Page 72 of Little Paper Games
“Because we didn’t think it would get back to you. Jesus, I can’t believe that stupid cunt talked,” Christian spat out. I saw red.
“You both will pay for this. I swear it on my fucking life,” I spat out.
“Jude—”
“Hey, man, don’t —”
I hung up the phone abruptly, feeling like I’d just run a marathon. I couldn’t even look at Kenna. Why did she —? Why didn’t she say —? A million unfinished questions plagued my mind. Each of them feeling more difficult to express than the last.
“You didn’t know,” she whispered from the table. I don’t know when she’d sat back down.
“I didn’t know,” I agreed, quietly. “If you thought that, then… then why did you do this?” I asked, gesturing to the mason jar on the table. She released a heavy, heavy sigh and paused before answering.
“Honestly, it felt good, and part of me enjoyed the thought of using you,” she finally admitted. I simply nodded my head. I could understand that. But what I’d been feeling for her was much more.
“You really haven’t felt anything? In everything we’ve done? In what happened last night?” I almost whined. How could she not feel it?
“I don’t know, Jude. I just don’t know anymore,” she sighed. I could feel the frustration coming off of her in waves.
“All I know, is that I want you. I want to figure out what this is,” I admitted with every ounce of honesty I possessed.
“I don’t know what this is, Jude,” she admitted, finally looking over to me as I sat next to her at the table.
“I don’t either. But I know it’s more than some little paper game,” I joked, shaking the mason jar with the little piece of paper in it.
Her hand reached out to mine, and the tiny bit of a hopeful smile on her face warmed me. I didn’t know much right now. I had a lot to process, but I knew that I needed her back in my arms in this moment. If at all possible.
“Come back to bed with me?” I hesitantly offered. She took my hand in hers and we made our way back upstairs. Back to where things made a little more sense. At least for now.
Chapter 21
KENNA
Iwoke up slowly, the sun streaming in through my bedroom window. We’d started over at Jude’s house yesterday, but had made our way back here by the end of the night. I snuggled deeper into the pillows, scooting closer. My eyes popped open wide, and I knew.
He was gone.
My hand reached out to the other side of my bed, finding the spot not only empty, but cold. I had known it was probably coming, but somehow it still stung. I wasn’t even sure of how I felt about it, whether I wanted him to stay or leave. Now, with the cold side of the bed, I felt my chest tighten in loss.
I was emotionally a giant wreck after the upheaval of trauma and information yesterday revolving around sophomore year; however, this morning I felt like a weight had been lifted. I didn’t have to carry around that same burden anymore. Yes, it still happened, but I had been dealing with that aspect for years. What had slayed me was that Jude was involved; that he was the ringleader. I hadn’t understood why a boy who I grew up with would have such a deep-seated hatred of me. Now I knew he didn’t, and now he was gone.
I lay there in bed for a little while, not ready to face reality. Maybe I had been too harsh. We’d fought on and off throughout the day yesterday, after everything had happened. I knew he wasn’t involved, but I was struggling to let go of the pent-up anger towards him. At the end of it, by the time he took me to my own bed last night and made love to me, I thought we had worked through it. Or at least enough to be on equal footing again.
He’d been amazing last night. When we returned to my place, he’d taken me to the bathroom, of all places. He stood me in front of the mirror, directly in front of him, and undressed me. He touched me, pointing out each part of me he found beautiful. I felt more seen in that moment than I ever had before. He had seen me break. He had seen me at my worst. I’d been my worst self to him directly, and still he stood here, showing me all the beauty I possessed. There was something here. I still wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it was something. Just as he had said it was.
After a while, I made my way down to the adjoining door.
I knocked.
I knocked again.
Not even a shifting of feet could be heard.
He was gone.
I was to blame.
Days turned into weeks and weeks turned quickly into a month with no sign from Jude. The first days were hard. I called, I texted, and still no word from him. I hesitated to involve our parents, but I honestly hadn’t heard a peep from his side of the duplex, and I was worried. I called Sarah, who immediately quieted her tone and explained that he was fine, but that he needed some space. She asked me what had happened, but I wasn’t able to articulate anything more than a quiet “Nothing, thanks,” before hanging up.
