by Coralee June
"He probably went home with that old married woman last night," I said before running a hand through my hair.
"What did you just say?" Samuel asked. He placed both of his large hands on my shoulders, shaking me a bit until I looked him in the eye.
"Last night, I went up to Blackwood University to spray paint a picture of President Robinson being spit roasted by you and Nathaniel on the art building’s south facing wall," I said in a nonchalant tone while practically bouncing from giddy excitement on the inside. I watched Samuel's face for his expression. Shock. Amusement. Fear. Anger.
"And?" Samuel asked, skillfully avoiding what I did last night.
"And I caught him in the alley getting a handy from a woman with a giant rock on her ring finger. She was old enough to be my mother, and mean enough to be the devil," I said that last part with a little sass. I knew, of course, that she couldn't be the devil. I was the devil—and there was only room for one of us in hell, right?
"Fuck. Did you say anything?" Samuel let go of my shoulders and started pacing in his living room. And for the first time since last night, I started to wonder if there was more to this woman than just the wrinkles on her hands and the frown on her face. Oh, and the fact that she was fucking Nathaniel.
"Nothing more than my usual. I said hey, nice seeing you with a married woman. See you at home!" I explained with a clap. I made my way over to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, frowning when I saw nothing but orange juice and jelly.
"Shit. This is bad. You didn’t mention how you knew him, did you?" Samuel was freaking out. It was almost like he had the same sort of obsessive personality as I do. He was analyzing my conversation and trying to do damage control. Such the good little lawyer.
"I can't remember. I don't understand what the big deal is," I said before pulling the orange juice from the fridge and pouring myself a glass.
Samuel picked up his phone, ignoring me to send a text. I assumed that the message was for Nathaniel and decided to turn off my nonchalant personality and turn on the obsessive parts of me. The personality determined to find answers. If this woman had anything to do with William’s death, I was going to know it.
"Look, this lady? She's not someone you want to get mixed up with, okay?" I squinted my eyes at Samuel, looking him up and down. Nathaniel was the one with his dick in her hand, so why was he so afraid?
"What did she do to you?" I asked
Samuel thrust his hands through his hair before plopping down on the couch. He stared at the tile floor for a while. “You always stare off into the distance when you’re trying to figure out how to lie to me,” I mused. “You get this faraway look on your face, like you’re trying to decide what version of your lie is closest to the truth,” I said.
“I don’t lie to you, Octavia,” he whispered. We then sat in silence for a moment. I let him regurgitate his words. "Nathaniel and I have been friends for a long time, you know. Our parents were in the same circles, we attended the same private schools, went to the same vacations. So when we went to college, it was just another stepping stone in our friendship."
I made my way over to the couch and sat down beside him, I was not one to act on impulse or what I felt obligated to do. I thought the world had enough expectations on people, so giving into guilt and politeness was a waste of time. However, I found myself grabbing Samuel's hand to offer him what little comfort I could, regardless. It was an empty, half-hearted gesture, but out of the norm for me nevertheless.
"My dad…has always been extremely strict. And I wasn't doing so well my first semester here. Nathaniel helped me out, he did some papers for me. But it wasn't enough, I was going to flunk out. Failure has never been an option for me, Octavia. Never."
I didn't consider myself a particularly intuitive individual, but despite the way he belittled his father’s mean personality, I knew that Samuel had a really fucked up relationship with his father. His hand that I was holding was trembling, and he couldn't even look at me as he spoke. Those were the signs of someone who had fear. And even though I couldn't feel the emotion, I was able to recognize it.
"I had this test. A final exam. Nathaniel got a job working for one of the professors in that department. He went in late one night and stole the test for me, but he got caught," Samuel croaked out. "He's always been my best friend, you know? Always going above and beyond to take care of me—to take care of everyone. Unfortunately, the woman that caught him was the woman you saw last night."
"Are you telling me Young is fucking her to save both of your asses?" I asked. How long had this been going on?
"The night before William…" Samuel took a meaningful pause, questioning what he should say and deciding on an answer. "The night before William died, he saw them together. You want to blame Nathaniel? This mess wouldn’t even be happening if it weren’t for me.”
Chapter 12
I’d never been arrested before. I was always the one pleading with cops while Mom cried in her handcuffs. So when the police cruiser pulled up beside me as I walked back to Noah’s and my hotel twelve blocks away, I didn’t think anything of it. The only crime I was guilty of committing was thinking about murder. Oh. And vandalism. I was currently thinking about how I could strangle Samuel while I fucked him. Trick him into wrapping rope around his throat.
“Miss Wilson?” a police officer asked. I turned to stare blankly at him, a bit angry that he was ruining my current murderous train of thought.
“Yes?”
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to come with me,” he said in that authoritative voice I hated. I could’ve outrun him. His stomach pressed over his duty belt, and grey hair was scattered in his mustache. But instead of arguing or causing more problems for myself, I nodded. What was the worst that could happen?
