Page 33 of Ex- Factor
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I snarled.
“Who are you to talk to my wife like you did?” he shot back, chest heaving.
The music cut.
A hush rolled over the backyard.
Somebody from the party stepped in front of us, but I had tunnel vision—could only see him and his smug, punchable face. He had broken Eshe’s heart.
I looked over, and Eshe was stumbling our way barefoot, mic still in hand, hair wild, eyes narrowing as she took it all in. She was sweating, so I knew she had had too much to drink.
She stopped in front of Donte. Stared at him, then at Sinica. “What the fuck is this?” Her words were slurred, but the venom in them was crystal clear. “Why are y’all even here?”
Sinica spoke first. “I came to ask—”
Eshe cut her off. “Shut up, bitch. I can’t even have one night? One night without y’all fucking it up for me?”
She was yelling now.
“You married my man,” she pointed at Sinica, “and now you can’t even let me be happy without him and sing some fucking karaoke? I hate y’all. I really do.”
Sinica rolled her eyes like none of it mattered.
CRACK.
The slap echoed. Sinica’s head snapped sideways, her hand flying to her cheek. For a second, no one breathed.
Sinica’s eyes went wide, and she took a step backward like she was scared Eshe would do it again. Donte stepped forward to say something.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” she hissed.
She turned like it was over. She got about ten feet away, then turned around. And launched the mic at Donte’s face.
It hit him square in the mouth. Blood leaked from his lip.
He started in her direction. I didn’t even get to step forward. Angel’s cousin blocked him, sizing him up. Everybody loved Eshe within just a few months.
“Nigga, go that way,” he said, pointing Donte toward the door.
Angel cheered.
Cassius laughed so hard he almost dropped his drink.
Everything felt surreal.
Especially when people circled in, pushing Donte and Sinica toward the door, talking shit the whole way. I didn’t have to say a word.
Eshe picked up the mic like nothing happened.
“DJ, run it back,” she said.
The Adele song picked up where she left off, and Eshe was back to singing, arms around Angel—loud, terrible, happy.
I watched her.
She didn’t look back to find out what happened to Donte. She was smiling again.
I should’ve been happy. She’d won.
