The room was quiet and calm. There was a faint sound of music coming from a phone. She took the phone and stopped the music. Then, she gazed at herself in the mirror. She didn't like how she looked, but if you want to know what she was wearing and how she looked, oh well. 

She was wearing a green dress that reached down her legs. It was short-sleeved and v-neck. There was a necklace hanging on her neck, with an 'R'. It was made of gold, and she had been wearing this since birth, her aunt told. It was a gift from her parents, and she hadn't taken it off since.

Her wavy black hair reached some inches past her upper back. Her eyes were azure, the prettiest color of the ocean at a warm summer day. She was slim and pale and her height was 5'3. Oh, but her face. Well, that was the thing. She didn't like her face either. Her eyebrows were softly arched, her cheeks were hollow and her lips were thin. But it was something else she didn't like.

A scar ran across from her left eyebrow to her cheekbone. It was deep and white.

Yes, she was beautiful. But she never saw or thought that. Yes, there were those who had told her, but it was just to make fun of her, ironically. They'd say, "Oh, look how pretty she is," and then they'd burst into laughter. She didn't mind. Not really. It had always been that way, they'd always notice, they'd ask, they'd bully, and she'd fight the urge to slap them. She didn't like attention. It made her feel even more terrible. 

She didn't like people either, she hated them. Well, not everyone, but most of them. They were selfish, cruel, they were wicked and always serving their own interests. And it was alright for her. She didn't need anyone. She was fine on her own and with her aunt.

As for the scar, she had been a troublemaker when she was little, her aunt told. She had always been a bit of a daredevil, running around, climbing things. When she was five, she had gone into a run and tripped on a rock, falling face first and cutting herself open. Her aunt had taken her to the hospital, but the scar had remained.

And she didn't remember all that. She didn't remember herself as little, or as a troublemaker. She didn't even remember her parents. All she had were the stories her aunt told. And it was strange, she thought.

"Regan, are you ready?" her aunt called from the other room.

"I'm coming!" Regan yelled back. She sighed and straightened her clothes. Just then, the sudden slam of the window caught her attention.

Regan's eyebrows furrowed but she called it the work of the wind.

She sighed and grabbed her luggage. But she felt something strange. As if she was being watched. She glanced around her room, not noticing anything.

Back to the luggage, there she saw a framed photo of her parents. It reminded her of how different she looked from them.

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Sometimes she wondered about it. Was she even their daughter? Of course, she was. She thought so.

Before leaving, she checked the room once more, not wanting to forget anything there. 

The aunt was waiting for her in the living room, her blonde hair in a neat bun, her bags by her side. She had a wide smile on her face, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement. 

"You look nice, dear," she said, her voice gentle. "Are you ready to go?" 

"Yes, aunt Monica," Regan said. She was happy they were going to finally leave their old flat, but she couldn't help the intrusive thoughts that always accompanied her whenever she did something. 

They both headed out of the apartment, going downstairs and in her aunt's car. Regan had gotten her driver license two years ago, but she didn't have a car.

They were going to California, to the the new house that Monica had purchased.

As Monica drove off, Regan felt anxious the whole road. She didn't know much about the house or the neighborhood. The photos of the house were the only things she had seen.

She hid her anxiety in front of her aunt. Always. She was the kind of person to appear cool on the surface, even though she would tremble from anxiety inside. Anxiety had been isolating her and her thoughts as well.

After some hours, they stopped the car near a restaurant. The restaurant was lovely, with a lush outside tavern. It was filled with people, mostly road travelers. Regan and her aunt took a seat somewhere in the side, with Regan being paranoid about whoever passed near her chair. She didn't really want people close to her.

"Are you excited?" Monica asked.

"Of course I am," Regan smiled. Although she was anxious, she was happy about moving out.

"Amazing, you're gonna love it there, dear. It is a million times better than that trash apartment we had."

Regan nodded at her aunt, then caught a group of guys and girls her age, sitting in a table slightly far from hers. They were staring at her. They're staring at my scar, she thought.

She didn't really care though, although she felt insecure. She rarely wore makeup, not because she didn't like it, but because she was lazy.

After the waitress brought their food, they ate. A hour later, they entered the car again, ready for their long ride. After six hours, they finally arrived at their destination.

It had become afternoon, the sky a shade of orange and blue. The temperatures were high and the wind was hot. Their new house was like Regan had seen in photos. It was a two-story bungalow house. Other houses in the neighborhood were similar. A few people were walking by, and it was calm and quiet.

Regan took a deep breath and filled her lungs with fresh air, as if she had just finished a prison sentence.

Monica was already getting the bags inside and told her to follow. Regan followed her inside the house.

The interior of the house was neatly kept. On the right side of the corridor was the staircase, leading the way up. On the left of the stairs was an arched doorway, which led to the living room; another to the kitchen. In the end of the small corridor, was a plain white door to the bathroom.

The floors were made of wood, crackling as she walked. She gazed around the plain walls, which lacked any kind of decorations. However, the house was well furnished.

Monica told her to go upstairs to her room and unpack. Regan did as she said, going upstairs to her room. The room was colored in white. There was a small balcony on the side, a bed adjacent to the wall, and white modern closet with a wall mirror. On the other side was the desk with a few shelves on the wall. She started to unpack, placing her clothes inside the closet. They weren't much, so it didn't took a long time.

As for the shelves, she placed books and other stuff there. Then she left the room and stepped in Monica's room.

"Are you done with it?" Regan asked with a chuckle. Her aunt was a perfectionist, making sure to have her stuff organized and neat, unlike Regan, who kept forgetting where she left things.

"Yeah, yeah...." Monica said as she put the last clothes on the highest shelve, "How does the house look?"

"It's beautiful," Regan replied. This house was nothing like her old apartment. It was so cool and lovely. It was refreshing.

"Let's go downstairs and eat something. That ride was tiring," Monica said, going upstairs.

"But we haven't bought anything..."

"No problem hun, I ordered pizza."

Regan nodded excitedly and went downstairs to the living room. She sat on the beige, and a little scratched couch, and looked around at the flat screen TV, noticing a small router on its right.

"There's Wi-Fi here?" she asked.

"Yes, the previous owners didn't take a lot from the house, almost everything is left here, they already have bigger opportunities in another country in the US, so..." the aunt explained.

Regan immediately checked her phone to see that Wi-Fi was free, "That's fantastic!"

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