• • •
Friday. November 20th, 2015. 11:42 PM
• • •

The watch on my wrist read 10:10 pm. The clock on the stove read 11:42 pm.

Since arriving at Martha's, I kept her company and held her while she clutched onto my body as if it was a lifeline. I've been there for her as much as I could be. The first couple of days we were very stoic towards each other, almost no emotion, but by the fourth day, something snapped. I think it was the realization that by today he would be dead for a week. We have been on this Earth for an entire week without him, and as much as it was killing me, I could only imagine what it was doing to her.

Running my hand through my dark hair, I stilled at my neck, my fingers trailing the chain down to the ring that hung loosely between my breasts. Martha had given it to me yesterday. She hadn't said much about the small little box, except that Clark was asking about some of her rings she didn't wear anymore. I remember watching her eyes well with tears before setting the box on the dresser and leaving me alone. I had stared at it for ten minutes before forcing myself to open it. The small box was cardboard and had a small velvet pouch inside. A note had caught my attention.

It was a note from Clark addressed to me:

"The sun is my lifeline, and the sun shines brightly for you.

This is a promise."

I hadn't known how to take it now that he was gone...did I wear it or not? So instead, I slipped it onto my necklace and kept it close to my heart.

My eyes lingered on the glistening rose quartz hanging from the chain on a simple gold band with two smaller diamonds placed at the top and below the squared gem. Sighing, I stood up and left the room. Martha was in her study, sitting in an old worn love chair with a blanket around her. She was watching the snow from the window. The air was hot and thick with warmth, and I caught sight of the flickering fire in the corner.

"Martha?"

Her tired eyes fell from the window to look at me, brightening slightly.

"Does it fit?"

I swallowed, hand immediately going for the ring hanging from my neck, "Yes. It does. Thank you," I moved further into the room to sit down on the matching sofa to her love seat. I sank comfortably into the dark green cushions and placed a plush pillow over my lap, pulling my legs under me.

A silence slightly less substantial than it has been settled upon us and I watched her smile calmly at me nodding.

I blinked at her when she asked for the time.

"Um...my uh, the watch doesn't work anymore," I spoke looking down at it.

"It died?" She asked.

"Yes..."

"I have extra watch batteries in the drawer by the refrigerator," She offered.

"I can't change it. It's the time he-," my voice stilled in my throat, and I locked eyes with her. Martha could only nod and placed a blanket wrapped hand to her lips to silence her sharp intake of breath.

I didn't finish the conversation, we let the words hang in the air, and we both turned our gaze to the fresh snow falling outside blanketing the flat Kansas land.

• • •

Monday. November 30th, 2015. 5:32 PM.

• • •

My first day back to work after Supermans death and my absence and the holiday on top of that felt like I had been gone for years. The hostile looks I had almost gotten used to days before his death are now looks of grief and looks of "how do we say we're sorry for your loss." I kept my head down and finished my article on Batman; it was easier to write now that I knew he was better then what he had set out to be. The day had surprisingly passed rather quickly. Perry kept his distance and Lois kept hers too. I could feel her eyes boring holes into Clark's empty desk, and I had to remind myself that they were in love at one point. She deserves to feel what I'm feeling, but I still haven't asked her how she was because she hasn't asked me.

My heels clicked lightly against the newly installed hardwood floors of the apartment hallway as I walked to my door. Keys jangling in hand while I balanced my purse and Chinese food bag.

"Miss. Westmore?" I turned to see the little girl who lived above me sitting at the bottom of the stairs that led to her floor. She had something in her hand, and I watched her cautiously approach me, glancing over her shoulder for a moment.

"My mom doesn't know I'm down here, but I wanted to give you this. I was spying on you and Superman- I know I shouldn't have, it was wrong." She smiled almost getting confidence in her self when she stepped up to me, "I'm so sorry he died. I loved him too,"

"I know. Thank you."

"Here. I think you should have this." She shoved the paper at me and stepped back quickly.

A bit startled, it took me a moment to realize what she had handed me. It was a photo from above, clear and obviously Superman and I in an embrace. The photo itself was beautiful, and my eyes lingered on Clark.

"Thank you so much!" I kneeled before her and wrapped her in a hug. A cherry aroma wafted from her, and I held her tightly. She returned the hug and then quickly stepped back and sniffed oddly. I noticed she was holding back tears. Just as I had realized it, she took another step back and ran to the stairs turning, momentarily, to wave.

The apartment was stale, and I quickly opened the balcony doors slightly, once I was inside. My days now were very similar: woke up at 0545, showered, dressed, ate breakfast, went to work, hated being at work, came home, ate dinner, and repeated it day in and day out. There were no new coffee dates, no fun outings with colleagues, nothing. I'd bury myself in assignment after assignment and would turn in work early only to demand another.

Perry was worried I was overworking myself, but as I placed the photo on my bedside table and sat down on the bed, fingers curling into the blankets, I knew that if I stopped for just a moment I would feel all that I was suppressing and to me it was better to keep my emotions at bay then to cry myself to sleep every night.

• • •

Monday, August 15th, 2016. 11:30 AM.
• • •

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I demanded.

