to William’s funeral, he said all the right things, wore a finely pressed suit, and hugged my mother, politely ignoring how high she was at her own son’s funeral. It took a while. Noah silently kept watch, choking on his own spit once he realized what I was painting. “You sure this is what you want to paint?”

  “Yep.” We were in a shadowed alcove, the perfect hiding spot. Not that I really wanted to hide. I wanted to be caught, actually. But we weren’t bothered, and I was left to paint in peace.

  I’d always lost myself in a painting, similar to how I’d lost myself in revenge, or in Young’s eyes, Samuel’s body, and Noah’s problems. It felt good to paint again. I felt the obsession taking over me, dragging me down into the depths of my perfectionism, making sure I got Young’s smirk just right and Samuel’s orgasm face as accurate as possible. President Robinson looked downright naughty, his pudgy stomach too big to see his dick, and he had puckered lips around Samuel’s cock.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said while stepping back and putting the last can of spray paint in a box.

  “It’s…” Noah began.

  “Graphic?” I interrupted. Noah was a champ all night, not interrupting my thoughts, asking questions, nor complaining that it was taking too long. I was thankful that he forced me to paint again.

  It was just a couple hours before sunrise when we left. I’d been told that there was a certain high people got when they broke the law. Their endorphins and adrenaline mixed up, swirling in their gut like a tornado. They got jittery and excited, fleeing the scene like it was a game.

  I’d never felt any of that. I think it was fun for people who feared getting caught. But I didn’t feel fear. I didn’t really feel anything at all. But if I could feel that so called high that gets everyone jacked up when they do something they’re not supposed to, Young—I mean, Nathaniel Motherfucking Youngblood—would have killed my buzz right then and there.

  Noah didn’t notice him at first, too caught up staring at me, probably analyzing what tonight meant and trying to figure out what symbolism I hid within the painting. But I did. I saw Young pressing a woman with dark hair into the brick wall. I saw him biting her neck. I saw her wrinkled hands wrapped around his cock, revving him up like he was a goddamn midlife crisis sports car. She had a big, fat wedding ring on, too.

  Now, I was an artist. It was my natural disposition to notice things. And within ten seconds of blatant staring, I could tell that Young was into it but didn’t want to be. His groans sounded like self-loathing, her whimpers like someone was strangling a pussy, the furry kind with claws.

  “Fuck,” Noah said while wrapping his hand around my wrist. He had the good sense to wait and see what I would do, but couldn’t help his need to hold me back.

  “Young?” I called out, my voice didn’t waiver or stop. I wanted him to feel the intensity in my tone. The woman opened her eyes from beneath the shadows to look at who was calling out to them
then scowled. It was too dark to see who she was.

  “Yeah, I see you too, bitch,” I replied. Noah’s grip on me tightened, and I watched as Young’s back went rigid. He removed her hand from around his dick, and since the opportunity had presented itself, I noted that he had a pretty good appendage. Thick and angled just right. And after tucking it in his pants, he turned to face me.

  “Don’t say anything. Go home, Octavia,” he warned before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The red lipstick she got on his face looked like blood in this lighting. His eyes were so dark and hooded that I couldn’t tell if he looked at me with arousal or anger.

  I laughed. “I guess a year is an appropriate amount of time,” I said with a shrug before looking at her. I wasn’t sure if it was the dark shadows that highlighted her wrinkles or if it was the deep-set frown she was wearing, but I realized that this woman was easily twice our age. She was pretty. But she didn’t age like Mrs. Mulberry. She aged like the weight of her worldly expectations was on her shoulders.

  “Who is she?” the woman asked with a snarl, making Nathaniel (he didn’t deserve the nickname) cringe. So he didn’t want her to know about me? Well then, why don’t I introduce myself?

  “Just a friend,” he quickly replied.

  “I’m the twin sister of the guy he used to fuck,” I answered for him. Something told me that their relationship was only physical, so I didn’t feel bad about outing him—not that I would have felt bad otherwise.

