Page 19 of The Price of My Sins

I blinked, tears slipping free again, but this time, I didn’t wipe them away. I let the cascade of water fall because, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t falling apart alone. I had my girls.

“Sis, you really need to leave that nigga. Just say the word, and he will be on the ten o’clock news tonight,” Deuce said, stepping into the section with Boston right behind him. His tone was light, but the look in his eyes showed he was dead serious. His expression read that he’d already pictured how he’d make it happen.

I managed a small nod. My chest felt tight, and my throat was sore from holding back everything I didn’t want to say aloud. I glanced past them, scanning the crowd, hoping I’d see him, just a glimpse to know he was okay.

“Thanks, Deuce. But I’m done. I promise,” I said quietly. “Where’s Bo?”

“He’s good. Give him a minute to cool off. I’m sure he’ll reach out.”

I swallowed hard as guilt crawled up the back of my neck. I needed to see him now, not in days.

The energy slowly shifted back to a celebration. We managed to salvage the rest of the night, even though it took me a minute to join back in on the fun. Bo never showed back up to the club, and I felt a mixture of shame and hurt. I knew he was inhis feelings. Lexi made sure we laughed, Denim kept the drinks flowing, and for a while, I let myself float—smiling, dancing, and pretending everything hadn’t just cracked open a little more.

That nigga got me all the way fucked up! He really put his hands on me! And what’s worse? My bitch just stood there. She didn’t even try to stop him. She stood by that nigga like he was her protector, and I was just some random nigga off the street.

Now, here I am, laid up in this stiff-ass hospital bed. I had a busted nose, fractured jaw, and aching ribs every time I breathed. The doctors were talking about “fractured this” and “concussed that,” like I give a damn about their little clipboards. This shit wasn’t supposed to go down like it did.

When Olivia left our crib after admitting to fucking her side nigga, I let her ass leave. I knew she ran to her parent’s house. She did that shit every time we had a fight, but she always ended up back home with little effort once I sent her those text messages that I had been holding over her head. This time, my threats didn’t work. That’s how I know that bitch was in love with that nigga, Bo.

At first, it seemed innocent. She told me he was just her friend Lexi’s driver or some shit. She said it like it was nothing, and I was supposed to believe he was just doing favors out of the kindness of his heart.

But I’m not stupid. Ain’t no nigga that nice. They were fucking.

I peeped the way he looked at her when he thought I wasn’t watching. The way his eyes lingered a little too long, it was as if he was memorizing her every move. The way she smiled back at him like the nigga was a drop of water, and she was parched. She tried to play it cool, but there was something there.

You don’t look at a friend like that. He damn sure wasn’t looking at my girl like that unless he wanted to fuck. I knew what it was. I felt that shit in my gut before I even had proof. That nigga wanted what was mine. And the hurtful part was that I knew she wanted him too.

I remember the first time I caught her ass sneaking. She thought I was out of town handling business, but I’d found myself watching her movements. It was late, and I had pulled up on my block a few minutes before they did. It wasn’t planned; I was just coming back from my uncle's spot. Something told me that some shit was off with her and that nigga Bo, and I’m glad I listened to that feeling.

I parked down the block, lights off. That’s when I saw the black SUV ease to the curb. Tinted windows, clean ride. I watched as she stepped out of it, laughing—really laughing, head tilted back with her hand pressed to her chest like he’d just said the funniest shit she had ever heard. Then he got out too.

Tall and built like a linebacker. He had that stillness about him like nothing could shake him. He didn’t even try to hide it. The way he looked at her wasn’t friendly. It was focused like he saw her beyond the pretty face and sexy body. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize her soul.

And she just stood there, smiling. Letting that silence stretch between them like it meant something. It looked as if they’d been having these conversations for years. She touched his arm lightly and said something I couldn’t hear. He didn’t smile; hejust gave her that slow nod, eyes never leaving her face. Then she turned and walked to the door without looking back.

But he remained standing. His eyes followed her until she disappeared inside, and even then, he lingered at the door like he was fighting the urge to go after her.

I gripped the steering wheel so tight I thought it would snap. He wasn’t no damn driver, and I knew it before the encounter I witness, but now, I was more than certain.

The steady beeping from the heart monitor snapped me back into the present. The shit was driving me insane because it felt like it was mocking me, ticking away the seconds I was forced to lay here and do nothing. Every beep was a reminder that he got the drop on me in front of everybody. I had bled and looked weak.

This shit wasn’t over. Not by a long shot was I letting that nigga get away with what he did to me. That nigga was going to pay for laying hands on me. I didn’t care how big he was or who he connected to; he had met his match the moment he started fucking with mine. Every man can bleed, and he was next.

As far as Olivia’s disloyal, trifling ass, she was going to get hers too. She thought she could humiliate me like I would let that shit ride and let her run off into the sunset with her new nigga. No—it was not happening, and I had something for both of them. When I got back on my feet, it’s up.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, jaw wired shut, but my mind was running. Olivia thought she could embarrass me and stand behind that man like I was nothing. No, she was going to learn what real pain felt like. The kind of pain that didn’t leave bruises, just scars that whispered my name every time she breathed.

I know I had no right to feel this way. I am the one who fucked up our relationship. But I was her nigga. Olivia painted me as the villain in her story. Maybe I am. Hell, maybe I stopped caring about the difference between love and control a long timeago. But it ain’t like I woke up one day and decided to break Olivia.

I grew up watching love look like survival. My step-pops beat on me so much, I thought that meant somebody cared. You grow up in chaos long enough, it starts feeling like comfort. So when I met Olivia, sweet, soft-spoken, full of light, I didn’t know what the fuck to do with her. She saw me. Not the tough guy I was in the street. Me. And that scared the shit out of me.

At first, I was good to her. Real good. Gave her attention, bought her things, made her feel safe, like she finally had something real. But then she started loving me too much, and I didn’t feel like I deserved it. So I did what broken men do; I pushed her away, pulled her back, played mind games I didn’t even fully understand.

I ain’t proud of how I treated her. The lies. The way I made her question her worth was just because I was too afraid to face mine. Every time she cried, it twisted something in me… but not enough to stop. Not then. I thought if she stayed, that meant I was still a good man deep down. But she wasn’t staying out of love. She was staying out of fear.

The door creaked open, and the room filled with the heavy scent of cigars and expensive cologne. I didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

“Damn, boy,” my Uncle Otis said, stepping into the room with his usual slow, steady walk. “Look at you… laid up like a ragdoll. What the hell happened?”

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