Page 31 of Girl, We Go Together
Before Zynea could respond, I heard the front door slam so hard it rattled the walls. My heart jumped into my throat.
“Hold up,” I whispered while grabbing the phone.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs, heavy and fast, and then Orion rushed into the bedroom. My breath froze. His shirt was streaked with blood splattered across the fabric like something out of a nightmare. His hands were shaking, and his chest was heaving like he had run a mile.
“Orion—” I started, my voice cracking.
Zynea’s face lit up the screen. Her eyes shot wide open as he came fully into the frame.
“What the hell! Cayla, is that blood?”
I hadn’t even noticed that in the midst of my grabbing the phone, I had pressed the screen and turned the camera by accident. I fumbled to mute the call as panic surged through me, all while Orion locked eyes with me. There was a wildness in his stare that made my stomach drop. Everything in me wanted to scream, to demand answers, but all I could do was whisper.
“What did you do?”
Chapter 11
Orion
My heart was still beating like a drum when I stormed through the door. My shirt was sticking to me because of my sweating. I caught Cayla’s eyes, wide and scared, with her phone half-hidden in her hands. For a second, I thought about lying. I thought about telling her it wasn’t what it looked like. But the truth was heavy on me, heavier than the blood that was on my damn clothes. I dropped down on the bench at the foot of the bed and ran a hand over my face.
“It’s done,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Me and Omari handled it.”
Cayla just stared at me like she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest. But I couldn’t stop. The words poured out of me like a confession.
“I’ve been moving really smart since my moms was put in the ground. I didn’t know how to catch this nigga Fresh because after the shooting, he became a ghost. He moved out of his crib, leaving his wife and everything behind. It was hard to find this muthafucka, so when one of my boys told me they saw him coming out of this damn motel on Atlantic, I knew it was now or never.”
I leaned forward and placed my elbows on my knees, trying to remember the heat of it. All the details weren’t important. The point was that he was gone now.
“I put my gun right to his chest and made him look me in the eye. I told him this was for Olivia, and then I pulled the trigger.”
She sat there silently as I thought back to that moment. I must have blacked the fuck out because the next thing I knew, Omari was pulling me away, and I was clicking a gun that no longer had bullets. I could still hear the shots ringing in my head. Still see the way his body dropped and bounced with each bullet that entered.
“Me and O wrapped it up clean,” I finished, my voice low and steady. “Ain’t nobody gon’ find him. And if they do, it won’t come back to us. That chapter’s closed.”
I finally looked at her, and the fear in her face cut sharper than any bullet could.
“You wanted to know what I did? That’s what I did. He took my mother. So, I took him. An eye for an eye.”
I couldn’t read her. I just saw her press a button on her phone, and I prayed it wasn’t her calling the police because then I would have had to put her ass down too. My feelings for her were growing stronger by the day, but I wasn’t about to go to jail for anyone. She placed her phone down and then stood from the bed. I didn’t know what I expected from her after I laid it all out. Maybe she would run or scream. But Cayla didn’t do any of that. She just stood up quietly and came to me.
“Come on,” she said. Her voice was soft, but I could still hear the slight tremble in her tone.
Her fingers were gentle but firm as she pulled at my shirt, peeling it off me like it was poison. The dried blood tugged against my skin. It was sticky and dark. She didn’t flinch, not even when her hands came away red. She just balled it up and tossed it aside. Same with my jeans. Every layer of me reeked ofwhat I’d done, but she handled me like I was something worth saving. She hooked her arm around mine, guiding me toward our en-suite, her bare feet padded against the hardwood. My body felt heavy, weighed down with more than exhaustion, but she never let me stumble. When we stepped into the bathroom, the scent of her lotion still clung to the space. Her Bath & Body Works smell was warm and sweet, almost enough to choke out the scent of iron.
She turned the shower on, which caused the steam to fog up the glass quickly, then led me inside. I didn’t even have the strength to argue when she stepped in with me. She was still in her nightgown. I stared at her and watched as the water soaked the fabric until it clung to her curves. Cayla picked up my washcloth, lathered it slowly, and pressed it against my chest. The soap cut through the blood, causing pink rivers to slide down my skin and swirl into the drain. She didn’t rush; she moved carefully, wiping away the evidence like she was determined to take the weight with it. I closed my eyes and let the water beads flow down my body, and for the first time since that gun went off, I felt my hands stop shaking. It wasn’t from fear but relief knowing that I had finally avenged my mother’s death.
Cayla’s touch was tender, almost reverent, like she knew the war going on inside me. I didn’t deserve her treatment. Not her patience nor her comfort, but she gave it anyway. When she tilted my chin up and brushed the cloth across my face, her eyes locked with mine. She took her time washing my beard. As I stared into her brown orbs, I saw no judgment. Just this quiet strength I didn’t even know I needed. And in that moment, standing under the water with her washing the blood off me, I realized that Cayla wasn’t just staying. She was carrying me, too.
Omari
I sat on the edge of the bed, letting the anger inside swallow me whole. The silence in here was thick, heavy enough to choke me. Fresh was gone. And honestly, I thought my fury would be cured with him being dead, but no, it wasn’t. I didn’t know what to do since Moms passed. I was still here, caught in the middle of the wreckage like it was my punishment. Lucia moved around the room behind me, her perfume trailing close, sweet and dangerous.
“Baby, you should eat something,” she said softly, placing her hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
The truth was, I couldn’t stomach anything. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ma lying out, cold. And every time I thought about Fresh, my blood boiled. He took our mother from us, and he’d paid the price. Still, knowing I’d been with his wife long before his body hit the dirt… it had me questioning what kind of man I really was. Knowing I didn’t have my mother because of the actions I partook in as a man, I began to question this relationship I had been entangled in. Lucia slid closer, resting against my side.
