Page 54 of I Love to Hate You
Thirty-Four
~ KENDRICK~
There’s something off about Maya. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something is definitely amiss, because from the moment I saw her for the first time tonight, I could tell that her face showed signs of crying. She didn't have the glow she usually does that makes my knees weak for her. Instead, it was replaced by a sadness that she tried to hide but couldn't, and it only became more obvious when she had the encounter at the bar with that drunk piece of shit. Her usual fire was gone, and while I gladly burned for her, it was clear that she was smoldering, her flame doused by something external before she ever arrived at the club tonight.
Maya and I have something deeper than our supposed dislike for one another. I know she has a reason to be upset with me. After we hooked up a little over two months ago, she called and tried to pursue something serious, but I wasn’t in a good place that day. I honestly haven't been in the best place since then, but seeing her in the conference room on my first day as an intern for Bell Liberty felt like an ice pack on a scorching hot day. There was something about seeing her that soothed me, and while it certainly didn't make me forget everything I’ve been through over the past couple months, her presence has felt like the beginning of healing. She calms my nerves and takes some of the pain away, and if she can do that for me, I’ll be damned if I don't find out what’s bothering her and do the exact same for her.
As I wash my hands in the sink, I keep picturing her face. I see her seated at the table in VIP asking for shots between sips of her cocktail, and it’s not hard for me to recognize someone trying to drink the pain away. She's desperate for a good time to celebrate our accomplishment from earlier today, but without the alcohol to loosen her up, she’ll be stuck in mud. I understand better than anybody that life can throw daggers at you from all directions, and dodging those motherfuckers can be impossible sometimes, but I can be her shield. I knew I was a goner the moment I saw her on day one, but the kiss today sealed the deal. I’m officially stuck now, and there’s no going back.
Maya is the first woman I’ve ever met that feeds the hunger inside of me. My entire life, I’ve been able to intimidate people without even trying. Honestly, it hasn't been as much fun as people would think it to be. I don't like how people just give in to me all the time, running out of the way when I walk by, halting their laughter if they think I’m unamused by something they’ve said. I know I haven't helped matters by unloading on people when my private life became a burden too heavy to carry, but Maya’s defiance is like the drug I didn't know I was addicted to. I love how unafraid she is, and how willing she is to just be herself and let me be myself. I feel safe with her, and that’s a big deal to someone who is always seen as everyone else’s protector. It’s the kind of thing you don't let go of once you find it because of how impossibly rare it is. So as the dust continues to settle over the fallout of my life, I want Maya to be my safety net and I want to become hers, and I’m ready to learn more about who she is on the inside.
I finish washing my hands and grab a paper towel to dry them off before stepping out of the bathroom and back into the thick cloud of thunderous music and flashing lights. I move quickly through the crowds of bodies packed tightly together, ignoring the staring eyes of both men and women who like what they see, because when I get back to my table, I intend to let Maya know that I’m all about her now. I’m here for her.
Chad sits with his back to the balcony as I approach, with Sam, Erica, and Derek all looking down at their phones while swaying to the music. They seem to be laughing at something on their phones, but I’m anything but amused when I realize Maya isn’t there to join in on the fun.
“Hey,” I say when I reach the table. “Where’s Maya?”
They look at each other like they have no idea where she went before Sam speaks up. “Oh, she said she was running to her car to grab her phone.”
“What?” I bark. “Y’all let her go by herself?”
“Yeah,” Sam says, almost sounding defensive. “I mean, she is a grown woman after all.”
“Goddamn it,” I blare, spinning around and quickly making my way toward the stairs. Samantha says something as I’m leaving, but I don't give her time to finish, because my feet carry me down the steps and through the crowd before I have a chance to collect my thoughts. Just before I reach the exit, I glance over my shoulder at the bar, and my heart drops when I realize the men from earlier are no longer there.
“Excuse me,” I bark, pushing my way toward the exit. Some man tries to put a stamp on my hand so I can be let back in, but I push him out of the way. “Fucking move.”
When I get outside, the crisp air hits me in the face but does nothing to calm my panic. With my heart pounding, I run past the line of people still trying to get in and sprint across the street to the massive parking lot. I don't know where Maya parked, and it could take forever to find her with so many rows of vehicles packed so tightly, so I stop and try to listen for any sounds.