Lois stood in front of me, her pen poised over her pad of paper.

"Excuse me?" She gasped.

"Why would you ask me that?" Tears were threatening to spill, and I could feel my body grow hot with anger.

"Annie, it's been ten months, and you haven't said a word to the press. I thought that maybe you'd speak to me-,"

"Oh, because we were in love with the same man?"

"Yes, if anyone knows what you're going through,-"

"Don't you fucking dare say the end of that sentence, Lois. You have no idea what I'm going through. You're not the one who can't sleep at night, the one who hears his scream of agony as he was impaled. I can't walk down the street without someone saying something to me or seeing a reminder of who I lost. Who I lost, Lois. He was mine. He chose me. Do not try to compare our emotions over the man I loved when you only used him to get you out of the life-threatening situations you put yourself in." I screamed, my voice hoarse and wet hot tears splattered against my blouse. I wiped my face and clenched my fists walking away from her, or I'd hit her in the face.

"Annie," She called after me, I felt a tug on my sleeve, and I spun around.

"Fuck you, Lois. Fuck you,"

I honestly hadn't even remembered that day, but Perry had to pull me from work for a month and demanded that I go to grief and PTSD counseling or I'd be looking for another job. I had obliged but hated every moment of it.

• • •
Saturday, November 13th, 2016.
• • •

The only way I was able to visit his monument was by going early in the morning. I stared down at the 'S' symbol in the ground at the dozen of flowers and cards and wanted to throw them all away, but I know those thoughts were wrong. I should be happy that he impacted so many people lives. My therapist says I resented all the people who had a longer relationship with him than I did. At first, I was angry that she would even suggest that, but I caught myself getting mad at every little story I heard of him saving someone and knew she was right.

On my way home I had decided that the therapy was working, but it wasn't enough. I needed to stop lying and telling Perry I was going to the PTSD meetings and go. My sleep schedule had gotten better over the past year, but I was still shut-in, and I worried I would never be the same.

I needed someone who wasn't here to look at me with sad eyes and say how sorry they were for my loss. I needed a friend who was genuinely worried about me. The first anniversary of his death was good for no one close to him. Martha and I had drifted apart, and my mother and I barely spoke, well she would call me every week, but I would only listen. I just wanted to stay in my apartment away from all the press and crazy fans. I just wanted to be with him.

• • •
Friday, March 10th, 2017. 3:35 PM.
• • •

The room smelt of coffee and cookies, the voices of the others echoed off the thin walls as they spoke. Hot coffee in hand, I kept my gaze to my painted fingernails. I've only been coming here for a few days, thankfully no one has approached me yet, but I was anticipating my knack for staying invisible was running out.

"Ms. Westmore, would you like to share? We haven't heard your story yet." The older round gentleman who was the counselor spoke across the circle, and I glanced up to everyone staring at me.

Some of the women were frowning, and I had to stop myself from thinking they envied me. With a slightly shaky hand, I put the styrofoam cup to my lips and chugged the not so cool coffee, cleared my throat and shrugged.

"I think the whole world knows my story,"

That got a low rumble of laughs, and I smiled slightly at them all.

"Uh, well, I'm sure you all know who I am, but if you don't, I'll introduce myself. My name is Annie Westmore. I work at The Daily Planet as a reporter and sixteen months ago- a year and four months ago, my boyfriend was murdered. And if for some reason you don't know who my boyfriend was he was Superman." I glanced around the circle, and they all just stared back with blank expressions.

"I tried to handle the grief, everyone else's and the press and spotlight myself and ended up being depressed and I wasn't getting better, so my boss made these mandatory." I sipped the last of my coffee signifying that I was done talking and a slow round of applause greeted me.

"The first step in getting better is admitting you need help and we are happy to welcome you to our meetings, Ms. Westmore. Everyone in this circle," The counselor gestured to the twelve others, "has lost someone they love be it a police officer, a child, a mother, or a protector," He locked eyes with me, "the hole in our hearts will always be there, but it's up to us to make our life worth living again."

There were no questions asked, no whispers to me after I had spoken, and in a way, it calmed me. I wasn't the center of attention or the spectacle in the room, I was just Annie Westmore, and I knew this was something that would not define me even if it's already branded me in the media.

I will regain my independence and identity back. I needed to do this for me and me only.

• • •

Friday, March 17th, 2017. 4:50 PM.
• • •

"Annie, is something wrong?" My mother gasped once she finally answered.

I frowned, shifting my position on the couch, "Mom, why do you say that?"

"You haven't called me in months, I always call you. Are you sure everything is okay?"

I sat up then, my heart racing at the thought of what I had to tell her, "I've been withdrawn, and I know it hasn't been fair to you, but I needed to work on myself, and I've been going to grief meetings. It's crazy, but it's working. Even though I've only been going for a week or so,"

"Oh, sweetie, that's great to hear,"

I had ventured into the kitchen and looked in the fridge, then shut it and hopped up onto my counter, placing the phone down and putting her on speaker.

"Hey, mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I met someone."

BOOK TWO COMING SOON...