Page 56 of I Love to Hate You
“Stop it. I’m not sick of anything,” I respond. “I just want to get to know you, Maya. Yes, we clearly have real feelings for each other that neither of us have been good at expressing, but I recognize the feelings to be valid, so I won’t ignore them or push them to the side just because my life is hard. I don’t know what you have going on with your dad, but I know my home life isn’t a giant box of rainbows either. I’m from Strawberry Mansion. There’s drugs and criminals on the streets right outside my front door at all times. I used to be one of them, and I had a friend who was, too.
“I desperately wanted to be into what he was into, because I never thought that graduating from Temple U was a big deal as long as I still lived here and my mother needed help with her medical bills. So, after we graduated, I intended to join my friend Simon in selling drugs. But the night you and I finally acted on our feelings, Simon was shot to death outside of his house. When you called that night, I was in the waiting room of the ER, still hoping he would pull through, but he didn’t.
“I don't know if you remember, but my phone rang a couple of times that night we were together. It was my mom trying to contact me to let me know that Simon had been shot. After I dropped you off, I called her back and she told me everything. It absolutely destroyed me, and it took me a while to deal with it. That’s why I never called you back. I was broken. I’mstillbroken, but Simon always told me that I was the one who was supposed to make it out of here, so his death made me focus on doing the right thing, which is how I ended up at Bell Liberty.
“In a strange way, his tragedy put you and me in the same room and gave us a second chance at whatever this is between us. I’m rambling now, but my point is that having to deal with fucked up things doesn’t make you unlovable. It just means that there are damages that need repair, and I understand that need. I understand your damage, and it’s okay.”
Maya’s eyes water over, but she turns away before they can fall again, putting her head back and sniffing to keep her composure before looking at me.
“Wow,” she says. “I thought you were an asshole the whole time we were in college.”
“I’m still an asshole.”
“Maybe so, but you’re a special kind of asshole,” she quips, chuckling briefly. She lets out a sigh and looks down at the floor. “When I was thirteen, I got into my very first fight and got suspended. My mom had to come pick me up, and my dad was furious about it. While she was driving to come get me, she got into a really bad car accident and died. It fucked me up knowing she died while coming to get me, and it broke my father into a million unrecognizable, irrepairable pieces. He turned to drinking to self-medicate and has been a horrific shell of his former self ever since. He’s mean, rude, occasionally violent, and perpetually angry with me for what happened almost ten years ago. His rage never dissipates, and it reignites every time he sees me.”
“Maya, you can’t blame yourself for your mother’s death,” I say.
“I don’t have to. He does that enough for the both of us,” she says, pain coating every word. “It was nearly a decade ago, and I think I could probably move on if it wasn’t for him. He makes me relive it every day, and it’s really difficult to find sustained happiness in the face of his constant vitriol. He has been the only person I’ve loved for a long time, so his disdain for me isthe onlydisdain that can hurt me so much. I’m all over the place. Part defiant, part rebel, part submissive, part madness, part sadness. I’m a mess, and he has a lot to do with it.”
“Fucking parents, man,” I say in solidarity. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with that. You deserve the space and freedom to be able to heal from the trauma of your mother’s death so you can move on, if there is such a thing. Sometimes, I don’t think parents realize how much they can damage their children.
“I watched my dad put his hands on my mother far too often as a kid, then I watched him walk out on us shortly thereafter, and I think a part of the reason it took me so long to learn how to deal with my anger is because of him. Once I was old enough to start figuring it out, my mother was diagnosed with cancer and started undergoing treatment that costs an arm, leg, and half a fucking torso. It has been a constant grind for my entire life, and it all becomes so heavy that you feel like you’re the only one carrying shit around, and feeling like that makes you angry, which is why I ended up with the reputation I had at Temple U.”
Maya eyes me with a look of someone understanding something for the very first time before she glances at the floor, shaking her head. “Damn. I never realized how alike we are. Both of us are from bad neighborhoods with dark pasts and angry presents. The fact that we’ve made it this far is a miracle.”
“Now you sound like Simon,” I say.
I have to gulp down a lump in my throat as tears sting my eyes. To distract myself, I lift the towel again and wipe away more dried blood from Maya’s nose. She relaxes against the couch and allows me to clean her face completely, wiping away all of the blood and revealing the cuts on her face. I use the peroxide and alcohol on each one, taking my time to make sure everything is good to go and hoping she doesn’t bruise too much. She winces as I rub alcohol on the final cut, and I suck my teeth.
“Stop, you big baby,” I joke with a smirk.
She smiles and my smirk widens to show my teeth. “Just because we have nearly everything in common doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do,” she says.
We lock eyes, and there’s something different about it this time. I feel a connection with her that is brand new, and it’s so much deeper than anything sexual. Our cores are connected, and it feels like making eye contact with my soulmate. I’ve never believed in such a thing, but Maya makes the idea seem like reality.
They say you know when you’ve met the one, and I’ve never believed that either. However, Maya’s eyes cast a spell and trap me in a trance with no exit. It’s one thing to think someone is physically beautiful, but it's completely different to know how beautiful they are on the inside while you marvel at their perfection on the outside. If there is such a thing as perfect, she is it.
I smile at Maya and she smiles back. There won’t be any hiding this thing between us now, and I don’t want to. Who gives a fuck if the people in the office know we’re together? All that matters to me is the smile on her face and the look in her hazel eyes when she looks at me. Whether she knows it or not, she is mine and I am hers.
“I think that’s exactly what it means,” I respond, before dropping the bloody towel and leaning in close to her. She follows my lead and meets me halfway, and fireworks detonate in my living room the second our mouths touch.
Thirty-Six
~ KENDRICK~
Everything starts slowly, because the last thing I want to do is press too hard and cause Maya any more pain than she’s already in. I know her head has to be killing her, her mouth is probably sore, and her body is surely in agony, but she leans against me, ignoring it all just to have her mouth on mine. The thought of her sacrifice makes me want her even more, but I don't want to hurt her, so I kiss her gently. Our lips barely press together as our tongues make love. My eyes close and I let myself get into the moment—a moment I’ve been dreaming about since we fucked in my car on graduation night. I’ve been waiting to touch her again, to feel her skin against mine, to be inside of her and feel her wetness coating my cock. I dreamt of it countless times, and now it’s finally happening and I can't let the moment go to waste or end without being properly appreciated.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask in a whisper, our mouths still so close that my lips brush against hers with every word.
“More than anything,” she replies as her hands find the straps on my tank top and pull me closer.
“But you're hurt,” I add, giving a final effort to being considerate and polite before the monster in me takes over and all I have to offer is aggressive passion and lustful dominance.
Maya doesn't even open her eyes. “Stop fucking talking,” she answers, before kissing me so deeply I know it must hurt. But if she doesn't care, neither will I. I’ll put all of my energy into caring for her aches and pains again, but only after I ruin her.
I let out a low growl as I reach out and grab Maya’s hips, pulling her on top of me as I sit on the floor with my back against the couch. She straddles me while we kiss, her hands cupping my face as the temperature in the room climbs with every passing second. My cock stiffens beneath her, and in no time at all, I’m as hard as steel. I make sure she can feel it by clutching her hips and forcing her to rock against me. I position my cock directly against her clit and force her to grind against it, our mouths still connected.
“Yeah, feel it,” I tell her. “You see how hard you make me?”
