My Woman His Wife Saga (34 page)

It's funny how they say in your last moments of life you see your entire existence flash before your eyes. I didn't think these were my last moments, but the past ten years ran in front of my eyes like a Lifetime movie. All of the ups and downs, and everything in between. The good, the bad, and the ugly. The most joyful times of my life, and the times when I didn't think I would make it through. I really wasn't that bad of a husband and dad, was I? Shit had been crazy at home and I needed a minute to regroup; I deserved that, right?

Okay, so I didn't need to unwind with a stripper, but when I couldn't even get some in-house ass what was I supposed to do?

Let it be known that I never stopped loving my wife regardless of whose mouth was on my dick. Jasmine gave me the gift of children, and a loving marriage at least for a few years. We had chemistry, and a genuine feeling of peace with each other. We could talk about anything, and our dreams were that much easier to achieve because we had each other. The key word was
had,
just in case you didn't catch that. We just lost our way kind of, and I was hoping God was as merciful as everyone kept saying He was because I needed her. I had been wilding out, and acting a fool, but I was done with all that now. I was ready to be a good husband, and bring all this mess to a standstill. I wanted our lives to go back to when shit was good and we had no worries.
I swear if Jasmine makes it through this I'll stop fucking other bitches . . . I think.

Hell, who was I kidding? I thought I'd definitely need me a good therapy session to get rid of some of these demons. I was not on no Eric Benet shit with a sex addiction, but I liked me a fine-ass woman who was willing to fuck the shit out of me until I didn't have an ounce of cum left in my body. I couldn't help it, and I didn't think I really wanted to fix it. Shit, Jazz used to be that woman, but all the fussing and the cheating and the nonsense just got to be too stressful. She didn't desire me, and I no longer wanted her . . . it was bound to get crazy eventually. I just never thought we would be here at this point like this.

I couldn't think right now. It looked like we were heading toward University of Pennsylvania Hospital, judging by the houses that we were passing, but I couldn't concentrate on anything but breathing at the moment.
What if this is it? For real this time. Like what if this is the fucking end? I need space, but these goons ain't budging. I feel like I want to make a mad dash for it, and I'm feeling antsy.
The ride over to the hospital was the most agonizing ever. I felt like a piece of me faded away with every block we went by. This could really be the end for us. I mean, what if Jazz didn't make it through? What was I going to do without her?

On the way there we passed by the accident scene, and at that moment I wasn't so sure about my family making it out alive. The car was moved from the pole, but was almost folded in half where the middle seats were crushed in and things didn't look good from here. The tension in the car smothered me, and I wanted to break free but I couldn't. I was stuck between Jazz's uncle and brother, and they already warned me that if I cut up they would cut me up into little pieces. I had no reason not to believe them, because they were very protective of Jazz, and had warned me of that early on.

Honestly, I felt sorry for the kids. Anything that happened to me I probably deserved it, but the kids were innocent in this situation.
Speaking of the kids, how do I explain this to Monica if something happened to our son? She's going to wild all the way the hell out. I already know it.
I often wondered why she just never took the boy with her, but Monica was not the mothering type so I understood her motive. It was a bullshit move, but probably for the best in the long run for the kid.

From my position in the back seat I could see Jazz's dad in tears, the sobs racking his body as he tried to control the pain he felt. What did I do? Why didn't I just bring my ass home and deal with my family like a real man? The honest answer would be because I didn't feel like it. I felt like we'd been beyond repair for years. All because I let my lust come before the love I had for my wife. Dealing with Monica was a bad move, but I couldn't honestly say I wouldn't have done it again if I'd had the chance. I had yet to meet a woman who could satisfy me like her, even Jazz. I might have done things differently, but I wouldn't
not
try it again. That opportunity would be too good to pass up.

We pulled up to the hospital after what felt like days later, but we could only drive but so fast due to the nasty weather outside. I felt myself hyperventilating, but Jazz's brother gave me a look warning me to pull it together. I took a deep breath, and straightened my shirt after rubbing my temples. I didn't know what I was about to walk into, and I suddenly didn't want to be here. I was not ready to face the music just yet, but Jazz's father was looking like he was daring me to make a wrong move. Her country-ass uncles looked like they would willingly break every bone in my body on command, and on the real I didn't want it with these dudes by any means.

