Saturday, 9:43 A.M.

Click. Click. Click click click.
"Shit." A deep, frustrated moan escaped the parted lips, releasing a miniscule amount of anger into the already thick air. Slender fingers raced across the keyboard, then pulled back into curled fists. A single finger emerged, hovering above the Backspace key. With one quick movement, the finger slammed into the key, pounding the hell out of it. Pounding, pounding until the whole damn page was clear.
Clear.
That word seemed distant, almost gone from her vocabulary. Since the day Lester died, nothing had seemed clear to her. Not only her mind, but her entire world had fogged over with a thick, nauseating substance she found to be a harmful blend of fear and failure.
The finger was once again reunited with the fist, curling itself, nails piercing skin. Tears brimmed the eyes that had once held so much hope, so much power, so much love.
"Shit." Black cotton met skin, and the tears disappeared. The fingers uncurled themselves, the piercing nails leaving their darkened marks. Physical pain was nothing now. The deep trenches in her hands mere numb vibrations compared to the sickening movie theatre in her head that insisted on constantly playing her wedding day.
"You've got mail." Staring at the momentarily unrecognizable computer screen, her paled hand moved cautiously over to the mouse, enveloping the slightly curved shape. Dragging it absentmindedly to the right and up, she almost wished she had deleted the damned thing before she opened up. She already knew what it said. Knew her response. Knew that this was only one of many, many more.

I Know About Your Husband.

She stared blankly, lip trembling, sounding out each and every letter in the five word email. This was nothing new. She could easily count out hundreds of other emails exactly like this one. Yet each time she received one, each time she read and re-read it, it left a new wound on her heart. One that cut deeper and deeper with each word, and yet never seemed to heal over.
"Bastard." Paled lips mouthed the word in silence, fear melting into anger. She was tired of this. Tired of whoever was sending these emails. Tired of the dreams, the visions, the essence of her dead husband that loomed over her small apartment.
She was tired. Dead tired.

Saturday, 10:16 A.M.

"Ugh...uh." Choking on vanilla scented shampoo and Neutrogena face wash, she clumsily focused the showerhead on her face, water, soap and shampoo streaming into her mouth and nose. Although both the shampoo and face wash smelled great, the taste was far from savory. Nonetheless, the twisted bitter flavors vanished from her mouth within seconds, and once again she was focused on Lester.
Lester.
Why did he take up her entire life? Every second of every minute, every minute of every hour, and every hour of every day he was there, filling her mind with himself.
Because he's my husband...
She shut off the water, the water that dripped from the tip of her nose and the lengths of her hair the only sounds in the bathroom.
Because he was my husband.
Shutting off her mind from Lester once again, she slipped numbly through the glass door into the heavy fog that was once her bathroom. She ran her hand across the mirror, clear lines streaking wherever her hand touched. She stared at her reflection, noticing the only too noticeable.
Her once thick, curvaceous body was now thin and slightly hollow. Her once flawless caramel-brown skin was now a sickly brown tinted with a sapphire blue. The breasts which has once been full and voluptuous were now small and clingy. Her deep chocolate eyes which had once held so much power were now empty shells, as blank and shallow as a street puddle. The deep V between her legs was the only thing that was still the same as before, innocent and untouched by any man. Unlike the other girls she went to school and college with, she had held herself in high regard and refused to give it up to any man but her true lover. She found this to be difficult until she met Lester, who she then promised to be her first and last.
Sadly enough, it looked as though she'd be hanging on to her V-Card for a little bit longer.
Suddenly disgusted with what she saw and thought, she quickly wrapped a thick cotton towel around her tiny body, leaving the bathroom and her twisted reflection behind in the clouds of steam and utter disgust.
At that moment she realized her life was in distress. It was eight months last week that Lester died, and she knew she needed to get a hold of herself in order to find his killer.
"To find his killer," she whispered, shutting her eyes, "and to find myself."