Chapter I: I'm Dead.
Fiona
BANG.
I closed the door of my gorgeous, white Lamborghini. Successfully finding a good spot, I sat down and got myself comfortable.
Looking around, I took in the environment surrounding me. It was a still and serene night. There were trees of all types, shapes and sizes everywhere. I was in the woods.
From the calm vibe I got, I felt my body instantly find peace and relax.
Sighing contently, I looked up. I was mesmerized. Completely and utterly entranced by the beauty of nature, a small smile invaded my face, which has been happiness-free for a month til now. In my vision, I spotted hundreds of stars looking down on me. They were all blindingly beautiful. However, two of them stood out to me. They were larger, brighter and overall better than the rest in every way.
Next, I easily found the brightest part of the pitch black night sky: the moon. Unlike other times, it was a full one.
For some odd reason, I felt a connection. My vision became clearer and my other senses heightened. Abruptly, I looked away.
After a while of appreciating my surroundings, I thought about how my life has been so far.
For a chunk of my seventeen (almost eighteen in 3 days) years of existence, I've been a loner. I've learnt how to cope with no mother (who left us when I was aged 12; she just disappeared) and my father drowning himself in his work at his company, Rose Industries (hence my surname).
Although, I do find it quite unnecessary for my dad to do so, as he's a billionaire.
Thankfully, that gap of emptiness in my life was filled. This was courtesy to dad hiring someone to be my babysitter when I was six (when my mother began being detached) as I was "becoming a disgrace" in my father's words. I snorted when he said that a few years ago, when he still had warmth in his eyes reserved for me. Me? A disgrace? I got a lecture because it wasn't ladylike. And of course, me being me, I was unladylike again, giving myself a second scolding.
Hiring someone for me was the best thing he's ever done. This was because he gave me Faith, my nanny. She was in her fifties with grandchildren when she first began taking care of me. For eleven years, she was my rock, my only source of happiness and love, my mother figure - my everything. Yes, was. She's dead.
Her fatal night occurred a month ago when summer began, due to heart failure. From assisting me with my homeschooling in the mornings, to telling me bed time stories every night, she's done everything for me. If only I had enough time to return the favour. But it's already too late.
Because of her passing, I haven't been very well - at all. I didn't even go to her funeral held by her family as I was cooped up in my room, crying. The tears just came and came. They were never-ending.
After a few days of mourning the most common way, I decided to try out other remedies to relieve the pain. Yup, exactly the remedy you think: partying non-stop and getting extremely drunk. Nothing with a guy though. Something inside me is telling me to wait. I know I'm underaged, but I'm the heiress of Rose Industries; I can do anything.
Nope. Don't worry. I'm not drunk right now. I didn't drink drive. I'm not that irresposnisble. I decided to find a pain reliever somewhere else. And I found that somewhere else here, in the outskirts of the petrifying, huge woods with trees that tower over me, neighbouring my home.
Every single day this summer, I've been going through the same cycle: get up late, barely eat, get ready, go out for a few hours and come back early morning the next day.
I've never been like this before. But this time, I'm really affected.
I'm broken.
All this time, my father has never been there to witness my breakdowns, as he leaves at 6 in the morning and comes back at 1 am the following day. Which makes me wonder: when does he sleep?
He's only ever there to see me come home drunk. And let me tell you, he doesn't like that at all.
Especially since some paparazzi followed me one night. It gave him and me a bad image. Oh well.
With all of his pent up frustration over my daily actions, I receive a good amount of shouting every night. But as I'm always drunk, he knows I'm never going to take his fatherly responsibilities seriously.
I mean, all I do is giggle like a maniac.
Sadly sighing, I forced myself out of my jumbled thoughts and checked the time.
Uh oh.
It's almost 1am. That means father's going to -
BRING. BBRRIINNGG.
Glancing at the Caller ID, my suspicions were confirmed. I groaned loudly in the great depths of silence I was in, already knowing what I was about to get.
"Hello?" I anxiously greeted, anticipating the reply that's to come.
"Where are you?" was his venom-filled response. From his tone, I could tell he wanted to bury me 6ft beneath the ground... But he can't. Ha! Gulping, I quickly said something without thinking, intending to release the tension:
"I'm not drunk!"
Like that's going to help! I'm still dead! Also, I'm acting like I'm drunk; yup, definitely not helping my case.
"Get. Home. Now," he snarled and hung up. Oh God, he used the same venomous tone. If I was 6ft underneath before, I'm surely 18ft below now.
To my dismay, I trotted over to MoonBuddy, my Lambo (don't ask), got in and faced the luxurious interior.
Begrudgingly, I started the monster of an engine and drove towards Hell.
The Hell I call Home.
