The Etiquette of Flux (1D fanfic)

Prologue

I took a deep breath of air from my mouth, sucking out smoke from the joint, traveling to my lungs. I shut my eyes, feeling the ripples of ecstasy flow through me. The sensation was great, beautiful, enchanting. I didn't feel like this many times, well, except when I was high, which is what I am right now. It's a feeling you cannot get enough of, the feeling that everything is alright. And lets just say, most of the times when I leave earth like this, the list of things that are alright are shorter than the list of things that aren't. It has been a week so far, one dreadful week. 

Everything changed that day. I walked in on my own alcohol-and-drug-abusive mother laid lifeless on our small apartment’s living room floor. I called an ambulance that drove to our little shack, and pronounced her dead right then and there. I'd be lying if I said I was shocked. 

When I was about one-and-a-half, my mother divorced my father. She got full custody, because they usually favor the mom, and my father didn’t have a steady job nor a place to stay. To my dismay, my father had landed a high-paying job at a record company.

She never was really a mother to me. On weekends, she would be going to bars to go get high. On weekdays, she would be at her full time job at wherever. It changed almost weekly, her drug addiction would always get in the way.

In a way, I wish I had a mother. You’re probably thinking ‘it’s cool to have a mother who isn’t bothering you and on top of your life all the time’ and I do admit, sometimes it can be pretty nice. But those times that you just want a warm, loving hug, there’s nobody there.

I never really had a real boyfriend either. They were all just womanizers or drug users who would deal me. Although, behind all of the American-boy charm, I had thought every single one of them really loved me if they said they did. Which probably explains why I had lost my virginity at 15.

Because of my mother passing, I was going to be sent to my closest relative, which happens to my father who currently lives in London, England, 6,000 miles from Detriot.

I was not at all looking forward to meeting my dad for the first time. Yeah, he didn’t get custody, but he still could’ve stayed in touch with me! He didn’t make any effort at all, as if he didn’t want anything to do with me. It just pissed me off knowing that he seemed to not want to stay in contact with his daughter. 

I walked off the plane, carrying my little tattered suitcase with my few belongings into a London airport. Everyone there looked so professional, so done up. All the patrons had the highest fashion clothing I wish I could afford, meanwhile I was in a white t-shirt and some ripped jeans. I felt like the little American outcast. I got my dad's phone number, and we texted a bit before I went to the plane. I had 20$ with me, which happened to be the remaining money in my mother's wallet. I walked around, looking for something to eat, because I hadn't touched anything in 12 hours. My phone vibrated in my jean pocket, my dad texted me.

Got called for an emergency at work, sent for a car under "Marino" and left the keys under the welcome mat. look forward to seeing you

I groaned and trudged over to Starbucks, paying for a bottle of water and an apple. I hungrily took a swig of the water and bit into the juicy apple. I glanced around the crowded airport, until I found the cars. The names were endless, until I saw Marino.

"Uh, that's me." The driver gave me a weird look. "Well, actually, I'm Mr. Marino's daughter." 

"Well, right this way then." He led me over to a very new-and-expensive-looking car. He noticed something I had in my hand. “Uh, there’s no eating allowed in our cars, its policy.” I shrugged and tossed the apple into the trash. The driver gestured for my luggage, where I handed it to him to put in the trunk. I kept my bag, which contained my phone, water bottle, book, and song book. 

I wouldn't say I'm a songwriter. With all of my troubles, I could get really angry at times. So at those times, I would write down my sorrow. One day when I got bored, I turned them each into a song on my mom's old piano, and I kept doing that ever since. I never really did tell anyone about my little hobby, it was embarrassing how bad the songs were. At this point, I realized. This is the beginning of a possibly whole new life. I have to make this good.

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