Did you know that they don’t actually read you your rights? Every show I’ve ever watched, they start spouting about how you can keep quiet if you’d like when they put those tight as fuck cuffs around your wrists. I was almost disappointed when he just gently guided me into his cruiser and locked me up. I didn’t fight him, mostly because I was curious what this was about. Damn curiosity strikes again.
We rode to the 28th precinct. They didn’t book me in. They just stared at me as I silently followed after the officer that brought me there in a mindless haze. I felt curious eyes on me as we walked. “Sit here,” a gruff voice instructed after opening the door and gesturing towards a table.
“Kinky,” I said with a grin before brushing by the officer’s pudgy stomach and settling in the chair. The room was cold, ridiculously cold. It was a subtle discomfort, one that crept up on me the longer I sat there. It was making it hard to keep calm. The chair was also hard, causing my legs to tremble and the base of my spine to ache. There was no glass mirror in the small room like I’d expected. No two-way mirrors for them to observe me.
But the cool temperatures weren’t the worst part. It was the silence. It was so quiet that I wanted to scream. I would have gladly let someone yell at me if it meant I could just hear something other than my own breathing and idle chatter down the hall. I sat there for two hours with nothing but my thoughts chaining me to the desk. Samuel. Young. Noah. I thought about all the things we were chained to. All our vices.
William was chained to his depression, apparently. Samuel was chained to his image. Young was chained to a woman holding him by the balls. Noah was chained...to me?
We were all just a giant clusterfuck of epic proportions, and I couldn’t even bring myself to feel something other than blinding anger at it all. Samuel told me what caused William to…
No, I still believed that he didn’t do it—couldn’t have done it. No matter what happened, a promise was a promise. We were blood. I knew him, didn’t I? I knew him better than anyone else. William Wilson didn’t fucking kill himself.
“Miss Wilson?” I looked up, and for the first time since painting that lovely portrait of President Robinson, I smiled. There he was, president of the most
prestigious university in the country, in the flesh. His face was flushing, like he was angry but trying to hide it. I knew my little stunt would get his attention, but I had no idea that he would go to such lengths to reprimand me. Guess having such a prestigious position of authority made you a bit egocentric. Couldn’t have anyone thinking less of him.
“Thank you for coming so willingly,” he said before nodding to the officer behind him and sitting down at the table across from me. I almost snorted at that. Willingly? Did I really have a choice? He was wearing a black suit, too tight to cover his body.
It made me think back on when I was studying vocabulary words for my SATs, back when I was too scared to tell Mom and Liam that I wanted to go to the Art Institute in Los Angeles. One of the flashcarded words was proboscis. It was mostly used in zoos but could be a pretty pretentious way of saying motherfucking large nose.
And Dr. Robinson had a proboscis only a mother could fucking love. It was red, swollen, lumpy and took up half of his face. I needed an entire wall to paint it because canvas simply wasn’t big enough. “I’m not really sure I had a choice,” I said. “Did you like my painting?” I asked, gauging his reaction. As expected, his already red face turned a brighter shade, and to taper down the fury he was feeling, he unclasped and clasped his expensive watch before looking at me.
“I’m more a fan of the classics, Miss Wilson. Though your medium was quite impressive. I thought surely the texture of the brick would limit you, but the expressions you captured were...vivid,” he said. Spoken like a true academic elitist.
I snorted, the sound like a jackhammer. “Is that why I’m here? Am I being charged with vandalism?” My voice sounded a little too giddy, and I had to rein it in. Jail could be fun.
“Why are you here, Miss Wilson? As in New York? I was quite surprised to hear that you were at the Pike auction which, by the way, I heard that you ran away before paying,” he said while cocking his head to the side. His brown eyes were clouded as he leaned back in his seat. Mr. Robinson was a mouth breather.
“I’m here for a few reasons,” I explained.
“Enlighten me.”
“William didn’t kill himself,” I answered. “Blackwood University shoved his death under the rug. You were very quick to make him a distant memory.”
“Can you blame us? It was very bad publicity,” Mr. Robinson said with a shrug. “Parents don’t want to send their sons and daughters away to a place where nice young men die of overdoses. It was sad, yes. But I was eager to get past that little blip in the public’s eye.”
Any normal person would have been offended about his crass wording, but not me. I appreciated the brutal honesty. The validation that William’s death meant nothing to these people just bolstered my resolve for revenge. “He was unstable,” President Robinson continued. “It was unfortunate what happened to your brother, but coming here won’t bring him back.”
“I’m not looking to bring him back. I’m looking for answers,” I barked out, the anger within me bubbling to the surface. Something about this entire meeting had me wondering what all President Robinson knew about my brother. Was he also covering it up?
President Robinson stood up and started circling the desk, an intimidation attempt dulled by his heaving breaths and sweaty palms. “Are you unwell? I called your parents today. They seemed unaware that you had left California. We’re all very concerned, Miss Wilson.”
Threat received. Still didn’t make a difference.
“I’m not really required to keep them updated on my whereabouts.”
“Your mother explained to me your troubling mental health history, Miss Wilson. She’s concerned that she needs to work on getting some kind of control...to help you.”
