1. Hell To Home

                                    

                                          
I fold my arms over my chest, leaning back in the car seat as a small sigh escapes my mouth. My jeans felt to tight, and my shirt was clinging to my skin. I feel uncomfortable, which makes me scowl. My clothing consisted mainly of black and green, which I liked.
                          
The green, paired with the black makes my bright orange hair stand out like a light in the dark. Some people believe I dyed my hair orange, literally orange, but I was born with it. It's strange, don't you think? I guess I'm a strange person.
                          
Around my neck I have an amber locket. I never leave the house without it. Inside is a picture of my twin sister, when she was a newborn baby, after she was cleaned up and wrapped in a pink blanket. My sister died shortly after I was born, and I don't think my mother ever got over it. No, I know for a fact she never did.
                          
She never looked at me like she loved me, she looked at me like she was guilty I survived and my sister didn't. It made me feel horrible, and I hated her for not looking at me like the other mothers looked at their kids.
                          
Currently, I'm sitting in a taxi. To say I'm bored is an understatement. I gave the driver the address of my father's house. Should be there any moment.
                          
When I was seven my parents divorced and my dad moved out of America and to Australia, living in New South Wales in a small town next to a lush, green forest. It reminds me of something you see in a nature documentary, the way it is all green and gloomy. But the air around it is calm, which I quite like. I come out to Australia every year to visit him, my Father that is, but this time something feels different. I don't know what it is, but something feels different about this place.
                          
Honestly, I think I like Australia better. It's less crowded and the air seems cleaner, but that is just my opinion. Even though I have lived in America for more than half of my life, I like it here better. The people just seem a lot nicer, but as I said before that is just my opinion. Some people like America better, anyway. I think I just like getting away from my Mother, Karol.
                          
As the taxi driver turns down the familiar street my Grayson, lives on, I let out a sigh of relief. Grayson treats me like his daughter, instead of someone who just reminds you of the daughter you lost. He actually loves me, and isn't afraid to show it. My dad is pretty cool. He treats me like he's proud of me.
                          
I blink my bright hazel eyes as the taxi comes to a stop, and look up at the familiar two story house Grayson lives in. The paint is chipped on the outside and the third step up from the ground creeks, but I feel safe there anyway. It's my home, my safe haven. Who doesn't feel safe in their house?
                          
"Thanks." I say to the driver as the white car comes to a stop. Yeah, I said white. In America, the taxis are yellow, but here they're white. I hand the driver some money before grabbing my suitcase and exiting the car.
                          
"No problem, ma'am." He mumbles, looking around with a bored expression. He skids out of the driveway as soon I shut the door, almost running me over in the process. I scowl at the retreating car. Why are some people so rude, but others are incredibly nice? Well, I guess someone just is having a bad day.
                          
"Destiny!" Grayson exclaims, bursting out of the front door with a smile plastered all over his aged face. He looks more worn out than he did last year, I realise weakly, though he still looks pretty young.
                          
"Hey, Dad." I grin at him, already feeling at home with him. As I said before, I like it here better. The air is clean and my Mother isn't around to torture me. I feel like I can breathe without having to watch my back every second of every day.
                          
I drop my suitcases as he swamps me in a huge bear hug, spinning me around with my feet off the ground. I laugh and hug him back. Even though my Father is getting older, I can still feel his muscles through his grey shirt and chequered jumper.