What's a bad boy?

Chapter 1//Greek gods clad in leather

Chapter 1: Greek gods clad in leather

My entire life I have been sheltered from the dangers and challenges of being an adolescent. I have been kept unaware of how terrifying the world can be and I have never, not even once seen anyone of my age, boy or girl. Now some people may be thinking right now that this can't be the case and that at some point in my life I have to have seen at least one person in a jumbled crowd or in the far distance that is anywhere near my age. But no I haven't.

You see, in Redwood, there aren't any crowded supermarkets, malls or even a movie theatre. There's just me, my parents and the crops that we live off of. Of course, I have always had this tiny desire to see the world for myself, but if the hundreds of dramatic, pain filled books about teenagers just like me have taught me anything it's that life for a 17-year-old girl tends to hurt like a bitch.

Yet, despite all those years of feeling safe and guarded in my childhood home where I have never had to fear anything, god seems to have other plans for me. Now, I am being sent off away from the protective barrier of innocence that surrounded me and my rural lifestyle and thrown into the deadly and sinister environment known as high school.

"Violet, you might want to put your music away, we're almost there" my mother whispers to me from the front seat.

For some reason, I had found comfort in watching the landscape fly by from the glistening car window. I can see the world but the world can't see me. However, it seems as though even that friendly aspect of reality has denied me access to it.

"Vee, you have to accept that we aren't going back" my mum whispers to me once more, the use of my childhood nickname providing no reassurance whatsoever.

I sigh in defeat and yank my headphones out of my ears glaring at my mum. We lock eyes for a brief moment in which I can easily see how upset she is to see me so distressed. I mean, how did she think I would react? They've kept me isolated from the world my entire life and only know do they deem it appropriate for me to actually live!

She seems to catch on to what I'm conveying in my glare and slowly turns back to face the road, while my dad laughs deeply at our petty feud.

"Shut up Richard" mum growls at him.

Obviously valuing his life, Dad stops laughing but I can spot through the rearview mirror that a mischievous smirk remains firmly imprinted on his face. I can't help but smile at my parent's childishness. Let's just say that the apple fell very far from the tree. Very, very far.

******

Its now 3 hours after arriving at our new house, a large modern building with a gorgeous old-fashioned garden in the backyard. The delicate roses and bold sunflowers remind me of our garden back home. Well, our old garden...

The memory brings an intense aching feeling into my heart. An ache to return back to what I know and love. A deep yearning to go back into the past and reroute whatever misguided decision led to this occurrence. However, I'm only human. Unlike the bold and beautiful heroines in my books, I can't turn back time or stop an army or even stand up for myself in any way shape or form. I'm weak, shy and pathetic, but that's just the way I am.

Now, I bet that you're imagining that I have that stupid, annoying, stereotypical single tear drifting down my soft, clear skin. But, in real life, both my cheeks are drenched with tears to the extent that I look like a puffy-eyed panda and though my skin may be clear and slightly smooth, the chunks of frizzy hair sticking to my face at every angle possible are very effective at distracting from my positive features.