Little Lion Man

"Taryn, you'll love L.A., I promise, just give it a chance!"

Pathetic. The woman that liked to flounce around and call herself my mother was practically begging. In response, I glared down at my nails, picking off the already flaking nail polish. I wouldn't dare meet her eyes. That was practically admitting defeat then and there.

"The house is beautiful! It'll be so good for our family. We could use the basement for... business."

"That's not the point. I finally find a place where I feel at home, and you go find a house states away without even telling me," I snapped, finally meeting the worn, brown eyes staring pleadingly at me, just to send them a cold glare. "You bought the fucking house. I haven't even seen it..."

"I showed you pictures!"

Ha. Like that made up for it.

"I don't want to move. You don't get it."

She reached out to touch me, and I recoiled, nearly smacking her hand away from me. I didn't want that traitor of a family member anywhere near me. She knew I was finally happy here, and she decided to go off with my father and buy a house while I was at my friend's house for the weekend. I hated this woman, I knew I did. I could hardly even call her my Mom. All she cared about was money, and she was a neglectful little bitch. My whole life I'd never felt loved, or cared about. I was a mistake, and they never let me live it down. They didn't want children, yet here I was. I should've been thankful for that. Truthfully, I think I'd be better off dead.

I think she knew then that I wouldn't change my opinion. I wouldn't be her dutiful little daughter and agree to whatever she said... and I sure as hell wouldn't be happy with this new house that I'd never even been in. My Mother's face soured, and she nodded slightly.

"We leave tomorrow."

---

As much as I wanted to hate it, the house was beautiful.

It was old, with red bricks and white accents, stained glass windows, and a huge yard covered in lush looking grass. The inside was just as beautiful, all the rooms having their own unique touch. My parents were especially drawn to the basement, as they tended to be in all the houses we moved into. They ran a little... side business, and being able to prepare the product was essential.

I quickly picked out the room that was to be mine. It had a sort of roomy appeal to it, and I had a suspicion that a lot of teenagers my age had lived there before. With a sigh, I started unpacking a few pairs of pants and shoving them into a dresser my parents had already set up for me. How thoughtful of them.

One of my least favorite things about moving was unpacking. I hated finding new places for all my old things. It felt like I was betraying my previous life, or something. Despite how often I moved, I still wasn't used to it. I had a feeling I'd never be.

My parents had a rather dangerous occupation, and we had to often move cross-country in order to avoid suspicion. They were drug dealers, to put it simply... always had been, since before I was born. I guess growing up in the environment should have fucked me up mentally in some aspects, but I seemed fine. Sort of.

I was in a terrible mood already, being thrust into this totally new environment. Despite our constant moves, we'd never been in such a busy place as L.A. before. They claimed to move here because this house was huge and cheap, and we'd have a lot of business... or something. I tried not to pay attention. The unpacking was making my mood worse, and I opted to go explore my new home a bit more instead.

My parents were already in the basement, "setting up shop", so to speak, so I basically had free reign over the top and main floor. I wandered around for a bit, examining each little crack in the wall, bump in the carpet... this house had history, I could tell. My parents hadn't mentioned anything, but why else would it be so cheap?

It didn't take long for me to be drawn to a window. I slowly approached it, feeling a strange sort of pull, and looked outside at the yard. There were clothes lines, a few shrubs and bushes, but the thing that stood out was a gazebo.

More than the gazebo, the person in it.

There was a blonde boy, about my age standing in it with his back turned. He wore a large sweater and torn up jeans, and looked entirely too hot to be standing so freely outside. He didn't seem to notice me, and I didn't know exactly what to do about him. I wasn't sure exactly why he was there, on my family's new property, but I didn't say a word. I just watched, curious more than anything. He sort of seemed like he... belonged here.

I was just about to turn and leave, when I saw movement from the window out of the corner of my eye. I turned back, and saw the boy was looking back at me.

Our meeting gaze made me shudder. Something about him put me on edge, the way he just stared into my eyes, and I stared into his. There was this electricity pulling me towards the window, and at the same time, it was pulling me away. I raised my hand in a slight wave, but he didn't respond.

Instead, he smiled, left the gazebo, and walked out of my sight.