At first, I don't hear anything, but then the sound of bodies shuffling mixed with the pain-filled whimpers of a woman hit my ears like a whisper in the dark. Without thinking, I turn on my heel and take off sprinting past rows in a flash until I come to the back corner of the lot and find a horrific scene. Maya is on the ground, and the two men from the bar are standing above her as she tries to crawl away, her bleeding face stricken with fear and pain that wrenches my gut and sends my mind into a roaring rage.
I close the gap between us without even realizing I’m moving as my body goes into autopilot and runs at top speed. I don't snap back into reality until my body collides with one of the men and the two of us go careening into the door of an SUV, putting a massive dent into it.
“Fuck,” the second man shouts as he comes running over, but I’m back on my feet in a millisecond and he stops in his tracks. “Came to be the savior, huh? She disrespected us, bro. This is what happens.”
Fury erupts in my stomach at a level completely unknown to me as I glance down at Maya and see she’s no longer moving. Blood is smeared across the pavement in multiple places, and I have no idea what they’ve done to her. She could be dead for all I know, and the thought hits closer to home than anyone realizes. Pain ignites rage in my mind, and all sense of control and composure go flying out the window at a blistering speed.
“Nah,” I say, adjusting my feet. “I’m about to disrespect you, andthisis what happens.”
I take off so fast I’m surprised the pavement doesn't crumble beneath my feet as I run toward Maya’s attacker. He puts his hands up in self defense, but it does nothing to protect him as I jump in the air and come down with a vicious punch to his face. He stumbles back, struggling to keep his balance, and I use my momentum to dive forward, crashing my shoulder into his chest and wrapping my arms around his waist, before lifting him in the air and slamming him down on the hood of a car. He tries to kick me away, but I dodge his foot and land another punch to the side of his face that bounces his head off the metal hood.
As I reach back for another punch, I’m tackled from behind. The first guy—the one who pushed Maya at the bar—knocks me to the ground and begins punching me in the back of the head as his friend drops from the hood and runs over to join in. I’m kicked in the ribs twice and punched in the face multiple times before I’m able to blindly reach out and get a hold of someone’s foot. I don't know whose it is and I don't care. I yank it toward me until a body comes close enough for me to grab, and I use the leverage to lift myself off the ground and kick downward, my foot connecting with a knee cap and causing a crack that sends one of the men crumbling down in agony.
“Fuck,” the first man at the bar screams, clutching his knee with both hands, and even in the low light of the parking lot, I can tell that his kneecap is not where it’s supposed to be.
“Motherfucker,” the second guy shouts, lunging toward me, but he’s too slow. I weave to my left and duck below his punch, before coming up with an uppercut that connects with his chin, knocking him backward. He stumbles back two steps as I advance two of my own and throw a haymaker that connects with the sweet spot of his jaw. He collapses on top of himself, out cold.
Breathing heavily, I turn to the first man, who’s writhing on the ground in pain, groaning as sweat pours from his face, mixing with Maya’s blood on the ground. I lift my foot and stomp on his knee, and just as he shrieks, I punch him in the face, knocking him flat on his back.
I’ve always told people that I grew up idolizing Solomon King. It’s not uncommon for people stuck in bad situations to revere criminals who do bad things to make it out of their fucked up life, and I was no exception. I thought everything Solomon King did was amazing. I smiled when I heard stories about bank robberies and how he tortured people who wronged him. I wanted to be like him, and I didn't care if people didn't understand that. As I grew up, I realized that most of what Solomon did was horrific, but I understood his reasoning. He would understand mine now.
I step forward and stand over the man from the bar who started all of this. He looks up at the sky with a dazed gaze, and I remember the moment he put his hand on Maya’s waist and pushed her back into his friend. I feel no sympathy for him as I crouch down, my own blood dripping from my head and landing on his cheek.
“I told you,” I say, as I reach down and grab his left wrist. He tries to pull it away, but his energy has been beaten out of him, and I tuck his wrist under my arm to give me access to his hand. “I said if you ever touched her again, I would break every finger you own, and like the pussy you are, you waited until she was alone and did it again anyway. I fucking told you, but you didn’t listen. Fine.”
Starting with his pinky, I grip each of the unnamed man’s fingers and twist them in a circle before popping them to the side at the knuckle. He screams with each snap, and by the time I reach his thumb, he passes out from the pain. I drop his left hand and do the exact same thing to the right. When I’m finished, each of his fingers is shaped like an uppercase L.
It’s not exactly self defense, but it’s a worthy punishment for touching Maya.
