An Unhealthy Obsession

Rule Six

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(Y/N)'s Complete Guide to Achieving Success

Rule Six of Ten:

'There is a point where enough can be enough.'

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"Is there anyone down here?"

A voice rang out, sending the sound echoing off the plain brick walls of the basement.

You tried hard not to breath.

Not to move.

Arms shaking, teeth clenched, hand so tight over your victims mouths and nose that she should've, if not already, fallen unconscious.

You couldn't describe with words the absolute terror running through your veins.

It was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Your body was tremoring so badly, you were certain the owner of the voice could see your outline juddering through the dark. Eyes wide and full of utter dread.

"Hello...?"

The voice cried out again, it was female, and foreign...

You had never heard it before.

Who did it belong to?

It wasn't your mother's.

It didn't belong to the old women who washed the dishes in the back, this was some complete stranger.

Shit.

The stairs creaked as you heard a foot lower on the first step, wood groaning under the weight.

What were you to do now?

Your anxiety ridden brain, couldn't comprehend your situation quick enough, heart thundering in your rib cage so loudly you couldn't even hear yourself think.

Scouring amongst the darkness, in your state of panic, you saw you had a couple options.

A couple options of possible escape.

If not many, they still gave you a chance of making it out of that hellish, damp box of a room you had found yourself cornered in.

You had suddenly become the rat.

There was one door.

So that was most defiantly out of the question.

There were no windows.

It was a basement.

There were no large objects to hide behind.

There was no time to even hide Hana's body.

It would be too heavy and bulky to drag away in the time you had, and were would you put it anyway?

There was no place to hide.

Either you could stay smothering her and pray. Pray to whatever hellish gods would listen to your villainous pleas, and just hope with all your might that whoever was at the top of the stairs didn't know where the light switch was.

Or you could leap out of your cover and try and explain yourself to whoever was up there, you lived there, you owned the cafe.

The person up there couldn't order you around in your own premises, could they?

But on second thought...

You felt your hair tickling your nose, stuck to the blood crusting your face.