Page 58 of Little Paper Games
“Yes, all right? Judge me all you want, but yes. It’s so complicated.” I felt the guilt and the turmoil and the sadness all converging into one emotion within me.
“Kenna. You know I love you, right?”
“Of course, I do, Janie, but —”
“But nothing. I love you. I will never judge you. But I do need to dish out some tough love here. You know it’s okay, right? That it’s okay that you fucked Jude Lincoln?” I felt everything inside me turn away from the genuine kindness in her voice.
“It’s anythingbutokay, Janie, and you know it. You know why I shouldn’t have; why I can’t ever again.”
“Kenna. I love you, but you have to move on from that. It’s been years,” she urged. I wiped furiously at the tears starting to stream down my face.
“No, Janie. I can’t forgive that. Not that.” I was resolute in my decision. “Listen, I should go.”
“Kenna, don’t be like that. Come on, talk to me!” she pleaded.
“We’ll talk later, ‘kay? Love you.” With that, I hung up the phone. I didn’t want to hear how I should get over it. I didn’t want to listen to the things she was saying. Me and Jude? Never. Not in a million years. I would never forgive what had happened.
I laid there in bed for who knows how long, letting the frustration and anger wage war within me. I had no idea what to do. I knew what I wanted to do. Sort of. I wanted to throttle Jude. I wanted to kiss Jude. I wanted him to fuck me until I forgot everything. Just for a moment. Just like he had done time and time again these last weeks. Why couldn’t he stop being nice to me and just play the game. The game made sense. No strings attached. No possibilities for feeling, right?
I picked up my phone, just to play a game or something to kill the loneliness, and saw I had thirty missed calls from Jude and twice as many missed texts. Were you fucking kidding me? The audacity of that man.
I stormed my way back down the stairs and to the stupid adjoining door we shared, where there was knocking again.
“What do you want, Lincoln?” I huffed in tired torment.
“I want you to open this door, Kenna. Or at least answer your phone and talk to me.” He voiced through the closed door. His voice carried a tiny bit of relief, apparently at the fact that I had answered him finally.
“Who calls thirty times and leaves sixty text messages? Take the hint, Lincoln. I don’t want to talk,” I insisted.
“Just unlock the stupid door and listen then,” he urged.
“Fine.” He wanted to talk? Then we would fucking talk. I threw open the door, crossing my arms again and glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
“I see teenage Kenna is in the building today,” he deadpanned, waltzing into my home like he fucking owned the place. He’d been doing it for weeks. Hell, I’d been doing the same. But it wasn’t the same now. Now, I was mad at him again. Now, I had remembered why all of this was a bad idea.
“Are you ready to talk to me?” he asked, sitting on the couch.
“Fine, I will talk to you. But we will only discuss the game,” I proposed, sitting in the old chair beside the sofa, arms still crossed.
“Kenna, I’m being serious.”
“As am I. Deadly serious. We made an agreement, Lincoln. Just the game. No feelings. No emotions.” I tried to deepen my scowl without looking like an idiot. I wanted him to know how serious I was.
“What are you talking about? Are you talking about the other day? With your dad? Kenna, those aren’t feelings-feelings. We grew up essentially in the same freaking house. That was both of us sharing space to worry and grieve without getting so depressed and alone that we have thoughts even worse than loneliness and depression. That was just friendship!” he stood, his hands gesturing wildly.
“Exactly. But we aren’t friends, Jude. Never have been. Never will be.”
“Why are you so adamantly against us growing at all as individuals? We don’t have to be enemies. We can be civil. We can be friends, dammit!” He was getting agitated. I didn’t care.
“No, we can’t. We can never be friends,” I gritted out.
“Why the hell not?!” His arms and hand shook at me, in the space between us like he wanted to ring my neck.
Ring! Ring!
The sound of my phone broke our heated argument I saw my mother’s name flash across the banner on my phone.
“It’s my mom,” I whispered, feeling my stomach drop.