  “Shut the fuck up and get out of here. Now,” Nathaniel said, his voice like a growl. If I could feel fear or hope or anything other than anger, maybe my blood would have started pumping at that thinly veiled threat. But there was nothing he could have done that he hadn’t already. I didn’t fear Young.

  “Don’t get all pissy with me because I caught you with your dick out, Nathaniel. And with a married woman, no less,” I said while nodding in her direction. He flinched when I called him by his name. “By the way, nice equipment. I can see why William put up with your bullshit. That’s some grade A dick right there.”

  The woman simply adjusted her dress, and it was then that I realized that I recognized the plastic smile and firm eyes. It was the older woman bidding on him at the auction. Interesting. But...she looked familiar. Like I should know who she was. She had that proud posture of someone important...but who was she? The shadows and the way Nathaniel’s body covered hers made it hard for me to place her in my memory.

  “What are you even doing out here? Is that paint?” the woman asked. I saw through her attempt to distract me, but it wouldn’t work.

  “Yeah, I was vandalizing the art building. It turned out great. But if you want to fuck against that wall, I’d at least wait until the paint is dry.” Noah wrapped his arms around me and gave them an apologetic smile, but I was thankful that he didn’t try to explain my behavior or get me to stop talking. That was the good thing about Noah, he was loyal to a fault.

  “See you at home, Nathaniel,” I said while wiggling my fingers and turning down the street. I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t want to look at her. I wanted answers and anger. So it wasn’t until we were a block away that her shrill cries of outrage could be heard echoing off the university’s concrete streets.

  “Hey, Noah?” I asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for not stopping me,” I said. “Can we get a hotel?”

  “Yeah, Babe.”

  Chapter 11

  My phone kept ringing the next afternoon. Noah and I slept all day. There was no cuddling, no teasing sexual tension. We just slept. Hard and deep. I think he knew that if he tried, I’d gladly use him up like the delicious treat he was and forget all about my problems. But he wasn’t Samuel, he wasn’t some warm body that could take a beating. He was real. He knew my secrets, my fears, and my pain. He didn’t want a quick fuck, he wanted it to mean something.

  So when I finally answered and found Samuel on the other end of the line, my fingers twitched. I felt like an addict, needing just another hit, literally, on the ass. Open palmed slaps that drowned out how loud my thoughts were. “Where the hell are you?” he asked the moment I answered, his low, gravelly voice preparing my body already. Noah shifted in bed, slowly waking up but not fully aware yet.

  “Noah got us a hotel,” I said.

  “You use him like you used me?” Samuel asked. I detected a hint of jealousy in his voice but chalked it up to my inability to read people lately. I thought Nathaniel was a hopeless romantic, still in love with my brother. I thought Noah would always be stuck wishing he could have his family back and would never choose me. I thought Samuel just wanted to let me use him.

  “No. I actually care about him,” I said, knowing my words would cut him. I wasn’t a likeable person. I wasn’t looking to win anyone’s attention or favor. I wasn’t nice, not really. I told it like it was.

  Samuel went quiet for a moment. “Good. I don’t want you to care about me, because if the incredible sex we had was the result of not caring, then I’m prepared for you to downright hate me, Octavia.”

  Oh hate, my long lost friend. “I’m good at that.”

  “Good. Kiss your little lover goodbye then come here. I couldn’t stop thinking about your tight little cunt around my cock last night, and if I don’t get inside of you soon, I’ll have to find relief elsewhere,” he growled.

  “Threatening me with jealousy won’t work, you know. I’m not you,” I said. Samuel let out a groan, and I heard a door slam. “But you can keep saying how good it felt inside of me. That’s a real quick way to get me to cooperate.” Noah’s hand tightened around my stomach, I was wearing nothing but a bra and panties, the thin black lace easily see through. He was definitely awake now.

  “You like it when I talk dirty to you?” Samuel asked, his voice growing dark.

  Instead of answering him, I turned the phone on speaker and set it beside me, letting Noah hear all the dirty little things Samuel wanted to do to me. This could be very, very fun.

