I didn't care about who held me down. My grandparents raised me to have my own back.

It took a moment to remember my name was Jaguar Sachi. As I prepare to say good bye to my loving, crazy, psycho ass husband, I closed my eyes. I was encased inside an immaculate Chapel on the outskirts of Seattle, in a remote area of a bushy area.

In spite of the wild grass, the staggering insect problem or the towering trees, the location was breathtaking.

I remember when I arrived at the top of the hour.

I was on autopilot.

I hadn't had a full night's sleep since...

Since my Kenny....

Tried to....

It hurt to ascertain. I hated myself that my place panties clung to the nice of my pussy like piss on a good mattress.

Just the thought of my husband set me on fire.

What would I miss the most?

I would miss how my pussy squirted three seconds after he slid that monstrous head in...

Now wasn't the time nor place for such illustrious thoughts, especially in a place of worship.

The silence bare down on my ear drums like banning sticks from drum majors.

The memory came in breathy flashes.

I choked up, pat drying my eyes before the black casket. Atop it were the whitest orchids I could find.

For seven years, I've enjoyed him, but lately he's been distant. Ever since he said that his dead brother haunted him in his sleep, things have never been the same between us.

Our eight year anniversary was in a few days. He's so cool, but now things have gotten scary.

I awakened to him sleepwalking with his eyes wide open last week around 3 AM. I started to go to him, but he kept mumbling, "Die, Bryon!"

Byron was his dead brother.

I began to sob again, staring at his casket...

I locked him out of our room and got on my knees and prayed...

I prayed for my heavenly father to fix it. I'd been on pins and needles, especially since I was always around my hubby's family but I hadn't seen my family in years.

I think back. To when my mother sent me away, separated me from my oldest brother.

Private schools. The abuse I suffered via promiscuity trying to hide my attraction to girls because I was afraid to live in my truth.

Me and my other brother lived the life in Seattle, but we were blinded by money and gimmicks and trinkets. I put that over being loyal to my brother back in Miami.

All of that didn't matter at this point.

When I confronted my husband the next day, he accused me of lying.

The other day, I took off my clothes to shower around 11 PM. When I walked past my bedroom window, I froze...

I saw him in his mother's wedding dress. With a picture of his father over his face, brandishing a pair of sheers.

After he fell asleep, I went out to the backyard. He'd destroyed our rose garden and chiseled Byron's name on a huge rock.

I slept on the couch with my pistol by my side...

Desperate, I went to see a psychic in the downtown area.

After I sit in front of her, she reads my palm.

"Your husband is the misconstrued prophecy. He's...cheating..."

I don't let her finish. Devastated, I confronted him yet again.

"Are you doing something I should know about?"

He denies it.

I let it go.

A few hours later, I caught him with a dude.

Is he gay?

I put it out of my mind...

I was devastated beyond measure. I hadn't been to a chapel in ages. Maybe this was why my husband tried to kill me.

"Baby how could you do that to me? I've loved you uncontrollably, unconditionally. Yet is was smoke disguised as infancy," I whispered, brushing a fresh batch of tears from my cheeks.