1 // Change

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"It'll be good for all of us, honey", my mother, Vivian, stated, taping up one of the last boxes that held a collection of CDs. Taking a fat black Sharpie from her pocket, she wrote Violet in sloppy letters across the side of the cardboard cube and kicked it towards the front door. "We need a fresh start. I promise, after the first week, you won't ever regret leaving Boston." Brushing a stray ginger hair from her eye, my mom smiled at me, and immediately returned to packing up.

I had lived in Boston my whole sixteen years of living. All my stupid, reckless mistakes, my stupid, reckless friends, my stupid, reckless existence was rooted here and now I was being hauled 2,987 miles across the country because my dad doesn't know where he can and can't stick things. Couldn't my parents have been like all the others? Have a stillborn, probably have their love die, get a divorce, move a few streets away from each other. But, no, my mom wants to have a baby in her 40s (gross) and miscarries (whatever) and now my whole life is ruined because of it (not rad).

My dad entered the shell of our house, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Alright! Let me grab these two boxes and we'll be on our way!" My mother smiled uncomfortably at him, helping him take some of the boxes and yelling at me to get in the car.

I plugged in my headphones, watching my father try to hold my mom's hand the whole ride to Los Angeles, her lips forming the words, "Ben, I'm sorry," before she pulled away. I could see the pain in my father's eyes - maybe he could look in the mirror and give his own sorry ass a therapy session.

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"Violet! We're here!" The gloomy house where a gay couple supposedly committed a murder-suicide loomed before me, my mother's tired eyes inches above mine. "C'mon, come inside!" I crept into the house, the floorboards in the foyer creaking loudly with every step I took. That would definitely work against me. There was a dark hallway sitting in front of me, a door on the right hand side swinging open, squeaking loudly.

"Violet Harmon, come help unpack." I jumped as my father's voice sounded behind me, his eyes sharp and as cold as ice. Although I was the rebel teen, I was terrified of my father. I scurried past him and outside, the warm sun beaming on my skin and glinting off the dark surface of the SUV. A large moving van pulled into the cracked and weed-infested driveway, coming to a stop and having movers swing the heavy doors open, revealing box upon cardboard box. As I turned to walk back to the car to grab some of my things, I bumped into a young girl, a scream leaving my lips.

"Hello," she stated, staring up at me. "I'm Adelaide."

"H-hi." My heart was still in my throat.

"He's going to come for you." she stated simply, shrugging her shoulders. "He doesn't like to be alone. He doesn't want to hurt people anymore." With that, she walked away, dissapearing into a row of hedges lining the edge of our property. I didn't know whether to be scared or weirded out, so I just continued on doing what I came outside to do and didn't give it another thought until the boy appeared in my new bedroom.

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