Mr. Robinson went to sit down, eyeing me with scrutiny before pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his sweaty forehead. “I’ve decided not to press charges, considering the turmoil your family has gone through. However, I must protect my students, faculty, and staff from your current instability and manic behavior. So, effective immediately, you are hereby banned from campus, Miss Wilson. If we see you there, you’ll be arrested,” he says, spit forming in the corner of his mouth.
I shrugged, infuriating him. He was used to threatening people and having them listen. I didn’t fit the mold. “Okay,” I said.
“And call your parents. We wouldn’t want you going down the same path as William. There are places that can help you, Octavia. Places I’m sure your parents would have no problem getting you into.”
Fucking diddle dick. I bet he rubbed one out in his office at the university, coming over his desk and feeling like a god. Was this how he controlled everyone? Was this how he got what he wanted? “Yep. Wouldn’t want to be murdered,” I said.
“Careful, Miss Wilson,” he said while standing and attempting to straighten his wrinkled suit. “Spreading lies about my school is grounds for defamation.”
I stood up too, following him to the door. I wasn’t one to lie. I was addicted to truth. My truth, the truth of my brother’s murder, and lately Young’s truth, too. So I wasn’t sure what possessed me to lie, but I blurted out the false statement before I could stop myself.
“Oh. I have the proof,” I said with a wink. Mr. Robinson’s eyes went wide, the tale-tell sign that there was something which gave him reason to fear. Bingo. Intuitive artist for the win. I was on to you, President Robinson.
“What good is proof if no one believes it?”
“What good is a lie if it can be proven wrong?”
“You’re free to go, Miss Wilson. Be careful,” he said with a sigh, and for some reason, I got the sense that we were both leaving this meeting thinking that we’d won.
In the hallway, I headed to collect my belongings, lingering to listen in as President Robinson shook one of the sergeants’ hands and said, “I’m so looking forward to seeing your son at Blackwood next year. Such promising talent.”
So he had the police in his pocket, too?
Once I had my phone back, I saw that I had eight missed calls from Noah, three from Samuel, and one text from Nathaniel.
Ignoring the calls, I clicked my texts and read it.
Meet me at the cafe.
Pocketing my phone, I started walking towards William’s favorite cafe. Where they sold bitter coffee and broken dreams.
Chapter 13
I didn't know how to feel about my meeting at the police station. President Robinson was obviously trying to threaten me, and I couldn't care less. But something about the way he mentioned my past and my mother had me reeling. I’m not limited by the diagnoses a shitty doctor gave me as an adolescent, and certainly my mother didn’t care enough to interfere in my adult life. Not unless…
Not unless I was putting her life with Liam in jeopardy.
And as if conjured up by thought alone, my phone started ringing in my pocket. I pulled it out, and unsurprisingly, my mother’s name was on the caller id. "Octavia?" she asked as soon as I answered, not even giving me the chance to say hello. Her voice was that shrill tone that made people want to throw up. She’d also given up on her Southern roots and tried to have a sophisticated air to her voice. The syllables lingered just a little too long to sound authentic, and she liked to use big words that she didn't know the meaning of.
"I am simply appalled that the President of Blackwood University called me," she said in a melodramatic tone.
"It's nice to hear from you, too," I replied. A cough in the background let me know that Liam was listening close by. I pictured them in their posh living room, both hunched over the phone and mouthing to each other what to say next.
"Why on earth are you in New York? We are paying tuition for the Art Institute." I couldn't help but smile, I dropped out of the Art Institute months ago. While I took the time to sort myself out and move here, I didn’t bother to tell my mom that I was done with school. It was the sort of impulsive decision she would have frowned upon. Their tuition checks were now being sent to a nonpr
ofit organization that helped rescue animals. Figured Mom could give back. I was sure by now they set up a wing in her honor.
"Well, I heard it was pretty out here. Liam always talked about how wonderful Blackwood University was. I thought I'd go visit the place that killed my brother," I said with a smirk. I was walking down the street, barreling past pedestrians and shops. The weather was nice, thanks to the looming summer.
Naturally, my mother went silent for a good minute before she spoke. "Octavia, I'm concerned for you. President Robinson says that you've been up to no good. It's simply essential that you come home. Have you been taking your medicine?"
That was the thing about my mother. Any little problem, and her first response was to pop some pills to make it all better. When I was a little girl, she thought I was supposed to take medicine to dull my extreme emotional outbursts. And now that I was an adult, she wanted me to take medicine that would make me feel again. Nothing was good enough for her.
"Sorry, Mom," I began with a smile. She opened herself up for this insult, really. "Unlike you, I don't pop pills every day." I imagined the shocked look on her face, and smiled. Her thin lips were probably drawn into a line of disapproval.
"Octavia, I think it's time you come home," Liam said. I sincerely hated his voice, it was assuming and aggressive. The low growl in his tone made everyone else in our family bend over backwards to appease him, but not me. He thought he could boss me around?
