I decided to check my email as I hadn’t bothered for the past few days. I wasn’t one of those people who compulsively checked her email several times a day, feeling blue if nobody sent me anything. I viewed it more as a nuisance than anything else—a necessary evil, if you will. I sat at my mom’s computer and powered up. It was slow going only using one hand, but I did the best I could. I accessed my Yahoo! account and noticed that I had fifteen new emails. Most of them were advertisements from Yahoo! which I promptly deleted. There was a few emails from Liza who liked to email me during her workday when she got bored. I opened them up and saw that they were forwarded joke emails. She knew I hated forwarded emails, but she sent them to me, anyway. I deleted them without even looking.
“What’s this?” I had an email from someone who’s username I didn’t immediately recognize. I hesitated, then opened it.
Bitch, do you think I’ve forgotten you? Not a chance in hell. You fucking ruined my life, and I’ll get you back if it take me the rest of my life. You better watch your back, bitch. I’m coming for you soon.
Ah, the gentle tone of Shannon. There were two more from her, but I deleted them unread. I knew they would be of the same ilk, and I had no desire to read any more of her ranting claptrap. I didn’t think she was the one who stabbed me, but it was just a gut feeling. I had nothing concrete to go on. There was also an email from Aaron. I debated about deleting it unread, but my curiosity was too strong. Was it just the usual, ‘I want to fuck you’ note, or did he have something more important to say? I opened it.
Trish, how are you doing? It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I just wanted to let you know that I’ve heard from Shannon, and she’s serious about getting you back. You might say she’s obsessed. She’s already slashed the tires on my car and trashed the front of my house. Be careful, girl. I don’t want her to get you. P.S. How about getting together for old times’ sake?
I tapped my finger against my lip. She slashed his tires? Trashed his house? It sounded like she was serious. I wondered if I should tell the cops about her. I knew that I should show them the note I had received with my courtesy stabbing, but I didn’t believe that it would do any good. It was the generic kind of crap I got from time to time and for no other reason than I was a flashy Asian chick in a staid Scandinavian town. It was hard for me to believe that in this day and age, there were still people who judged me on the color of my skin and not on my merit. I had a hunch the police would take it more seriously than did I, but I still was reluctant to show it to them. I had an irrational dislike of the cops which dictated that I stay away from them as much as possible.