I could hear the receptionist asking something inaudible because I was in a daze and she sounded like the teacher off of
Charlie Brown
at this moment. My palms were sweating, and I felt overheated despite the cold chill that rushed in every time the automatic doors opened.
I'm not ready for this.
But at this point I knew I had to man up and brace myself for the unknown.

The ride up to the intensive care unit felt like forever, and I was kind of hoping that the elevator would just pick up speed and go straight through the damn roof. I didn't feel like this shit right now, and I was starting to get pissed off.
Why the fuck didn't she just pick up the kids and go the hell home? I've told Jazz time and time again to stop texting and driving, and when I didn't answer the phone the first million times she called she should have just let the shit rest until she at least got everyone home safely. What the fuck? It's like why? Why the hell is this shit happening? Where the hell are my kids?

“What exactly happened at the accident scene?” I asked everyone, but it was like talking to empty air. No one even bothered to acknowledge that I was even standing there except to ensure that I hadn't run off. I was irked beyond belief, but I didn't feel like these fools jumping on me again so I let it go. Someone would have to answer me eventually.

The dinging of the bell indicating that we reached our floor stirred me from my ranting thoughts for a second. I was actually sizing these dudes up, trying to see who I could knock the hell out first and get away, but I was outnumbered and I really didn't want to make a scene at the hospital. I didn't want to see my wife like this.

I didn't see any kids in the waiting area, and I was scared to ask of their whereabouts so I decided to just wait it out. I would cold snap if my kids weren't alive, and a selfish part of me just didn't want to know that truth if that was the case. Not right now, and not like this. I saw Jazz's dad conversing with a fine-ass nurse at the nurse's station, and my mind wandered to her riding my dick, her huge ass smothering my balls and smacking against my thighs as she comes down on me.
What am I doing? My wife is in ICU . . . Focus, man, stay focused.

“Let's go,” Jazz's father said to me with a straight face, looking like he would hate to have to repeat himself. I struggled from my seat, not even remembering sitting down, the effects of the ass-whipping they gave me earlier starting to show in a small limp and a thumping pain behind my right eye. I was sure this was probably nothing compared to what Jazz was feeling, so I wasn't about to complain.

“Were you in the accident as well?” the nurse asked me as I walked by, but all I could do was shake my head no as I moved toward where I assumed Jazz and the kids were located. I couldn't breathe, for real this time, and I was starting to feel lightheaded as we headed down the hall.

“Are you okay?” the nurse asked as she stopped to prop me against the wall. I didn't answer, instead shaking my head in a quick side to side motion in an attempt to gather myself, and I could see Jazz's uncles looking like they were ready to jump on me if I didn't get it together quick. Taking heed to the threat, I straightened up and got it together.

“I'm fine, just take me to my wife,” I managed to squeak out in a low tone as I stood up on wobbly legs and forced one foot to step in front of the other.

The tension in the hallway was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and I was sure both the nurse and the doctor felt it. I was psyching myself up so that I could face the inevitable, trying to make myself believe that it's not that bad even though we're in the intensive care unit. It could just be that they wanted to keep a close eye out on her. All of that went out the window when I got my first glimpse of Jasmine through the glass separating her from the hall traffic. Damn, I wasn't prepared at all for this.

“You're in the right place to die, homeboy,” Jazz's uncle said close to my ear to ensure that I heard every word. “Straighten the hell up before you go in.”

Nothing could have prepared me for what I was going to see when I approached Jazz's room. I knew she was going to be a mess, but this was nothing like the stuff I saw on television. I was expecting a bandaged head, maybe a little bruising on the jaw line, and even a cast-covered leg being supported by something hanging from the ceiling. I would have even gone for the arm being wrapped up and looking like a chicken wing. Just looking through the glass, all the tubes and bandages brought tears to my eyes. This shit just got serious real quick. With blurry vision I stumbled over to the bed where my wife lay comatose, and cried. Her face was covered with twisted shades of blues and deep purples, and her lips appeared to be sliced to shreds. I held her hand in mine, and kissed every scar from her bandaged fingertips up to where her elbow and hospital gown met. What the hell did I do?

