Page 5 of I Love to Hate You
“You don't know who Kendrick Kennedy is?”
“I mean, I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never met him.”
“Good,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief as she looks at the puddle of blood left behind by the kid being helped away. “Do yourself a favor and keep it that way. He’s not somebody you wanna know. Better yet, he’s not somebody you want knowing you.”
Kendrick
Five
~ KENDRICK~
“Are you dodging me?”
“No, of course not,” Justin Owens replies from the other end of the call. There’s something in his voice that I don't like, but I ignore it.
“I texted you twice last night and tried to call before I went to bed. No answer, Justin.”
He exhales, sparking a small flame in my belly that I hope he isn’t dumb enough to fan by keeping this act going.
“Well, I was in bed and didn’t see it,” he answers.
I frown as I lean my head back against the headrest in my car, my muscles becoming more tense with the passing seconds. “Then why didn't you text me back or call this morning? That makes me think you're dodging me.”
“I’m not dodging you, Kendrick. I just … I’m busy right now, okay? My plate is full getting ready for graduation and everything that comes after it, and I don't have time to do it. That’s it. I can’t do it.”
“You’re saying that as if I gave you some sort of an option,” I reply.
If he could see my face, he’d know how serious I am right now, and he’d correct course before he crashes into a fucking mountain.
“Well, people always have options, and I understand the choice I’m making,” Justin says, his words dripping with a newfound confidence that didn’t exist before this very moment. “I know you, and I know you won't like this, and I know what it could mean for me, but I don't care. I have to stand up for myself, and that’s what I’m doing. I don't mean any disrespect, but I’m not doing it. So I suggest you start studying while there’s still time.”
The silence on the phone is as loud as a jet engine. I could cuss. I could scream and slam my fist on the steering wheel to get Justin to understand the severity of his decision, but I can see that he has his mind made up. He has obviously thought a lot about it, and he’s standing on it now. Good for him.
“So, your decision is final?” I ask.
“Yes, Kendrick, it is,” he answers.
“And you're one hundred percent sure about that?”
“One hundred percent.”
I pause for a few seconds—enough time for he and I both to remember his choice.
“Okay,” I say, the word like a dull knife—it doesn't seem dangerous, but it can still stab you.
“Okay,” Justin says. “So, that’s it?”
“What choice do I have? You made your decision.”
“Right. So you're not gonna try to do anything to me the next time we see each other?”
“No, Justin, I’m not going to do anything to you. I understand your decision, and you're good.”
Another moment of silence for him to contemplate if I’m lying or not. Then, “Okay. Thanks, Kendrick. I’m sorry I couldn't help.”
“No need to be sorry. Don’t worry about it,” I say as lightheartedly as I can muster. “We’ll talk soon, okay? Later.”
“Okay. Later.”
