It was early October when my parents, Vivien and Ben Harmon, had finally signed the contract off for the house. My mother was basically a house wife while on the other hand my father was a renowned psychologist. For a while, they've been searching for a house to allow my father's work to be accessible where he could meet and treat his patients. Also the fact that my father had an affair with one of his psychology students would authorize us to create a 'new start' as a normal family together.

I wasn't very keen on moving 6353 miles away from my humble home in Boston. Not that i was counting. Our belongings were signed, sealed, and delivered in a matter of days to the place called LA with 'no weather'. On arrival to our new-found place called home, I had grown a strange bond with the house. The 1800's elegant Victorian home, where it was said to be nicknamed "The Murder House", was interesting despite the gruesome homicidal murders that took place. The only reason my parents had even considered this home was partially due to my rare approval on anything. An apricot brick colored 3 story house, containing both a finished basement and attic, stained glass windows, and old but furnished rooms, looks as it's literal features prove to be pulled out of a true horror movie. Or also likely as i found out was one of the sets on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" TV Show. Not that i watch that show or anything.. Ok yes.

The first week was no hit out of the ball park. My mother and father would wake up in the dead of night screaming their lungs out, claiming that something had moved or someone or something was watching them. Even the doors, windows, and cabinets would seem to open by themselves. Mentioning school, it was something like our experience in our home except the odd occurrences. I found myself to be anti-social and isolated, not even bothering to pay attention in my classes. Nothing like making friends comes natural to me. I'm very different compared to other girls in high school.The prepped out, feminine and fruity girls were the exact opposite to what i'd ever be. And approximately a couple days later, my father had begun to be engrossed with his work again as patients had came in and out of the house. Regarding my mother as well, she seems to have become a bit paranoid but that might just be the new house jitters.

I stand in the bathroom now, staring at my blank expression that is reflected against the mirror, my shallow breath nearly frothing the glass. My right hand grasped a small blade while my left wrist remained exposed in front of me. All the stress from my parents, school, and a new home hasn't exactly played out well for me. This wasn't a strange action for me as i usually did this.. many times. Yes, that's right, i'm suicidal and one way i release is cutting myself. Blood begins to seep through the red lines i have formed, one by one on my left wrist. As i began to work on my right side, the door had creaked open to reveal a guy with messy blonde curls and a sullen but charming face. staring intently at me. I jumped slightly in which almost caused me to drop my blade.

"You're doing it wrong. If you're trying to kill yourself you cut vertically, they can't stitch that up." The boy had stated in which ignited a flame of surprise and anger inside of me."How'd you get in here?" i quickly questioned with a hint of annoyance in my tone. "If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try locking the door.." And with that, he closed the door and his footsteps had signaled he walked away.

Why the hell did he barge in! Some nerve he has!

Looking back in the mirror i realized i had gotten blood on my shirt when i jumped from the strange boy's sudden appearance.

Shit. Mom is going to freak if she sees this stain.

Hurriedly, i washed off the blade and originated it's hiding spot, bandaged my hands, and washed off the blood from my shirt. Once in my bedroom, i put on a long sleeved burgundy shirt and headed out to the hallway in search for some answers at my father's office.

Suicidal attempt #23: Fail. Just like the others.

The mental note i made in my head had me sigh loudly and rub my head in frustration causing my dirty blonde, mousy hair to tousle around enough to look like i just woke up from a long nap. Just as i reached the door, i fiddled with my fingers, beginning to contemplate my actions. Abruptly, the door had revealed my father's quite worn face from what i referenced to work and then the prompt look of surprise as we almost had jolted our bodies. "You scared me nearly half to death, Violet! Do you need something?" He let out an exasperated laugh and asked me gently in concern. "Well.. I was wondering who that blonde haired boy was in our house.. he had messy curls and wore a striped long sleeved shirt." I tried to explain smoothly. In that moment i had described the male, his expression hardened and questioned intensely, "Did he do something to you or hurt you? Where did you see him? What were you doing?" "No no no no no. I just happened to um.. bump into him like 10 minutes ago uh downstairs. I'm fine Ben, what's wrong?"

I couldn't tell him that he walked in on me trying to commit suicide. A little white lie doesn't hurt anyone. At least not compared to his huge lie which ruined my life..

"Listen Violet, I've been meaning to talk to you about him.. Come sit down and i'll explain." He gestured me inside his office to sit down. I made my way to the oversized brown leather chair across from his own expectantly waiting for what he had to say. "That boy you met.. That was Tate Langdon, one of my patients that i treat. Tate is a very dangerous boy. He is a psychopath in need of major, potentially very professional help. Stay away from him, Violet. Do you understand the likely harm he could cause you if you ever come across him? Psychopaths KILL people." I blinked a couple times with no reassuring statement for his lecture that i was listening in which fueled his anger. "STAY AWAY FROM TATE, VIOLET." I was slightly taken back by his immediate change of tone and he seemed to realize that. His face had softened just enough that i was little more comfortable but kept his piercing eyes staring into mine. "I just don't want anything to happen to you.. Tate will hurt you." He momentarily paused and then resumed.

"If not emotionally... physically."

Maybe questioning about that boy was the wrong proposition to end today.

I shake my head as i recall my father's words while laying in bed, my deep gaze to the blank ceiling above.

That boy.. Tate was the name.. wouldn't hurt me..would he?