Chapter 36
Theo O'Keefe
Jamal has me pinned to the floor with my arms over my head, and I’m about to chirp at him, but his intense stare stops me. It’s as if he’s trying to see into my soul, and my palms get sweaty thinking about whether he likes what he sees. I turn my head to the side.
This day has flown by, and the sky’s dark outside. But this moment lasts for hours.
I feel his smile as he nuzzles my ear. “I”—his fingers on my chin bring my face to his—“love”—my sweat goes cold, and my head shakes as he nips my other ear, whispering—“you.”
My heart hammers in my ears, and a sense of dread paralyzes me.
“Hey.” Jamal kisses my lips. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back.” He keeps me pinned when I try to get up. “But I thought you should know.”
It’s going to kill me when he leaves me. “You can’t,” I choke out, and try to dump him off me by twisting my torso since he won’t let go of my wrists.
“It’s okay,” he repeats calmly, as if I won’t die in the next few minutes if I can’t get away.
“No, let me go.” I thrash, and he pushes me harder into the floor.
He can’t love me. It will ruin everything.
I shut my eyes so I don’t see the hurt on his face. Jamal thinks he loves me, and I told him he can’t. The worst way to respond in the history of responses, but accurate.
“I’m not letting you go,” he says, as I continue to fight him.
“Why?” I ask in a cross between a whine and an accusation.
“Because I love you, and even if you’re not ready to hear it, it’s true.”
“I want to believe you so badly.” I settle for the truth and sneak a peek at his face. Shockingly, he seems more confused than angry.
“Tell me why it’s hard, Kitten,” he says against my lips.
“You know why. I’m broken. Not even my mother loves me.” I choke on the words.
“You’re not broken. I feel sorry for your mom. She’s missing out on a lovable son.” His soft, full lips press mine. “What are you feeling right now?”
“You’re not my therapist,” I say, meeting his determined gaze. “Mad,” I admit.
Jamal’s head tilts to the side. “Are you, tho?”
“Listen, I’m fucked up, okay. I’m sorry. You’re kind and self-aware and way too good for me, and it’s going to end with you hating me.” The truth spills out before I can stop it.
“Do you want me to hate you?” he asks evenly.
“Of course not,” I yell. “I mean, why would I?” I ask softly.
“Then it would be my fault.” His eyes glow with understanding.
“That’s not… No…no one has ever…ugh… I’m not arguing with you about this.” I watch his face, but his expression doesn’t change.
“How about you don’t tell me how to feel, and I won’t argue with you. Fair?” His gentle tone cuts me deeper than his anger would.
“None of this is fair.” I give up and go still under him.
“Hundred percent. If you could make it fair, how would you do that?” Jamal lets go of one of my wrists to tangle his fingers in my hair.
My brain does a scratch stop, and answering that question isn’t possible. I shrug, and he smiles down at me.
“In your version of a fair life, do I love you?” His fingers massage my scalp, and I nod, too afraid to say it out loud. “For how long?”
I turn my head and see dust between the nearby chair and wall. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I think we want the same thing. To be allowed to love each other in public and private. It’s part of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, but we live in a world where that’s threatened.”
I shift to remove the bony part of his ribs from my gut. “But I’m messed up and you’re not,” I huff. The fucker has the audacity to laugh at me.
“Do you know how many hours I’ve spent in therapy? My therapist could buy a mansion or send her kid to an Ivy from my fees alone.” He thunks my forehead.
“I’ve never been. We aren’t allowed to talk about our problems. We, as in the King family, have a perfect life even though I’m not a King.”
“Not after your dad died?” His face morphs into shock. “I’m sorry your family was so selfish.”
“It never occurred to me that I might need it,” I admit. Growing up, therapy was for crazy people.
“It’s never too late.” He tugs my hair with a pensive look. “Last night you asked me if you’re broken. If you were talking about liking breath play, you are not alone. Google it, and you’ll see millions of people like it and do it. But it seems like something more?”
He’s so sincere and concerned, I can’t tell him no one has ever loved me back. The most basic thing—I don’t understand it.
My eyes sting, lacking the words to make him stay.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.
“Not yet,” I add. The third hockey game of the day ends and rolls right into another one.
“We could argue, or we could make better use of our time, and I can show you how much I love you.”
The front door opens, and we hear Kenya yell, “I’m home.”
“We’re in the parlor, dressed but having a discussion,” Jamal calls back.
“Parlor?” I question as we listen to the sound of her heels coming down the hall.
“It’s what they called this room back in the old days, and we still use the term.” He doesn’t say more because Kenya’s heels have stopped.
“Jamal,” she scolds.
“We’re fine, Mom. Can you give us a few minutes?”
“Fine, huh? Must be some discussion. Theo, dear, just yell if you need me to take him out.” She waits a minute and leaves after we’re both silent.
“Thanks,” Jamal says to me instead of his mom. I must seem confused because he adds, “She would knock me upside the head so hard.”
My mouth falls open. “She’s your mom.”
“You don’t think she’d slap me if I was hurting you? You don’t know Kenya Thomas. She don’t play with people being dumbasses.” He slides off to lie pressed against me.
“But she loves you.” I can’t wrap my head around her sincere offer to help me.
“Yeah, but she’s not raising an asshole, and if I act out, she’ll let me know.” As if he can sense I’m spiraling, he throws his leg over mine.
It hits me that my mom would only defend me to protect her image, not because she cares about me. I’m a reflection of her, so if I do something wrong, it’s someone else’s fault. Jamal’s family cares about people. My family cares about respect.
“Maybe I want people to like me too,” I blurt out. I don’t want to be anything like my family.
“When people know you like I do, they will love you.” He drags his finger over my scrunched brow, trying to smooth it out.
I could easily tell him this is too much and leave; he’d let me go. But for once, I want to stay and stop fighting. Believe in him. Believe in us.
“Okay,” I agree, and he kisses the breath out of me.