131. Regretting

Third Person's POV:

The decision to stay out a little longer hadn't seemed like such a terrible one at the time. When Rose decided it wouldn't hurt to spare some extra time to her friends before going back home and barricade herself before night falls and he comes.

In fact, Rose had genuinely enjoyed her afternoon with Leo, Aria, and the rest of their friends, letting herself forget for a few hours the ever-present shadow lurking at the edges of her nights.

She had laughed, talked, even let herself relax for the first time in days. It almost made her feel normal again.

Almost.

Rose even felt bad for cutting their little soiree short to come back when it was beginning to get dark. Questioning if she really needed to fear the night and go back into hiding.

Now, as she walked home alone, the last remnants of daylight fading into the thick embrace of night, Rose knew the answer to her question. Yes. 

Yes, she should have just broken Leo's heart because it was better then having her neck broken.

And yes she should have never went with them to have a normal day like a normal teenager, doing normal things to have fun.

By no means she is a normal, average teenage American girl anymore. Not when she has her own, private visitor of the night living in the shadows that seems to be growing larger around her with every passing day.

Now she regretted every second she had wasted. 

The night was getting more desolate with the moon hiding behind god knows what mountain of clouds, leaving her path dimly lit by the occasional streetlamp, casting long, eerie shadows that twisted and stretched with every flicker of the light.

Rose was looking over her shoulder every second as she walked alone.

The night air carried with it the whispering rustle of unseen movement in the trees, the occasional snap of twigs that sent a violent shiver crawling up her spine, gnawing at the poor girl's fears making her jump and look around in her paranoia. She certainly had a good enough reason for to be.

If this keeps up, she will have grey hair before she even crosses her 30.

Rose clutched the tiny vial of holy water around her neck, her fingers pressing so tightly against the glass that she half-expected it to shatter. This is the only protection she has. 

It's almost his time...what my stalker shows up to my home finds out I'm not there and comes to find me wandering on the side of the road, completely and absurdly unprotected.

Rose sucked in a shaky breath, her steps quickening with the horrid possibilities clamoring around in her mind, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

She passed by a small park, its empty swings groaning under the push of the wind. A round swing began spinning ever so slightly, as if an invisible force had taken residence on it.

It's just the wind… Just the wind…

But the way the chains clinked, the eerie sway of the empty seats—it felt like something more.

Like something unseen was making them move, like the swing moving back and forth actually had someone on it, someone she can't see with her eyes but feel.

Panic seized her, and she bolted.

Rose was far from those inquisitive types to stay and investigate such horrifying phenomenon. She only make stupid decisions when she is under the influence of a drug.

The sprint home felt endless, every shadow a threat, every breath a struggle.

By the time she stumbled onto her porch, she was gasping, her fingers fumbling in her bag for the keys.

They slipped from her grasp, clinking against the wooden floorboards.

"Crap!" She hissed, bending to grab them with trembling hands as the growing anxiousness making her head swell. She began taking in breath to calm her shivering limbs.

And then as if her anxiety was proving to her that it was not only her baseless paranoia and that she really had a reason to be afraid; the coming gust of wind crashing over her senses brought forth what she has began to disdain in recent days.

The soft, floral, sickeningly sweet scent.

Roses.

The blood drained from her face seizing her actions momentarily, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps as she forced herself to shove the key into the lock.

Her fingers shook violently, making the process infuriatingly slow.

The scent thickened, coiling around her like a phantom embrace, teasing the edge of her sanity.

Is he here? Is he watching? Is he coming closer. 

As if the mere idea of him had so much power over her, the skin of her back began to prickle in goosebumps, burning in anticipation of a phantom presences behind her. 

"There's no one behind me. There's no on behind me. It's just my paranoia. I am only freaking out-" her chanting came to a halt.