Sugar & Spice (Jeff The Killer)

2- Hoods

It was a week later when I began to notice weird happenings.

A figure in the land behind my house.

A shadow in the garage.

A noise outside my bedroom window.

I thought I was losing my mind. And to be honest, I was getting pissed. If anything was out there, I just wanted it to come on in so I could give it a piece of my mind. It was frustrating. I felt like a sitting duck. Especially because something deep inside me felt something coming. Or someone.

I briefly considered asking my parents to get a dog but unfortunately my dad was allergic. And a sissy. I had tried to persuade him to get a hypoallergenic one before, but, naturally, he's the bane of my existence and said no.

So I was sitting on the leather couch, tapping my foot on the ground, trying to listen for any possible noise outside. I don't know what I would do. But I was angry. And then the door opened.

I launched into a fighting stance I remembered from a kickboxing class I took over the summer and waited. I had to look ridiculous with my fists up and my feet apart while wearing a over the knee socks, a denim skirt, and a cropped tank top.

"I had time between surgeries so I brought home Chinese. Figured we can actually have dinner together before I take a shower and go back to the hospital."

I was almost disappointed to realize it was my mother coming in through the kitchen.

"Oh. Cool."

I walked into the kitchen and sat at the counter on a bar stool as she passed me a container and chop sticks. She stayed standing as she ate. She was like that. Always upright or pacing. Maybe it was a doctor thing.

"You look pretty," she commented, her blue eyes looking me over.

"I do my hair to pass the time," I shrugged, my auburn curls jostling as I did so.

A pained look flashed over my mother's freckled face. If either of them would feel bad about always being gone, it'd be her. She grew up the same way in her strict Scottish family. That's why she ran away. But history has a habit of repeating itself.

We finished our meals and my mother went up to take her shower.

"Throw the trash away, please!" She called.

"Already ahead of you," I mumbled, tossing the containers in the trash bin.

I went into my room and logged onto my laptop while laying on the queen sized bed. I sometimes spent my time writing superhero fanfics. Something about the justness of heroes always got me. And Thor is also pretty hot.

I could hear the shower in my mom's room stop. Then some shuffling.

"Rosalie!"

I sat up.

"Did you use my blow dryer again?"

Only because hers was so much hotter.

I went into my bathroom and unplugged the tool, carrying it down the hallway and into my parents' room. I noticed she had forgotten to close the floor length burgundy curtains in front of their giant, very closed window, so I did it for her.

Pay attention because that fact was very important.

"Here you go," I handed her the purple blow dryer and went back to my room.

It was around 7 when she left again. I could hear the crunch of the gravel as her SUV drove down our driveway. I laid in my room, staring at the ceiling that was lit by the fairy lights hanging on the ceiling.

I hated this.

Doing nothing.

I wanted an adventure. Something new. Something different. I wanted to feel a rush. Not the boring, pampered life I was living.

I went into my parents room to find pictures of their traveling days before they went to college. The box of pictures was under their bed and when I slid it out, I noticed dust hadn't collected on it from when I had last pulled it out. I smiled, looking through all the places they went. A breeze drifted through and danced in my hair. I turned and noticed the window was open. And the curtains were pulled open. Mom wouldn't have opened it. So what did?

I heard a creak on the stairs.

"Don't get your hopes up, Rosalie," I muttered to myself.

Then I heard another.

And another.

Going down?

I got up and tiptoed toward the door. I carefully opened it and crossed the loft where I would be able to see into the first floor without anyone really noticing me. I squatted down and watched, waiting for anything to descend the staircase.

And then I saw him.

The man in the store.

"Hey!" I yelled without thinking. I grabbed my old softball bat I had in the loft along with my other childhood memories and slid down one of the poles that held the loft up.

I definitely watched too many superhero movies. Because I was not Black Widow. Or a fireman. And my ankles hurt like hell upon impact. My thighs were also chafed.

The hooded man looked at me with something similar to alarm. It looked a little more like,

What the hell is going on? This hasn't happened before.

He didn't move though. But a smirk made it's way onto his face. His eyes grew cold.

"Brave one, huh?" His voice was like gravel, as if he didn't use it much.

"Get out of my house, stalker!" I seethed, gripping my bat tighter.

"I wouldn't want to miss all this fun," he dropped his white hood, revealing wavy, shoulder length black hair. He shifted his stance to look more intimidating, his combat boots scraping against the floor.

"You don't scare me. You look like a James Bay wannabe," I raised a perfectly sculpted brow.

"Listen, Beauty Queen Bitch. Drop the neon pink bat."

I saw a silver glint as he pulled something from out of his pocket. I swallowed as I noticed it was a knife. I launched my bat at him without thinking, my weapon knocking him back into the wall as it smacked him in the abdomen. His knife clattered to the ground and I lunged for it.

"Alright, mister. Get out of my house. I have the upper hand now."

I leaned over him, my steely grey eyes scowling at him as his blue ones looked back up at me with a bored look.

"You're pretty cute to think that."

Then he swept the bat across my feet and had me landing on my bottom with a hard thud.

"I knew I should keep you around."

And that's how it started.