Page 64 of I Love to Hate You
“Maya,” I answer.
Mom nods. “It’s a beautiful name. She must be something for you to mention that you like her in front of me. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you do that before.” I look into my mother’s eyes without speaking, and that’s clearly enough for her to be able to read my thoughts. “Thatserious, huh?”
Again, I don't even bother trying to front. “Yeah, she’s dope, Ma. She’s different.”
“I believe you,” she says. “That’s great. You’ve got a lot of amazing things happening for you right now, and you deserve them all. I won't ask too many questions or make you divulge too much before you're ready. I just want you to keep going, Kendrick. Keep going for what you want and don't let anything stand in your way, and don't do it for me or even for Simon’s memory. Do it for yourself. I’m already proud of you, and I can guarantee that Simon is, too. So, just keep going, baby. Okay?”
The memory of Simon sends tears to my eyes, but I still smile knowing that what I’m doing now is what he always wanted for me. Graduation, the internship at Bell Liberty, Maya—all of it is like my life trending in the right direction. I smile at my mother and reach across the table to tap her hand the same way she tapped mine.
“No stopping me now, Ma,” I tell her.
We finish our food with optimism in the air for the first time in far too long.
Maya
Forty
~ MAYA~
My eyes open slowly as I furrow my brow and bring my hand up to rub my temples. I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep after Kendrick left, but after everything I went through over the last day and a half, I shouldn’t be surprised. What a whirlwind the last twenty-four hours have been.
I roll over in bed and feel the sudden shock of body aches. My ribs are screaming from the kick planted there while I was on the ground in the Club Asylum parking lot. My head is now throbbing, which could be from being hit in the face multiple times, or it could also be from the fact that I’ve orgasmed twice since being beaten up. Hell, my headache might actually be from my senses of pain and pleasure being swapped so swiftly. To call my life a rollercoaster right now would be the world’s biggest understatement.
As much as I'm aching when I roll over and face the wall, the pain is dulled by the fact that Kendrick and I are together. Like, officially. After all of our hatred for each other, we somehow managed to swap that, too, and it turns out we actually don’t hate one another.
Now that we’re an item, it makes me question how I truly felt about him when we were in college. Even with all of the rumors floating around like unpoppable thought bubbles throughout the campus, I felt jarred by the sight of him in the cafeteria that day. I saw him pummel some poor kid for reasons I still don’t know, and it was like watching an evil god brutalize an innocent mortal—brutal, yes, but alsoa god. After that day, it was like he was always around, and even though his reputation and attitude were always negative, it did things to my stomach that I didn’t understand every time I saw him. Then, Amy entered the chat.
Maybe it was my dislike for Amy that made me hate Kendrick, too. Maybe it was the fact that I was dating Eddie at the time, who never had the gumption to be everything I wanted, and Kendrick seemed much better suited for the role, which annoyed me because he was with Amy instead. Trying to pinpoint where my indignation for him came from is like throwing darts at a target while blindfolded. I know where the target is, but I can’t aim with any accuracy, so why bother? All that matters now is that we’re together, and every time we touch, he hits the bullseye.
My head throbs again, making me uncomfortable in an instant, but also reminding me of what happened at the club last night. I can’t believe I got jumped by those two pricks. Luckily, Kendrick showed up and beat them both to a pulp. The man broke ten fingers for me. It’s such an insane thought that I have to think it over again to make sure I’m saying it right.
The man broke ten fingers for me.
That isn’t the kind of thing you do in self-defense. No, that type of cruelty can only be caused by a furious passion. Kendrick could have walked away once the guy was down, but he chose to act on the threat he made earlier in the night. The man touched me after being told not to, so Kendrick did what he said he would do, and maybe I’m a psychopath, but the thought of him doing that for me makes me want to call him up and climb on top of his naked body right now. I’ve never heard of anything like that before, and it has me calling all of my past relationships into question.
If your man won’t break eight fingers and two thumbs for you, is he even your man?
With a devilish smirk on my face, I turn over in bed, hoping that the change in position will reverse this headache. I keep one hand on my ribs and the other on my forehead as I flip over, and once I’m settled, I slide the hand on my head down to place it beneath the pillow. Thoughts of Kendrick take control of my mind as I envision him crouching down to torture my attacker before lifting me up and taking me back to his place. The things he does when we fuck make me weak in the knees even while I’m lying down, and instead of trying to go back to sleep, I think I’ll give him a call.
My eyes pop open in search of my phone, but instead of finding it, I find the silhouette of my father sitting on the bottom step, his blue eyes piercing through the darkness like a goddamn vampire.
“What the fuck?” I blurt out, my heart pounding from the fear of thinking he actually was a vampire. “Dad, what are you doing down here?”
My father, looking even worse off now than he did when I first saw him this morning, peers past shadows to glare at me without moving. “Just watching you sleep. Making sure mybeloveddaughter is okay after her night on the town with her new boyfriend. He seemsswell.”
My head groans as I sit up and frown. “Oh, my god. You’re staring at me in the dark because of Kendrick? Come on, man.”
“His name’s Kendrick?”
“Yes, which I told you when I introduced you two by name this morning, but I shouldn’t be surprised that you already forgot.”
“Don’t you sass me,” he says, his anger bristling and threatening to come to a boil. “It doesn’t matter what his name is. I don’t like him and neither should you.”
“Why is that, Dad? You were in his presence for a total of four seconds and you came to that conclusion while drunk at nine in the morning? Please.”
Dad grabs the handrail and stands up, wobbly on his feet. “Don’t you fucking lay in the bed I paid for and judge me. I have a say on who comes into my house, and that guy is never allowed back because he thinks he’s better than me.”
“What?”
