Meet Mr. Murderer

Five

My thoughts whirled, circling in panic and wonder. Some of my distress was sidetracked by his wacky eye color. I shrugged off the rest of my distress, focusing on the thought that if he really wanted to kill me then he would have done so by now. I locked the doors so I could proceed upstairs with a peaceful mind.

I crossed the parking lot with ease, the creepy, wacky eyed guy did nothing but turn in my direction to watch my actions. My heart pounded, completely ignoring my attempts to act rational. That thought was ignored further when my feet raced up the stairs into my apartment, not having the patience to deal with the elevator.

Panting and lacking my earlier panic-induced adrenaline, I collapsed on the sofa face down.

I heard a chuckle in the background.

I rolled off the couch, inelegantly falling into a heap before forcing my legs into a crouch. I glanced around.

In the corner where the kitchen was, a man was dressed in black and casually cooking the Mac and cheese I had started previously.

I froze, unwilling to comprehend that someone was cooking for me . . . or that I didn't even know this person, but that was a mere afterthought.

He chuckled again, taking in my stupefied expression.

I stood up from my crouch, gazing at him in his getup. He was wearing black leggings tucked into black combat boots, a black pocketless hoodie tucked into said leggings. His hood was up with a black mask covering the brim of his nose to the bottom of his throat. His hair was hidden if he had any, but his eyes were on display. They were a startling golden color.
I narrowed my eyes at him, going to his side to take the wooden spoon from his grasp.
He didn't get the memo to scoot over so I flung a couple of noodles at his face.
     He flinched, removing the shell noodle that had stuck to the edge of his mask, scooting over nonetheless.
     "What did you do with my food?" I glared at him.
     "Why were you trying to steal a car?" He crossed his arms, looking down his nose at me.
I blinked, opened my mouth to respond, closed it again. "Excuse me?" I finally said.
"You were going to steal that Mustang." He said it so matter-of-factly that I had to take another pause before responding.
"I own that Mustang. The title's in my room. Now back to my food-"
"Hold on. Why would you shine a flashlight through the window if you own it?" He held up his index finger at me.
I rolled my eyes, stirring the noodles around. "I had left my Literature folder somewhere and didn't know if I dropped it in my car, so I looked to see if it was on the floorboard. Would you like me to ask permission every time I need inside my car? When I'm too lazy to open the door to look for things? If I shine a light through my window?"
     "No . . . but you still looked suspicious from an outsider's point of view."
"I don't care what my actions look like to other people. "I gestured at the fully cooked noodles. "Did you poison my beloved mac-and-cheese?"
     "That's what you're worried about?" His eyebrow inched higher on his forehead.
     I made my eyebrow mirror his. "I'm a poor college student who values food over most people. Of course I'm going to be worried about my food."

"I'm not that cruel."

"Really? You broke into my apartment, took over my kitchen, and accused me of stealing my own car. Besides, if I'd steal anybody's vehicle, it would be the Ford Raptor in the back parking lot." I stretched on my top toes to get the strainer to drain my food.

He slid out of my way, seeming to ponder over my words.

The rush of water filled the silence between us.

"To be fair, I didn't come in here to poison you. I just wanted to see if you were an actual theif." He picked up the hot dog package, twirling it between his hands.