Jigoku sighed, exasperated. Who was that guy, anyways? She glanced over her shoulder to see if he was still following, and let out a heavy sigh of relief as her body relaxed. He wasn't.
She glanced around the city, and saw what she had been searching for since she had moved in. The book store.
She felt silly, with her feet wanting to race over there, like a lost child having found their mother, but stayed calm, trying to walk as gracefully as she could, but her fingers were twitching. She pushed her jagged-cut bangs from her face, and glanced around.
She made a face when she saw the Japanese-translated version of Twilight. God, how she hated that stupid book, though she had to admit, she fancied Jasper and Emmett.
Her thoughts traveled back to her life in America, and began to sing a song softly in English, until she realized her mistake of letting her voice out. She blushed palely, and cleared her throat slightly, hating the fact she had singers voice.
Her mind wandered as she looked at the titles of the books. Her parents were incredibly strict, and bitterly, she thought, "They aren't my family. They are Kenta's."
She shook the dark thought away, getting all the books she wanted. There was a bit of commotion outside, but she didn't pay attention to what was causing it. She wrapped her arms protectively around the tall stack of ranging book sizes, all thick.
Mythology, Sign Language, Fiction books... All would make up a nice day of reading, though she'd probably needed to return tomorrow for more. She smiled at the Cashier, giving him one of those rare, and beautiful sitings of it.
He was a teenager, with a case of slightly bad acne, a Mohawk of red hair, and a slightly shy, and embarrassed shade of emotions to him. She wondered if the Mohawk was a dare, due to him seeming to intelligent to stupidly ruin is hair like that.
His face flushed, and she got into a quite conversation with him that lasted a few minutes. She had been almost right about the hair, but instead of a dare, it had been a ritual into joining a club. She didn't make a comment on whether she liked it or not. It seemed attractive, but not for him. Plus, she hated the color red.
She headed outside, tugging the bag over her shoulder. A breeze blew by, carrying little red maple leaves in it's grip, and her thoughts traveled again. She wished she had been paying attention.
The male from before ran past her, throwing a smirk over his shoulder, and lifting a hand in greeting, but she ignored that bit. Her curiosity near exploded from the fact he was running. What was he running from.
"IZAYA!"
Her head flipped in time to barely catch sight of a stop sign, the razor point tip clipping her shoulder with a faint burst of blood.
She collapsed to the ground in shock, and from the force of the missile. She faintly saw the male that had been follower her, Izaya, was it?, just merely glance back as he ran on.
Her thought's swam. Was she hurt bad? No, and yes. Was her arm broken? No, just dislocated. Who had the strength to throw a stop sign? It seemed to pop right out of some horror movie. The shock and force of the attack took over suddenly, and the sight of her own blood made her queasy to her stomach. Then the world went dark.