Psychotic | Tate Langdon (ON HOLD)

1. Moving In

I scrutinize my appearance in the mirror as I gather my thick locks of curled hair and pull them back into a pony tail, slapping my arms at my sides and inhaling sharply. I move my eyes around my bedroom, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that this is going to be the last time I will ever sleep in here. I haven't known how to feel about moving from outside of Chincoteague to Los Angeles. My father works at a bar, but I can't recall the name. I never paid much attention to it until the past couple months when he explained how he's moving bars for more money. I was perplexed—considering he already makes good money as a few ranks below CEO.

I saunter over and grasp the handle of my luggage, pulling it up and strolling it to the now vacant living room. There used to be a black leather couch with two love seats of the same material, a glass coffee table standing adjacent and a recliner with a fireplace in which the television was placed on. Since I'm an only child, me and my parents used to relax on the furniture and binge-watch movies. As much as I miss those nonchalant days of not having another care in the world and being surrounded by family, there comes a point in your life where you feel the need to lock yourself in your room and try to get rid of the negative thoughts that pop into your head every now and then. And, if you're lucky, you grow out of that phase and go back to the person you used to be.

That isn't the case for me, though.

Long story short, I don't find happiness intriguing. I tend to walk around with a frown on my face, usually around my peers. It feels as though my thoughts and actions shape me into being an outsider. It wasn't that way when I was a kid; I constantly had a smile plastered on my face. I don't know what happened—figuring out who I really am, I suppose.

I find my way out of my thoughts when I feel my mother's arm wrap around my shoulders, pulling me in close. "I'm going to miss this place." I nod in agreement, hugging her back and wanting to distract myself from my thoughts of being a kid. The nostalgia is almost too much to handle without sobbing. "But, you know, this new place is right up our alley, and I think you will love it. You know I wouldn't choose a house without your say."

"I know," I say through brief sniffles.

She leans back to look at me, her beach waves of brunette tendrils falling into her face and on her shoulders. "What do you say we head out to the road and get settled into our new house, huh?" I nod again as she kisses my forehead, patting my shoulder before turning around and making her way out the door.

I purse my lips and take another glance before following her, taking my time as I close the door.

36 hours later

The entire ride there- almost 30 hours- consists of nothing but utter silence. An earbud is tucked in my ear as I watch the car travel from Virginia to Los Angeles. The lack of sleep last night is making my eyelids hang. I'm constantly lost a zone; flashbacks to my childhood linger in my thoughts no matter how much I try to shake them off. When the car comes to an abrupt stop, they actually do, and I look forward. My parents look at each other, then at me simultaneously. "You ready, kiddo?" My mother asks, grinning and it reveals her laugh lines.

I nod. "Yeah." At that, I swing the car door open and step onto the ground. A baronial house stands before me, made almost entirely out of bricks besides the door, which is seemingly rich wood. It's shaped like a castle, with partial of the place shaped as round and tall. There are very few windows with a white rectangular case covering it. This house reminds me of something you would see from the 1960s- the architecture, everything about it.

My father opens the trunk of the car and hands me my luggage. I trail it behind me and carry it up the concrete doorsteps.

When I look back, my parents are still getting their suitcases, so I go ahead and open the door, anxious to see what it looks like. By the time I step a foot into the house, an alarm blares that startles me. I cover my ears, looking around to see where it's coming from, but before I can figure it out, it suddenly stops. I slowly drop my hands to my sides with a look of perplexity crossing my face.

"Sorry, that thing is so loud, I can't believe we didn't get a different alarm," a voice says behind me. I shriek and turn around, only to see two adults that I can't recognize. I take a step back with my eyebrows furrowed. The woman is in her late-thirties or older with fiery red hair that's styled with beach waves, and the man next to her seems to be younger than her with dark hair that's packed with gel, but the feature that stands out on him is his cornflower eyes.

{hi people! this chapter is just getting into the story, trust me, it will pick up next chapter. thanks for reading and don't forget to vote! thanks}