Page 63 of Saint
The handwritten note plastered onto the stack of divorce papers summoned my lips into a smirk that transformed into a chuckle. It was just like my Beauty to be snippy in a handwritten memo. She held no blockages with communicating. Her voice was always her superpower. The only day I witnessed it fail was the day she walked away from me.
Weeks had whisked by since that day, and I had yet to understand the error we’d both made. Considering our mistake at length often caused the irksome migraine embedded in my dome. The sea was much simpler. With tide charts favorable to me venturing out for a dive, I packed my boat and made my way toward the siren of the ocean.
In the ocean, the deeper you plunged, the more peaceful it got. In love, I had yet to discern if that were true. The waters of love’s abyss could be unpredictable, raging against a lone heart vessel. Survival required the strongest of its kind, anchored by tenacity, patience, and sensitivity. Often, I was uncertain if I held the traits in the arsenal of my possession. Instead of navigating through that uncharted sea, I navigated the one most familiar to me.
The view of what it looked like to be in four hundred feet of water over three miles away from land surrounded by two tiger sharks was immaculate. It seemed like a complete nightmare to most people, but it was where I located peace. Being in the water with sharks allowed me to be fully present in the moment. I didn’t think about the stressors in my life. I could focus entirely on being immersed with the amazing apex predators.
Tiger sharks gave amazing intimate interactions that often required deterring them physically. It was out of pure curiosity that one of the sharks approached me. Not splashing or flailing, I extended my hand, pushing on the upper jaw of the shark to redirect them as they approached. The powerful fish was so gentle despite its size, reminding me to always respect them.
On a free dive, I was able to move around the ocean’s depths without the weight of equipment. I plunged deeper until I was twenty meters down. Once satisfied with my location, I sat on the ocean floor. As my eyes scanned the area, I noticed a school of sea turtles migrating. Seeing them constricted my chest as I remembered the day I met Victoria cradling a tortoise. Unable to quell the unusual discomfort that invaded my happy place, I rose and swam back to the surface. Slowly, I restored air to my lungs and climbed back onto my boat.
It was just after five in the afternoon when I returned to the house. Like an addict, I procured my phone and opened the Instagram application. Never being a fan of social media, I didn’t own any accounts. The application was only downloaded to stalk Victoria. I created a fake account with no photos just to look at her pretty face.
Pitifully, I sought her out, scrolling through endless photos on the app and seeking to find a way to recover the win I’d fumbled. As I scoured through the content, my frustration grew to immense levels. She was inexplicably gorgeous, both inside and out. As much had been confirmed as I sifted through her photos. Her last image shared that her show was this evening. Logging it in my mental, I continued my conquest, scrolling through the many images.
My dick stiffened at one picture in particular where she’d made a face similar to when she was cumming. With her lips slightly parted and her head dipped back at an angle, I was forced to take my dick in my hand and rub one out.
Up and down, my hand moved, imagining her hips pushing back at full speed into me. Up and down, her warm tightness sucked me, threatening to make my dick explode. Up and down, she rocked as I fought the urge to do just that. The fantasy of my wife ended as hot seed spilled, emptying my nuts and dripping onto my hand.
Shit, Beauty.
She’d successfully grown roots in my heart and head. I needed her back in my bed. Back in my arms. Back in my home. Our home. It was just a sandcastle void of her presence.
Shit, Beauty. Come back to your beast.
“How’s married life?” Supreme rummaged through my fridge in search of sustenance. His unannounced visit couldn’t have come at a worse time. Shortly after I’d beat my dick to Victoria’s photo, he showed up at my door. With my hands covered in cum, I slowly made my way to the bathroom to clean myself before answering the door.
Locating leftovers of steak and garlic mashed potatoes, he popped it into the microwave and stalked the apparatus until the countdown neared zero.
“Victoria moved out a few weeks ago, bruh.” Speaking of my current predicament brought my ache back to the surface.
“What? How’d that happen? Better yet, what did you do?”
“How did you conclude that it was something I did?” I probed.
“Because that damn girl loves you, Saint. I don’t think you’ll find another woman in your corner the way she is for you.”
“I know,” I sighed. “That was the problem.”
Supreme took a seat on the living room couch with his scavenged meal in tow. “I’m a bit confused. Explain,” he urged, smacking on a piece of steak.
“We weren’t supposed to catch feelings and fall in love.”
“Saint, what did you think was going to happen when you asked the girl to be your wife? Let’s rewind. You saved her from a bullet, made her your wife on paper, in bed, in your heart, and in every other area, and then when she came through with authentic feelings, you decided to call it quits? Nigga what’s wrong with you? And don’t give me that autistic shit as an excuse.”
“Nah, Pre. You’re missing some details. I sweetened the pot.”
“Nigga, what?”
“I offered her an M to marry me,” I revealed the seven-figure mistake.
“Come again?” Stupefied, Supreme’s jaw crashed to the floor.
“I was trying to seal the deal, so I promised her a million if she stayed married to me for a year.”
“Aight.” His knife sliced into the last of my steak before piercing it with the fork. Pointing the fork in my direction, he asked, “What the fuck made you do that?”
“She was hesitant, and the clock was ticking.”