Today

"So, are your periods regular again?"

"Every other month," a woman in her early thirties told her doctor. She was sitting on the hospital chair, wearing the facilities' clothing, with chestnut-colored hair just a little bit past her shoulders, "Not that I'm really complaining, after all that blood. Will hates blood."

"Are you having any issues with arousal?" Dr. Day asked the woman.

"Not when I'm by myself," she said, chuckling.

He then motioned her to lie back, in which she put her feet on the stools so he could take a look inside her cervix, "Well, I've recently had some success with women your age, using bio-identical treatments, and hormones."

"For what?"

"Well, it's sort of a preemptive strike," the bald man explained, "See, your body is like a house; you can fix the tiles, and the bathroom, and the kitchen, but if the foundation is decaying, well, you're just wasting your time."

"What are the side effects?"

"You can sit up now," he motioned her again, "Now then, the HRT's are great for your skin, your organs; most of the women I give these to tell me they make them feel ten years younger."

"I don't know, I mean, I don't even let my family drink out of plastic bottles," the brunette shook her head, "Taking a bunch of hormones, when I don't even know what the side effects are, I just-"

"Feel and look ten years younger," the doctor argued.

"I don't need hormones, Doctor. I'm just trying to get control of my body again, after what happened," she assured her doctor.

"Can I prescribe you something to help you get that back?"

"I'm not a house."

"Shelby," Dr. Day handed her a prescription, "What are you so afraid of?" Shelby decided to take the prescription, anyway, and go back to her house. After buying three bags worth of groceries from the supermarket, Shelby took off her winter hat and coat and then took out the prescription she purchased afterwards.

She had just put the bag down, when a noise from upstairs broke through the silence, making her turn around to see where it might have come from. Another squeak was heard again, making the woman think a stranger had broken into the house. Shelby rummaged through her purse until she found what she was looking for. She found her cell phone and dialed for help.

"911 what's your emergency?"

"I think I have an intruder in my house!" Shelby whispered anxiously, hoping help would be on the way as soon as possible.

"Are you sure it's not a member of your family?"

"No, nobody's home."

"And what's the address?"

"35 Adrenaline Road."

"Okay, we're sending a patrol car right now."

"Please hurry, please!" Shelby hung up the phone, and backed away toward the kitchen counter. Looking for some kind of weapon, her eyes found the knife holder an arm's reach away. Her right hand reached for the first handle she could see, and quickly grabbed a butcher knife for protection.

Carrying the knife in a death grip, Shelby slowly walked up the stairs to find the source of noise. Reaching the top of the upper hallway, she turned her head to the left, where the noises continued to grow in size. She paced her steps to her bedroom door and stopped a foot away. Reaching out with her left hand, she carefully opened it up, the knife still in her right.

When she opened up the door, she took one look at the last thing she had ever wanted to see. She had already suffered a miscarriage of her second child; she didn't need another tragedy like this happening to her. Her husband, Will, saw her in the opening, as she began to lower her hand with the knife in it down to the floor, "Oh, my God. No, Shelby, no. No! No!" But it was too late. Shelby had caught him in the act, infidelities in full swing, as she began to walk back the way she had started.

"Shelbs, I'm sorry! No!" Will cried out, running towards Shelby, in only his briefs. With each plea that he made, the more disgusted and repulsed his wife thought of him, shaking her head back and forth every time. When he attempted to try to get her to listen to him, by grabbing a hold of her arm, it was the final straw for her. Shelby turned around, only to use the knife in self-defense by cutting open his arm, and then dropping it in shock at what she had just done. Will on the other hand cried out in pain, and began to breathe heavily by the amount of blood that started to seep out of his arm.

In the midst of Will's pain, the very words of the little, blonde girl from 1978 began to chant out loud, "You're gonna regret it. You're gonna regret it. You're gonna regret it. You're gonna regret it."