My Secret Life

1. Defiance

Everything was silent in the two-storey, stark white, modern house.

I couldn't hear anyone talking; I couldn't hear the TV buzzing downstairs. I could only hear the muffled snores coming from across the hallway. My parents' room.

I opened my door carefully, flinching when that damn stupid hinge creaked.

I was fully dressed, and tried to creep along the hallway as quietly as possible in my kitten heeled boots. They were the highest pair of shoes I was allowed.

I kept my eyes out for any slight movement or tiny sound, indicating that someone else was awake with me.

No one was.

Smiling slyly I tip-toed back to my own room with its boring, classic wallpaper and all the stupid matching furniture - all of which was chosen by my parents.

I wanted a bright, colourful purple wallpaper with laminated flooring, and some gorgeous, fashionable furniture - but oh, no. I could have no say whatsoever in what went in my bedroom.

With an exasperated sigh, I closed the door behind me quietly, checked that the pile of cushions carefully laid out in my bed looked like a real person sleeping, and then crept to the french doors that led out onto my balcony.

It was very late at night, and as I flung the curtains back, the full, bright white moon beamed onto my face.

It was such a peaceful scene - my balcony looked over the buzzing night city, with the deep, deep blue sky closing over it like a dome; and then the moon in the centre, shining down blissfully.

I smiled serenely as I quietly slid open the doors and walked out onto the old fashioned white balcony, with all the stupid fancy designs that I detested.

I closed the doors slightly, leaving a tiny gap for me to get back into later on.

The cool night breeze blew my long, wavy blonde hair to the side of my face as I climbed expertly down the big stable pipe right next to the balcony - my escape route.

I jumped the last few feet onto the driveway, then picked up my bicycle that I always left round the side of the house, purposely for this occasion.

I flew down the long winding brick driveway of our completely detached house, allowing the slight wind to stroke past my skin and wave my hair out behind me.

Just as I completely left my parents' estate, I stared back with a grimace.

My parents' house was beautiful - I had to admit that. But I hated it. It was too big, too fancy, too boring. Oppressive is another suitable word.

It was huge - 7 bedrooms (only 2 were actually taken up though; my parents room and then my room. The others were merely guest bedrooms, seeing as I have no siblings. I would have liked an older brother, but obviously, that hadn't happened), 2 white marble bathrooms, a ginormous kitchen joined onto the living room that took up three quarters of the bottom floor. There was also a private study/library and a conservatory on the bottom floor.

Upstairs in mine and my parents room, which were the largest bedrooms in the house, the bathrooms were en suites, and there were walk-in closets.

The original house had been built sometime in the Victorian times, but most of the that building and it's furniture had been updated with more stable, modern work.

The house had been our ancestors', and I concluded that their taste in colour and furniture was absolutely horrific. They may have been rich, but as they say, they had more money than sense. Everything was old, and boring; it was all brown and white - no colour to light the place up.