Cockroach

Suddenly it's like everything is happening in slow motion; even her flashbacks have that sense of horror movie moment of doom speed. Everything is quiet. Everything is still. If there was dramatic music playing, this would be the part where it stops. Silence is much more terrifying than noise. Nothing good happens when it is too quiet.

She can hear herself breathe. It's short and ragged. If she had just finished going for a run this is what she thinks her breath would sound like. Panic is the reason for being out of breath - no actual physical strain has happened, yet. There's no use in trying to calm down, and she's given up on trying to be quiet. He's already seen her.

The air conditioning turns on, rattling the vents.

Drip.

Amelia jumps slightly at the sound. It's the only other noise in her big, quiet house. This is the worst possible scenario for this to happen. She's all alone, and he knows it. No one is there to help. She can't rely on anyone else to defend herself - a damsel in distress and the knight has left the castle.

Deep breaths. It's going to be okay. Just remain calm. Don't let him sense your fear. Then you lose any sliver of an advantage that you might have.

Amelia clutches the purple towel that's wrapped around her. Her hair is still dripping wet from the shower, sending droplets of water down her neck. She didn't even hear him enter. That's the worst part. It's a silent attack, almost like she is being stalked, almost like he waited for the right moment to make himself known - to attack.

There has to be something, anything that she can use to defend herself, something that's on her side of the room. Her eyes scan the bright blue bathroom. To her right are bottles - shampoo, conditioner, soap. Those are useless. At best she can chuck them at him to buy herself time, but she risks making him angry. Her razor sits a little further away, resting on a shower caddy. It's risky. She would have to move more to get it, giving him more time to react.

He moves.

He's closer now.

Within arm's reach.

Amelia's time is running out.

If only she was one of those people who take their cell phones with them everywhere. Then she could call for help. She isn't one of those people though. Who needs their cell phone in the bathroom? Well clearly she does, right now.

Drip.

Part of her wishes that he would just make his move already. The anticipation is filling her with dread. There are a million ways this scenario can play out, and right now her mind is going through every last one of them. She starts with the worst, obviously, and the ones where she comes out victorious don't even cross her mind.

"Just get it over with. Come at me you sick freak!" She shrieks  sounding ever bit like one of those annoying, typically big breasted girls in a horror movie. That's what makes it worse. She can't even hold on to a shred of decency.

She's at his mercy.

Part of her thinks fighting back is an option. Be strong. Show him you're not afraid. Instinct kicks in and she grabs the closest bottle towards her. That's right. The sight of her armed with a bottle of TRESemmé shampoo will definitely frighten him to enough to reconsider this attack. Her fingers tighten around the bottle, clutching it like a life jacket. It's her only option.

Drip.

It's time.

She lunges.