“Jazz, if you wake up I promise to make everything right. I love you, baby. Please don't leave me like this,” I whispered in her ear as my tears soaked the material covering her shoulder. This was crazy, and I just couldn't believe it.

I wished I had the power to change places with my wife. Only difference was I would have wanted them to pull the plug on me. She didn't deserve a constant fuck up like me in her life, and I was even considering leaving the marriage once she came through. Jazz deserved someone who would love her unconditionally and would be there for her always. At one time I thought I was that man, but now I was not so sure.

Standing on the balcony, taking in the sights of the city, I gathered the fluffy terry cloth bathrobe around my shoulders courtesy of the hotel, as I sipped a cup of mint tea from a cute little coffee mug I found at the airport gift shop on my way to Philadelphia. Every so often the wind would pick up, violently swirling the snow around as sleet turned the streets into a humungous ice skating rink. My mom used to always say that when the weather was bad like this, God was angry with us. I could definitely see the truth in that. I personally played a lot into His anger as an adult.

My mind was spinning with all kinds of thoughts, and I didn't know where to start. What if I never found them? What if Jazz decided to try to fight me or something? Furthermore, what if we fell back into the same situation we had before? It was different, kind of, when it was just the two kids, but a five piece? That was a lot to juggle, and I wasn't willing to stretch my time or patience like that no matter how good the orgasm was. Furthermore, I couldn't bear being that close to my son without parenting him either. That was just too much at one time.

It'd been four years since I'd laid eyes on my son, and to be perfectly honest, I was scared of the outcome. Did he even know that I was his mother? He was practically forced on the Cinques, so if they never divulged that information to him it's only right, and there wasn't much I could say about it. They'd been more of a parent to him than I ever could've been then and now. I had the papers drawn up granting sole custody and everything. All they had to do was sign on the dotted line.

When I first split, James would send me picture messages of my boy growing up and walking around. I would cry just looking at them because I should have been there for all of those moments, but I was selfish and scared. What was I going to do with a baby? I was a mover and shaker, and I couldn't do that with a diaper bag on my hip. It got to be too overwhelming watching the videos and looking at the pictures, so without notice to him I changed my number.

I couldn't deal with the constant reminder that I might have made the biggest mistake in my life. The easiest thing to do was ignore it, and so I did. I'd lived my life for the last four years like I didn't have a child. I saw sending out checks to the Cinques for him like a bill I paid monthly. It was nothing to it: write the check, address the envelope, lick the stamp, and drop the shit into the mail. Easy as 1–2–3–4.

Pretty soon he wasn't even a thought and I moved on autopilot. Making sure my sister didn't crash and burn was a job in itself, and with running Safe Haven and my new art gallery my life was pretty full. A child wouldn't have fit in my plans anyway, or so I kept convincing myself. Yeah, leaving him here was the best move possible. Jasmine would love him like her own, and James would show him the ropes. Just the way it should be.

Why did the checks start coming back though? That was like the million dollar question in my head right now. Up until a few months ago the checks were being cashed and everything was good. I sent them more than enough to make sure my boy was properly fed, and clothed. Hell, the Cinques weren't exactly broke so he would have been good regardless of whether I sent a check or not.

I was even more surprised when I called James for the scoop and the number I had for him didn't work. Feeling desperate, I called Jazz already knowing the answer . . . Her number was changed as well. I had a friend of mine—more of a spy than a friend, honestly—go over to the house to see if they even lived there and it was reported back that the property had a for sale sign on it and the house was already empty. That was nothing but Jasmine's doing, but “why?” was the question.

So I called myself, using the voluptuous Jaydah B as a distraction, but she proved to be more of a distraction than I wanted her to be in an annoying way. I really couldn't enjoy her company the way I wanted to because I was trying to decide if I needed to show my face in Philly. She was just interested in achieving multiple orgasms. Rightfully so, after all, that was what she came to the ATL for, but damn.
Who knows, maybe I'll give her another chance when I'm less distracted, but I feel like my son needs me. I've never felt like this before, and I'm not sure why I'm feeling this now. I just hope I won't have to act a fool down here. Right now I come in peace; let's just hope I can leave the same way.