Living with the Jamisons (In Editing)

A not so Welcome Welcoming

Heyy Guys. umm I know this isnt a original idea but this is my first book and I thought i would give it a go. PLEASE CONTINUE READING UNTIL ABOUT THE 10TH CHAPTER. IT GETS DIFFERENT AS I HAD KIND OF GOT THE IDEA OF USING MY OWN IDEAS. Please read and comment on how you think it should go or how i could improve it. I hope you read it:) Thanks xx 

PS None of this story is fully edited. I will finish it then go through it improving. :D 

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Beep... Beep... Beep

"Ugh," I groan aloud as I slam my alarm clock quiet. I grab my pillow and shove it over my head.

Beep... Beep... Beep

Oh Gosh, Shut up! I lift my hand up sluggishly again and slam it back down on the top of the clock. Randomly I think about how it would suck to be an alarm clock and being constantly hit. Of course I would know what that's like.

I drag myself out of my bed and blindly try to find the bathroom door. I walk into something and open my eyes to find I'm on the opposite side of the room from where I want to be.

I trudge over to the bathroom, flick the shower on and gladly take in the warm water. I calmly massage my hair with my favourite vanilla shampoo, willing my mind to solely concentrate on that. After 3 minutes, I find myself reluctantly switching the water off, grabbing my towel and padding back into my room. Well, it was my room but now it's a room with nothing but 2 bags at the door. Oh, and don't forget the bed in the middle. I get changed into a pair of skinny jeans, ¾ sleeve black top with a belt and scarf to match. I slipped my pyjamas into my bag and take my toiletry bag back to the bathroom.

I looked over at the clock and cussed. It read 10:30. I brushed my teeth then quickly ran a brush through my damp hair. I looked at my face and sighed happily that it was all the same tone. That would be bad turning up at a past friends place and try explain why my face and bruises slashing my face. I walked back into my room looking around with a sigh. My bed looked so lonely. There was absolutely nothing else. I had my curtain covered window that took up the middle section of one wall and opposite that was the door. I walked over to my suitcases and finished packing all I needed.

Today I'm moving in with my mums old family friends. My mum died when I was five and my dad just got taken away as he was deemed as a bad ‘parent’, if he was even considered that. So I have now been sent to go live with the Jamisons. It was 11am when I heard a car horn outside. I peeked through my curtains and saw a taxi waiting outside. I quickly grab my bags and run down the stairs. I took my last look at the front foyer before closing the door behind me. I wouldn’t miss it, not at all. I put my bags in the boot and got into the back seat. Jenny, the mother of the Jamisons, had organised for a taxi to drop me off at the airport for me to catch a flight from Australia to my hometown in America and then get another taxi to take me to the Jamisons from there. I missed my home town. Jenny and my mother were best friends and it helped that they lived next to each other. Jenny was like a mother to me. Ever since my mum died, she was always there for me the year I stayed living next door. But when I was 6 dad packed up and moved us to Australia. I stared out the window as we drove up the ramp to the departures. The driver parks the car and gets out, helping me with my bags. I thank him and walk inside.

The trip was uneventful. I literally got straight onto the plane and luckily got the window seat. The whole way there I gazed out the window and every so often I would let a tear or two slid down my face. I wish my father cared more about me and not have done what he did to me. Many people think their parents are 'to strict' or 'never give them what they want' but at least they care if you come home or not and say I love you every night before you go to bed. What I wouldn't give for my father to say 'I love you' or to ask how my day was or to be able to hear my mum's laugh as I run across our yard with her casing after me. But I wouldn’t think about what my dad could’ve done, or what I wish he had done, because no matter what he will never be the dad I shared my first 5 years with, he could never be the dad I wanted him to be.