Another email popped up in the corner of Emily’s monitor and she dreaded opening it, but she did. She could have deleted it as soon as she saw who sent it, but it was almost like she wanted to read the abuse.

stupid fat fucking fag. youre such a slag bech. how the boyfrend? oh yeh, forgot he died. bet u killed him didnt u slag

Emily’s inbox was filled with message after message of abuse that she didn’t delete or report. She just left them there, building up and up. Sometimes she cried but that was rare nowadays. All the tears had gone, turned to dust in her eyes.

Emily left them there, because they were right. She was a slag, a bitch, a murderer.
Emily had killed him, one way or the other. Rumours said that she stabbed him, then threw him off a bridge. She didn’t.

She broke up with him, and it killed him inside.