Chapter 3 - If There's A God Out There He Has Struck Me With His Lightning

I am painting a portrait of our cat, Clementine, when I see him appear at the doorframe.

"Got something for you." He says, handing me a box. I open it and to my surprise I see a necklace with the word "☆KITTY☆" spelled out in hot pink and silver rhinestone decorated charms. I don't even need to look at it longer to know its perfect. I always call myself his kitten and hate having my own name displayed across my chest as though an item in a store window for everyone to know of. I'm a private person; we both have grown up to be.

I jump into his arms and hug him excitedly – in pure retrospect to being an overemotional suck for affection and gestures of love. I love him so, so much.

I am emotionally unstable but my capacity to love is safely paramount on the sane side of me. I will never mistreat my man. Never cheat. I am his peasant, his princess, his lover – all in one.

I go through periods of being unbalanced. Several times a day I suffer in silence to low self worth. His dominance fulfils me – from my heart to my pelvis. He keeps me in line.

He have sloppy passionate sex on the table of

my art room. He spreads my asscheeks and spits all over my pink holes before shoving his seven inch cock in, switching between holes to his smutty predilection. I love being used by him.

He rubs my clitoris as he fucks me hard, alternating paces and spitting dirty phrases at me.

"You dirty fucking whore," He says, slamming into me balls deep. "You like it when Daddy fucks you like this?"

I let out a loud, salacious moan. I come for him as he slaps my sopping pussy, squirting all over his hand the second his cock slips out accidentally. I scream.

"Aww, yeah," He grunts into my ear and rubs me harder, provoking more cum to fly out of me. He places his head between my pale thighs and tastes the juices, licking every inch of me.

I melt into him, getting off on our fervent love-making. He is my pleasure dom. My one and only.

I'm going to miss him on his eight hour long day at the office tomorrow. I often clean the house and head outside for the rest of the day to shop

—

"Miss Schumann?" The voice is abrupt and loud. It could be the quality of the line and not the male's fault it sounds like he is yelling into the phone, but I grit my teeth in sheer annoyance anyway.

"Can I help you?" I say. He hears the aggravation in my voice and lowers his mentally-shattering tone before he speaks again:

"I have no simple way of putting this, Madam. Your husband was a victim of a drunk driving incident. There were no survivors."

Visions flash through my mind. Flames. Lots of them. The door being wedged against a rail and being unable to open whilst a car blocked the passenger door. My husband, the love of my life being completely unable to escape as he died from third degree burns and smoke inhalation–

"Sasha?"

"One moment." My voice is expressionless but my brain is overloaded with worry. I play out two more gruesome death scenarios before I am able to speak again. "Continue."

"His body is at Avening Grace Memorial Hospital, floor three, room one hundred seven. It will be passed over to Vera and Gunther Schumann at 6p.m. Any following questions will have to be answered by the doctor. I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Schumann."

"Thanks," I say, my voice flat and empty. I clear my throat. "For the information. I will be there as soon as I can."

—

The traffic fucks me over immensely. It is already five. I desperately need to see Robert one last time. When you love someone dies on you, it doesn't feel real until you are at their viewing. When you are shown you will never meet their lively gaze again as they lay there, dolled up by morticians who look just as deceased as they do.

I only went to my grandfather's funeral when I was ten, the age you begin to wrap your mind around death in the longterm. I remember coming home and crying myself to sleep; not because he was gone, but because I feared myself going. Like any immature brat would.

Once I arrive, I sign in and run to Robert's room in my heels. I find him, laying in the bed, reeking of fresh corpse. His face is plastered inward on one side. His teeth are pushed toward out of his open mouth as though his jaw could fall out any second. Blood that remains unclean is present on every inch of his once picturesque face.

I wail as I cry. A nurse closes the door as she walks out of the room to give me privacy. I only have limited time before his parents arrive to take him away, making me a mere visitor at his funeral. He is gone forever. I will never hear his voice again. Never feel his touch against my skin. Never be held by a man again.

You heard me right. My soul is betrothed to his. I am so sickened by the idea of loving someone else that I never will. Robert Schumann is the only one for me and I shall suffer everyday without him with me.