Page 61 of Ex- Factor
“Stop! STOP!” My voice broke, but neither of them heard me.
Neighbors’ lights flicked on. Someone yelled that they’d called the police. Nobody came outside. I imagined them peeking from behind curtains or watching through security cameras, witnessing the clusterfuck that was my life.
It felt like seconds before red and blue lights painted the street.
Two officers pulled them apart. Donte was a mess—his nose bleeding, one eye already swelling shut. Silas stood there, chest heaving, his knuckles raw and bloody, eyes still blazing.
“You both are under arrest,” one officer said.
“No, wait—” I started, panic clawing my throat.
“Ma’am, step back,” another officer snapped.
Next thing I knew, they were both in cuffs, being read their rights.
What in thefuckjust happened?
I think I stood there for ten whole minutes, just watching the street. I couldn’t piece together how we went from Scrabble to Silas’s parents’ death to him and Donte fighting like wild animals.
A car screeched to a halt at the curb. Sinica came running out, her face a caricature of distress.
“You! This is all your fault! You just can’t leave him alone, can you?”
Something in me snapped.
The grief for Silas. The years of her playing the victim. The sheer audacity of her showing up at my house to blame me.
I crossed the lawn in three strides and slapped her. The sound cracked through the night. It felt good.
“Bitch, are you crazy? You know I want nothing to do with that motherfucker.”
She reeled back like she was about to swing.
Her face twisted. Spit flew as she let loose.
“Homewrecker! Ugly ass! Nothing but trouble—always dragging him down, making everything worse!”
The insults poured out like a dam breaking, her voice cracking with rage. She jabbed a manicured finger in my face, trembling with the effort of hating me.
I stepped forward. “Please, Sinica. Swing—so I can beat your ass for the old and the new.”
She jerked back, spun on her heel, and stormed off. Her heels clacked against the pavement. Her curses lingered in the air like poison.
I stood there, chest heaving.
And in that moment, one thing was clear.
Me and Silas needed to move. And I needed to call him a lawyer.
Chapter Thirty five- Eshe
Silas’s lawyer worked fast. Money always made things move, and by the time the sun crept through the blinds, Silas had been set free—exhausted.
When he walked out of jail, he looked… hollow. His clothes were rumpled, his knuckles bandaged. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
The car ride home was silent. The only sounds were the rhythmic click of the turn signal and the heavy weight of everything unsaid.
I avoided looking toward Donte’s house as we pulled in.
