Free The Ex Factor: A Novel by Tu-Shonda Whitaker Page B

on, Sharief ? Just tell me who she is! That's all I want to know!” She opened her eyes wide. “Who is she? Is she somebody that I know? Would you do that, Sharief, are you fucking one of the neighbors? Is it Drew, is it Bree…Oh hell no, I got it, it's Veronica, that's why she moved from around here. I'ma kick her fuckin' ass!”
    “I'm not fuckin' Monica! What the hell is wrong with you?”
    “I didn't say Monica.” She arched her eyebrows. “I said Veronica.”
    “Whoever the hell. All I know is that I'm not feeling this shitno more. I have tried, but I'm tired. Look at you, you act like you done lost your damn mind! Naw”—he shook his head—“this is some crazy shit.”
    Celeste picked up Sharief's cup of coffee and slapped the shit out of him with it, causing the cup to shatter and the hot liquid to splatter on the right side of his face. Some of it flew over his head and ran down his left cheek. Quickly Sharief took the palm of his hand and wiped the steamy coffee off his face.
    After making sure the coffee hadn't burned him, Sharief reached across the island and grabbed Celeste around the neck. She flung her arms and knocked the hot grits off the stove as Sharief dragged her over the countertop. She tried to grab the edge of the island but couldn't grip it fast enough.
    Everything seemed to be moving too fast. Not knowing what else to do, Celeste grabbed the butcher knife out of the multi-knife holder and swung it; immediately the top of Sharief's hand popped open and blood started running everywhere. “Awwwwwl shit!” he screamed, knocking her off the counter. “I'ma kick yo' fuckin' ass, bitch!”
    Celeste regained her balance and jumped up with the butcher knife in her hand. “Let's roll, ma'fucker!” With the knife in one hand, Celeste picked up Sharief's plate of food with the other and threw it at him. Sharief ducked, the plate just missing his head.
    “I hope that bitch is worth it!” Celeste picked up the coffeepot and threw it at him. The glass shattered and coffee splattered all over the wall, the steam still rising from it. If Sharief hadn't seen the pot coming it would've burned him in the face; instead it caught a small portion of his forearm. “What the fuck! You want me to kill you?”
    “Kill me?” Celeste completely lost it. She threw what was left of the grits at him, breaking the kitchen window. “Kill me? I'm already dead, ma'fucker. I can't find shit that I like to do. I can't even remember what I wanted to be when I was a little girl. I've been reduced to staying home and being hidden in this goddamnhouse like I ain't shit while you pick yourself up and come and go as you please. You don't even fuck me anymore!”
    “Fuck you?” Sharief screamed. “I wouldn't fuck you if your pussy was glued to my dick! This shit is a wrap! It's over!” Blood dripped from his hand as he grabbed a kitchen towel and wrapped it around the cut. Instantly blood soaked through the towel. As he tried to walk out of the room, Celeste ran in front of him and blocked his path. She still had the bloody butcher knife in her hand. She swung it and Sharief ducked.
    “What the fuck!” Immediately Sharief drew his gun and pointed it at Celeste. “Now put that shit down!”
    Celeste swung the knife at his head again. He ducked and cocked the gun. “I swear,” he said, his finger on the trigger, “I will shoot you, bury you, and fuck a bitch this afternoon if you swing that fuckin' knife at me again!”
    “You don't want me, Sharief? Just say it!”
    “Why are you a glutton for punishment? I told you this wasn't working out before we left Brooklyn.”
    Celeste stood motionless with the knife still in the air. Flashbacks of him telling her how he wanted to just take care of his kids and leave the marriage ran through her mind. “How could you do this to me, Sharief?” Tears ran down her face.
    “Put the knife down, Celeste.” Sharief spoke as calmly as he could. The side of his face felt sore