“I AM SICK OF THIS, I BET YOU WOULD NOT EVEN CARE IF I MOVED OUT! WOULD YOU EVEN NOTICE?” I yelled in one of my regular screaming matches with my Mother and Step Father.
“Why you little…” Step Father advanced menacingly.
“What are you gonna do? Hit me again? That doesn’t seem to be working. Mother, are you just going to stand there as usual, watch him hurt me you bitch?”
“That is ENOUGH young lady! It is time you learned some manners.”
I winced instinctively, knowing what was coming. Sure enough, seconds later I had a split lip, a black eye and probably a hand print across my cheek. And that was just my face.
“Go take care of your daughter, Step Father! You know, the one you actually care about?”
I then muttered under my breath “Illegitimi non Carborundum” , translated to be "Don’t let the Bastards grind you down." It is a phrase I use often as I speak fluent Latin and they do not so cannot punish me.
“That is it. Tanya, give her that paper now, and the suitcase. I have tolerated this for long enough and now you have pushed your luck too far! You will be out of my house and on a plane to your Father in the morning, do you understand?”
I nodded, in sheer shock.
Mother proceeded to give me a phone number and says to me
“Call this and say ‘William contacted and said to say it was Tara to get back to him’ and then to ask to move in with him or get him to sort something out as you have been kicked out.”
She then whispered so only I could hear,
“I will miss you honey I am sorry.”
I nodded in assent and grabbed the phone off the hook on the wall, a little roughly, chipping the side of the holder in the process.
“Too late for that,” I hissed.
Heading into my room, everything was a blur. I saw my bedding, once a deep red, now blood red. My books seemed to morph and distort before my very eyes. My teddies seem to either laugh at me or pass evil looks. My once welcoming room looked sinister, nasty.
Behind me, as I call the number, my half sister threw into my room a suitcase roughly, smiling.
“I have been waiting for this. Anything you leave behind is mine, so leave something of value please?”
“Guarantee now that I won’t!” I spat.
She slammed the door. I looked at the phone and decided to call Father later, pack now.
I cannot bring much, I realise. I rush for my favourite books. But which ones should I pack? Tamora Pierce limited edition signed are all in. Then I pack my Horrible Histories, and other signed one of a kind books. Then a few favourites too.
Looking down, that has filled up a quarter of the case. Good. Three quarters to go.
The next quarter is all my computer games and USB sticks, cables, chargers etc. Half full.
Then goes in my flute with some music, my important photos and presents over the years from friends. Also my diaries from over the years.
The final quarter goes to clothes. I pack two changes of my best clothes, and leave the rest as it is all junk anyway. The suitcase is now full and all I have to do is my carry on luggage.
In my carry on luggage I put my ancient laptop, my spare chargers and more books. Also a few snacks, my reserves of money (Not much), and a teddy along with my headphones and a set of basic night wear with toiletries.
All packed, I think to myself. I look down at the phone on the floor. Then I pick it up and make the phone call that would change my life forever.
“H-hi? I was told to say that William contacted me and said to say it was Tara and could you please pass this on as soon as possible? It is urgent.” I mumbled.
“Of course Miss…” A dry boring voice uttered on the other end.
“T-Tara Haswell,” I stuttered on Mother’s name.
“One moment please.”
A lot of static ensues…
“Hello? This is William. Is that you Tara? Why are you calling? Is Charlotte okay?” A nice voice threw out these words at 200 miles an hour, worriedly.
“This… this is Charlotte. I am … I am running away from home. My step father… regularly beats me up and I am sick of it. Can I stay with you for a bit? Tara said that I should either move in with you or sort something out…” I struggled to get out.
He chuckled slightly.
“Honey, I think you would find it interesting moving in with me considering where I live…”
“Where?”
“Buckingham Palace.”
“Wait… but… William… are you THE William?”
“She never told you?”
“No, nothing.”
“Well then, yes. It is Prince William speaking. And I am your father.”
“ … How… When… Why?” I stuttered, in bewilderment.
“We had sex. 17 years ago. Because we loved each other.”
“O-okay…”
He chuckled again at my reaction to his bluntness.
“So, onto more pressing matters here is what I was thinking. New Zealand is ruled out because of your Mother and Step Father. And England is ruled out because of me. How do you like the sound of a Private School in America?”
“Th… that sounds … Great! What private school?”
“I have just looked and the Chicago Private School for the Exceptionally Talented sounds good, does it not?”
“The name sounds good I guess. But what would be my talent? I guess I have multiple… Music, Academic, or possibly acting. Also Computer Science. Would I have to pick just one?”
“It says here you would not so I guess not. What do you think? Should I enrol you?”
“Yes, go for it! Also, what plane should I catch for tomorrow? Just Chicago?”
“Yes, it is an hour or two drive from the main airport. I will have someone there to collect you when you get off the plane. Can you give me your bank details so I can transfer funds for the ticket to your account? And your Skype details so I can contact you when you arrive?”
I proceeded to give him them.
“Thanks honey, you now have enough to get you there and cover additional expenses. I will video call you in just under a week when you should be settled in. Speak to you soon!”
“Bye … Dad!” I tentatively said, using the more informal ‘dad’ instead of ‘father’ as it was drilled into me to address parents with.
“All sorted!” I yelled down the hall, not caring if Little Miss Perfect is woken up.
I then proceeded to ring the airport and book a ticket, arranging to pay when I arrive. Then I go to bed and assess that night’s injuries.
Puffy eye. Split lip. The inevitable hand print across my face, but it could be mostly covered up by my brown locks if I styled it correctly. Then I also have a bruise on my arm, a nail print in the middle of it oozing blood, and the bruise had already gone pretty colours. My arm hurts and so do both of my legs, indicating from experience that there will be large bruising there tomorrow.
I sighed and sank into my thin pillow, tucking my meagre duvet up to my chin in order to keep as much warmth into my bed as possible, and for once I anticipated the following day with a mixture of excitement and dread, instead of the usual with just dread.
YOU ARE READING
A new Beginning
Teen Fiction"I BET YOU WOULD NOT EVEN CARE IF I MOVED OUT! WOULD YOU EVEN NOTICE?" These are the words that set the ball rolling, the trouble starting. Kicked out, forced into a new country and disowned by her Step Father and Mother, with only her elusive Fathe...
