12 Months Of Oliver: Rosie my heart, and Holt my soul.

Before February

 As a senior in high school, staying up late became an every night thing. No, I wasn't staying up doing homework. Instead, I was staying up to cook and clean the house. Yes, every night. I did this because my 25 year old sister couldn't stop bringing guys home after a long night of drinking. Every time she walked in the front door it was always: "Rosie~, can you cook us some pasta~? Your cooking is the best~!", and "Rosie~, I accidentally s–pilt my wine again~! Can you clean it~?". However, I couldn't find it in myself to say no.

Two years ago, our cheapskate parents went on a "Business Trip", conveniently two days after my sister was legally an adult. However, I received a letter in the mail recently. It said that they'd be visiting for Thanksgiving! But knowing them, it's just for the free food.

Once my parents left, I took up taking care of my self destructive sister. To be honest, I didn't mind taking care of her. She was my sister, it was our job to take care of each other. Household chores were the only way I interacted with her. However, that all changed six hours ago.

Thursday, February 1st, 7:00 pm.

I was riding my bike home from work and it started to rain. Then it started to pour.

When I arrived at home, the front door was unlocked. So, my sister either came home early, or someone else got into the house. I never considered that it could be both. But when I saw her with a six inch box nail jammed into her rib cage, I knew that it wasn't just my sister in that house. I also knew whoever did this to my sister was still in the house. The floorboards are old, but not old enough to start creaking on their own. It was not safe to be in that house.

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the closest weapon, a frying pan. Like I said, I grabbed the closest weapon I could, not the best weapon I could. As soon as I got the pan, I took out my phone to call 911. My 'favorite' part of this day was when my phone died mid way through dialing. This meant I had to go back to That Room. That room had the last chance to call for help.

When I stood in the doorway of the room my sister was... in, all I could think about was the blood covered man cursing to himself while attempting to clean up the massive puddle of blood. The man seemed to be in his early twenties. He had ash brown hair with ginger roots and tips. He wore a dark brown jacket with fur lining, a gray T-shirt, and a pair of ripped jeans tucked into his black hiking boots, both covered in blood stains.

The man trying to clean up the blood clearly hasn't cleaned anything before. He reeked of blood, sweat, and old socks. What really sold the deal was the fact that he was "cleaning" the floor with shampoo from my bathroom.

It didn't take long for him to notice my presence. I was immediately pinned against the door frame with a long carpenter nail in the hand of my sister's murderer. While tears poured down my face, I started spouting out anything that might spare me from a painful death. "Please, please, please, please, please don't kill me please," I begged.

"What did you see?" He demanded.

"I swear -I d-didn't see a-anything!" I lied. All of a sudden, I heard a growling sound coming from the man in front of me.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"Rosie." I squeaked.

"Then listen here Rosie, you make me a decent meal and clean this b**ch's blood up, and I might decide not to gut you!"

Obviously I was not in the mood to get... nail murdered? So I got to work on a nice pepper, onion, and bacon omelet. Since it was my sister's favorite dish, I had a lot of time to perfect it. While I turned on the stove, I started to think. That is when it hit me. At that moment, it was like all of my senses were turned back on, as if a light switch was flipped and everything started working again. —I cracked the egg—. My palms, aching and sweaty from gripping onto the handle of the pan for dear life. —I poured the egg into the pan—. My ears stopped ringing like church bells and all I heard was the sizzling of the egg. —I added some cheese—. I could taste the bile in the back of my throat. —I added some onions and peppers—. All I could smell was the blood coming from the other room. —I added some bacon—. Tears piled up in the corners of my eyes. And then it sank in... —I turned off the stove—. She's dead. The last family member that bothered to stay with me is dead in the next room over.