  I heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone on the phone line. “I want to take my tongue and run it along your clit,” Samuel said, his voice husky. At his words, Noah dipped his finger lower, drawing lazy circles around my nub with the pad of his finger. Fucking yes.

  “Then what?” I asked, my voice sounding more breathy than before.

  “Then I’d slide my fingers inside of you. God, you’re so wet for me,” he croaked. Noah plunged two fingers inside of me while stroking my clit. In and out he went while Samuel kept saying all the naughty ways he wanted to worship my body. “And those breasts. Damn, seeing my teeth marks on them, it made me so hot.”

  Noah used his free hand and pulled down the lace fabric, freeing one of my breasts before sucking on it, he moved teasingly slow, each touch echoing Samuel’s words. “Yeah? Damn, I’m so wet.”

  I shoved Noah off of me then straddled his hips, shifting my thong to the side with one finger before lowering myself. “I’d ride you,” I said with a moan. Clenching around Noah’s hard cock, I didn’t look down to see his face. I didn’t want to see love or adoration. I wanted to feel his cock and hear Samuel’s words and think of nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “Tell me what you’re doing right now,” Samuel asked.

  “I’m fucking Noah. Riding his cock while you tell me how good you’d give it to me,” I answered honestly. And to prove my point, Noah finally let out the groan he was holding in.

  “Fuck,” Noah said. My breasts were bouncing, our skin creating that glorious friction as we moved against one another. Up and down, up and down.

  “You’re killing me, Octavia,” Samuel said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. He didn't hang up though. Which meant he liked hearing me use them both. Pretty boy was dirty.

  “That’s why I came here, isn’t it?” I asked. “I came to ruin you all.”

  Noah apparently didn’t like that I wasn’t looking at him. See? This was why I couldn’t do this. He wanted real and
love and emotions. He wanted me to be as obsessed with him as he was with me. Bracing his hands on my hips, he gently pulled me off then maneuvered us so that he was on top of me, making it so that I had no choice but to look him in the eye.

  “I wasn’t planning on broadcasting this,” Noah said before taking both my wrists and holding them over my head, pressing me into the mattress. “But if you want to make what we have less than what it really is, then fine. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  He slammed into me with intensity. I heard the slick sounds of skin sliding along wet skin on the phone line. I pictured Samuel rubbing one out while Noah held me. The noises coming from my throat were husky and uncontrollable. “Yes,” Samuel moaned, forcing an orgasm to break through my barriers and shatter around me.

  Noah came next. Watching him come was hard. He didn't believe he deserved an ounce of pleasure. His orgasm was laced with remorse. And then I wanted to do things like hug him and tell him that he should live life to the fullest and own that shit.

  But it wasn’t fair to him.

  “Octavia?” Samuel said as Noah collapsed beside me. “Come over.”

  “Okay.”

  Noah didn't complain when I left. I wasn't exactly sure what I was expecting, but a kiss on the cheek as I told him goodbye definitely wasn't something I thought he was capable of. And what was worse was that I wasn't sure how that made me feel. I wasn’t too prideful to admit that I wanted a little jealousy.

  Samuel sent a car for me, an ostentatious thing that flattered and annoyed me. So I focused on how pretentious he was instead of how mad I was at Nathaniel. I decided last night that, until further notice, his name was Nathaniel. Young was a nickname for tortured men still in love with my brother. Nathaniel was just the name of an asshole who was too driven by his primal basic needs to think.

  I was looking forward to running into him, even hoping that Samuel and I would have a chance to rough up his bedroom once more while Nathaniel was home. But when I opened the door and saw Samuel sitting in his living room, the first thing he told me was, "He's not here. He never came home last night." It was like he knew my eyes immediately sought out Young—I mean Nathaniel or Blood or Asshole. Samuel stood and made his way over to me, just about the same time that I realized I never showered this morning. I really was putting no effort into this relationship. Once again, if I were self-aware, I would probably scold myself for being self-destructive. Samuel and I had a carnal attraction to one another; it was too dangerous to try anything more.