London // A Tom Holland Fan Fiction

1- New Surroundings

London is warm. Much warmer then I was expecting. As I sat in the back of my parents small black car I began to question my outfit choice: some blue ripped jeans, white button down shirt, leather jacket and white converse. I let out a rather enthusiastic sigh, clearly loud enough to make my parents ignore me again. I huffed, only louder this time. Loud enough for my mum to dart her head around to meet my annoyed glare.
"What now, Jess?!" She bellowed at me, causing my dad to jump in a fright and swerve slightly, complaining as though he had almost lost his life. I said nothing. Just looked her dead in the eye and smiled, a very patronising smile, one which suggests you don't talk to me for a very very long time without actually having to say it.
Now, don't take me to be a cow or anything, I love my parents so much, more than anything in fact, but there was nothing wrong with our old house, it was our home. A small terrace house on the upper west side of Leeds, located on the most secluded little street ever imaginable. It was small, but it was homely. Cosy. I thought we were happy, that everything was going just fine, that we had made our beds and were now lying in them. Sadly, I was wrong. As one day, my father came home looking rather glum. Being the caring wife that she is, my mum immediately asked the source of the problem and when he said nothing, her face filled with delight. They didn't tell me? My dad had applied for a new job in London, only a small job as an engineer, but he was the best of the best, and we weren't in the financial state to pass up the offer, apparently.
So there I sat, in the back seat of my parents small black car, watching the sun glare through the window, hoping that my friends back home will remember me in 10, 20 years time, but full well knowing they've already moved on, and that was that, I was a nobody. A lost cause.
In London, everything is really  different. The accent for one, i find it so adorable and comforting, it's like Collin Firth, I suppose, the old English charm. Or Hugh Grant.. But enough of my celebrity crushes already.
The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road, causing me to drop my phone under my seat which aggravated me a decent amount.
"Excuse me?" My dad yelled out of the window towards a group of boys about 17 or 18 years old. They all turned at once, and one of them stepped forward and slowly approached the car,
"What's the problem, sir?" He asked my father, his London accent growing strong and ever so amazing. After chatting with the young boy for a few minutes, they managed to figure out where we needed to go to get to our new house. A few lefts, a few rights and there it was, standing tall in front of us, our new home. It was a three story apartment, living room on the first floor, a vintage kitchen too. On the second floor was my parents room and the bathroom. Finally, the third floor, my floor. Where I would spend the remainder of my life hiding away.
We all stared in awe at our new place, admiring its new fixtures and fancy location, things were starting to look up, look positive even, until i realised I'd have to cart all my belongings up two flights of stairs. Many hours later, I was unpacked and relaxing upon my new double bed, admiring my beautiful photographs which sat up on my dresser. Surrounded by delicate fairy lights. It must have been around 2 am by the time I had finished unpacking my boxes, thankfully finding my favourite picture of all time, a Polaroid of my old dog, Luca. Sadly, he was not allowed in our new apartment so we had to give him away. All that said. The tears didn't fall but my head did, and I fell fast asleep.