Chapter One

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Chapter One

I know that your parents will always be your parents, and you will always be there baby. But it gets to a point, when they need to loosen those reigns. I was eighteen, and my dad needed to realise that I was not his little girl anymore.

He was a protective man, always had been always would be. Imagine Liam Neeson in Taken, just without all the kidnapping and car chases, and the cool parts to the movie. And if you haven't watched that movie; have you been living under a rock?

But, yes, very overprotective. When I was sixteen, and went on a school trip to New York, he had paid a PI to fly to New York and report back all my activities. I didn't speak to him for a month after I found out.

My brothers always told me it was because I was his only daughter, and after our mother died, it was his way of keeping me safe. That was fine coming from them – they didn't have a tracking device slipping into their handbag when they went for a weekend shopping trip in Montreal. But I was the baby, and the only girl.

My father and I lived in Nanaimo on Vancouver Island, had all my life. My mother was Native, with Hopi background, but my father wasn't. Not even close; but he tried to keep my roots close as he could after my mother died.

Which would have been made easier if my Grandmother didn't hate my father; but that was a story for a different time. So, even though I was only going for a month, my father tried to pull the Native card to make me stay.

"I'm just saying that you might not like the city" he shrugged. "You're ties are all here. They aren't used to people like you in LA".

"Are you being racist?" I asked. My father's face coloured slightly.

"No, I'm just saying they might not understand your culture and--"

"Dad, shut up. Or I might have to push you off the bus" I rolled my eyes. "And if anyone is mean to me, I will simply place the curse of my ancestors on them. White people hate that shit".

My father sighed, forehead creasing as he tried to find another excuse to keep me at home. My older brother – Selson – was a student of UCLA, and I was going to stay with him for a month.

My grandmother, on my father's side, was ill and in hospital. Meaning my father was going to stay with her, in Scotland, for a month while his elder brother was working away. However, at the end of the month his brother would return home, and once more become her carer.

However, during this time my father had wanted me to go with him. I had refused. I didn't want to spend my summer in a shoddy old house, with only had electricity when the wind mills were blowing in the garden.

However, due to an unfortunate incident with an ex-boyfriend, my father refused for me to stay at home by myself. It took some time, but I finally convinced him to let me go and stay with Selson in LA. He still would rather me go with him, but I wasn't doing that.

So, the day before he was due to leave, we got the ferry to Vancouver, and then from there caught a bus to the airport. I could have done it myself, but my father wanted to make sure I didn't change my mind and run away with some hobo I found on the street – as if I would do that.

The bus pulled up at the airport, and we got off. I collected my suitcase, as my father sulked like a small child. "Stop sulking, it looks like I just told you Santa isn't real" I rolled my eyes, and he just glared at me.

I then checked it, before it was time for us to say goodbye. I gave my dad a hug, and I could see his eyes tearing up. "Don't cry. You're a really ugly crier" I told him.

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