Moving, for some, is a very hard thing, because moving means something new. New city, new high school, new teachers, new neighborhoods, new neighbors, and new habits. Not to mention new friends, but I much prefer solitude so this detail does not matter to me.

My name is Alexia, but they call me Alex, I was 17 and I was what they call a tomboy, but I am a girl. I often wear boyish clothes, not because I want to look like a guy but because I much prefer them to female clothes, in fact I hate anything feminine. I have very short hair of a dark brown in layers. They were certainly cut on the sides and behind, but not on the top, which gave me a nice, fairly smooth wick that helped me hide my blue eyes with which I was entitled to some compliments. Compliments which I hate because if I hide my eyes it was not for a "style", but for a very different reason.

I am neither short nor too tall, just a normal size. I had a slightly tanned skin and a certain musculature, doing a lot of sports, including martial arts which taught me important values ​​such as respect and discipline. But, on my left cheek, I have a small scarring that I have had since my first day in kindergarten, why? You don't need to know that just yet, let's move on.

Like I said before, I was a lone wolf type. I had few friends in my old high school, two girls and a boy. They are the only friends I ever have had the rest of my miserable life, apart from them I have always been alone. Except with one person ... who? You don't need to know that either.

I was currently in the back of the car, listening to a Spotify playlist that I had prepared in advance that lasted around the entire way to my new home. It was like a background sound. There was music like faded by Alan Walker, my idol, or Friends from Marshmallow. My blank gaze was directed to the window, holding my chin with the palm of my hand, elbow on the door. You could see the raindrops pouring quickly on the frozen window. Outside, the dark gray cloud-covered sky was dark and the wind was blowing strongly. It was certainly very cold, but that didn't bother me, for the simple reason that I was not too afraid of the cold, and it was the same for the heat. My hair hid my eyes a bit, as it often does. But that didn't bother me, on the contrary, except for...

"Alexia, how many times do I have to tell to not cover your eyes with your hair ! ". You are wondering who it was? Well this is my mom that is driving us, her name is Isabella. She had long, curly blond hair that went down to the middle of her back, and green eyes. She had fair skin compared to mine and despite being in her 40s, she had hardly any wrinkles. After her remark, I nodded slightly to put my hair aside a bit.

" I prefer that ! " said, or rather yelled my mother before returning to focus on the inconspicuous road. I sighed for a long moment in annoyance. The yelling, the remarks, and the reproaches were part of my daily life, and it was not this move that was going to change that for me.

It's been two hours that me and my mother were on the roads and we still had six hours, fortunately I am patient. What? My father? Well, I maybe I can tell you ... My father was a bastard. He was tall enough, muscular, and he had black hair classes slightly shaved on the sides and blue eyes, the same as mine..and sometimes I wanted to tear them away even if I had became blind . Whenever I watched myself in the mirror, and that I was looking at my eyes, I couldn't of anything but this asshole, I only saw him in a reflection that was supposed to be mine. How many times people have told me that I had his eyes, that I looked like him, that I was a female version of him ... That's why I often hide my eyes with my hairs.

But I wasn't the only one who thought he was the king of bastard, at least not completely.
And it was for this reason that we moved, my father is a murderer, a criminal, and a burglar more precisely. He killed dozens of people during a bank robbery, but it was far from being the little one next to the supermarket. It was one of the most famous and secured banks in America, which by the way had never been broken into before he and his right-hand men took action. In fact, I wasn't far from the bank that day, I had pretty much seen what had happened, the horror he had done. But I found out between one and two weeks later that he was the culprit, and the leader. And of course, I reported him to the police, who thanked me greatly because they were blocking the investigation since he had apparently done a "pro work". After several testimonies, and a stint in court, my father was sent to the most secured prisons in America, ironically, he was not ready to get out.

We were not only moving to get away from this psychopath because he wants me dead after reporting him, but also to protect ourself from the consequences. People have been killed, and in revenge on my father, they could come after us. So it was better for us to leave, to better guarantee our safety, even if witness protection was already protecting us. That said, it suited us a lot, especially my mother who wanted to forget all that. It had shocked her to learn that the person she loved more than anything was actually a criminal, a murderer.

Love .... if there was one thing you should know about me, it's that I hated love. It's one of the most useless things that besides hurts us, and what happened between my mother and my motherfucking father was a proof of that. But honestly, who hasn't been hurt by love before? Who hasn't suffered because of love? Yeah, a lot of people and maybe you too. And me ? Love destroyed me, but I wouldn't make the same mistake again.

My lifeless gaze was still outward, but with the long hours of drive left, I decided to take a nap. Even though that sleeping was not the thing I did most frequently. I slowly closed my eyes, letting myself be lulled by the music in my headphones which was rather soft, and I fell in a couple of minutes, wondering what my new life would be like. But I think I surely should have wondered what meeting I was going to do.