The 23-year-old looked and felt much older than her young age. The loss she had experienced was very obvious on her pretty face, which was streaked with tears of sorrow.
She wore all black to show the mourning she felt for her dead love. They had been husband and wife for a mere four years, but the love between them went back much further.
It didn't feel like only four years of marriage to her; it felt like an eternity. He knew how to make the most every day, every minute.
Her mind took her back eight years in time to the day she had first met him at the childish, immature age of 15. They were the exact same age, born on the same day, January 28, with him being only a few hours older than she was.
She could still see his eyes blazing blue fire, his face flushing in anger and agitation, his silky blonde hair being shaken out of his face indignantly, his muscled body being drawn up to its full height so that he towered over her haughtily.
It was a war waiting to happen when they met. From that day on, it had been their primary goal in life to annoy each other.
She had to admit that he had been exceptionally spectacular at pushing all of her little buttons. Perhaps even a little better than she had been at pushing his.
The last thing she had meant to do was fall for him, her archrival, but they had both been hooked since the very first day and complimented each other perfectly.
She shook herself out of the memory, knowing that all she would ever have of him now was just that--memories.
Her eyes wandered down to stare at her small hands and gazed into the diamond engagement/wedding ring as if it held the answer to why he had been taken so cruelly from her.
He had been her world and now that he was gone, it was all crashing down around her. Nothing made sense anymore, all that was left was pain and heartbreak and suffering.
She wished that he was there to hold her in his strong arms and tell her that everything would be okay. She wished that the phone would ring and she would hear his smooth voice flowing over her, reassuring her that he was fine and that he'd be home soon and that he loved her.
But she knew that neither would ever happen again and that nothing was okay.
She, in turn, had been his world as well, his angel, his life force, the reason to wake up and live every day to its fullest. She knew that wherever he was, he missed her just as much as she missed him.
The thought comforted her somewhat, but it wasn't enough. Usually she would have turned to her best friend, Angelique, but she too was gone.
Both of them, killed in a senseless act of cruelty, obsession, and jealousy. She should have been the one dead instead of him, her sweet love.
The bullets had been meant for her and Angel. But he had jumped in front of her just in time--to save her life and end his own.
His last soft words to her had been, "I love you Scarlett. I always have...always will. No matter what happens." She had been crying and screaming and cradling his head, begging him not to leave her.
He'd reached up one hand to touch her face in a supreme effort. "I'll always love you 'Lett, promise you'll always love me."
She sobbed and placed her hand on top of his on her cheek. "I promise, I'll always love you, always, no matter what happens," she choked out through hysterical tears.
"We'll be together again someday...I l-l-love you..." his voice died to a whisper and he pulled her to him, tears running down his face as well. Their lips met in one last kiss, sealing their promise, and then she felt him go limp in her arms.
She wailed a cry of true and utter heartbreak, her own heart being torn from her chest along with her husband's soul from his body. Next to her, Angel's husband was echoing her scream of pain and desperation.
She had been so absorbed in her soulmate that she hadn't even noticed her own best friend dying next to them. She hoped and prayed that she was still alive, but Scarlett knew from the screams coming from his mouth and the tears pouring from his eyes that she was already gone.
"Brian," she choked out. Tears were running like rain from both sets of eyes and she knew that he understood her extent of pain; he had been Angel's soulmate every bit as much as her own dead husband had been hers.
He tried to form words but failed. "Oh God, Brian, what have they done?" she wailed. Brian let his wife go and crawled over to Scarlett, both of them holding each other tightly, afraid to let go. Both hoping that they would wake up from this horrible nightmare.
At the same moment, they let out an unimaginable scream of agony and the sky split open with a bolt of lightning, a crack of thunder, and then the rain pounded down on them like icy bullets.
Police lights lit the bloody scene red and blue as the two blood-covered widows that had been left behind clung to each other desperately and sobbed, barely able to breathe as their lovers' bodies were zipped in body bags and taken away. With them, a part of both of them was gone as well.
Scarlett snapped out of the horrible memory, her eyes wide in terror, breath fast, and heart pounding. "Oh my God," she breathed.
The memory had felt so real, so terrifying that she shook in fear. She clasped her hands tightly together and looked down at them once more. They itched to draw.
Since her husband's death, she hadn't sung or drawn at all. Her parents had taken their daughter for as long as she needed because she looked so much like her father that it hurt Scarlett to look at her. She loved Tayler, but couldn't bear to see his resemblance so close to her.
She tried to push the thoughts away and somehow managed. Drawing, that was what she was going to do. She was going to draw until the pain eased a little.
She got up, a frail, thin figure from not eating and no peaceful sleep since his death, and picked up a drawing pad and pencil, pausing with her hand poised over the paper.
She thought of her husband throughout the 8 years she had known him. And then she began to draw...
She didn't even bother to wipe away her tears. They would come again, as they always did. She needed him here, needed him more than she had ever needed anything.
She sometimes wondered if loving someone so much that half of you dies with them was worth all this pain. But then she would think of her husband and know--yes, of course it was worth it to have lived life the way they had.
Always absorbed in each other, off in their own little world together. It was a match made in heaven by the angels of pure and unconditional love themselves. Everyone had always said that they were meant to be together, and they were smarter than they knew, for it was written in the stars.
