We are Just Lonely People, Living Lonely Lives (Beatle Fan Fic)

Chapitre 1

Another random idea I got last night and I thought WHAT THE HELL

So tell me what you think :)

Chapitre 1

"Rosie, wake up." My father lightly shook me awake for my first day of school. My light hazel eyes opened just enough to let the light seep though to see the face that matched the voice. His own grey eyes looked tired, like he wanted to sleep for days and not have to get up.

There were soft wrinkles of stress and age around all the features on his face. It gave his face some sort of amount experience that made you feel like he was important. It was one of the first things I noticed when I came to Liverpool.

"Morning père, er, father," I sounded happy, though truly I was sad. I sat up, with a fake smile on plastered on my face. I curled a strand of my dark red hair around one of my fingers. 

"You're much more sweet then your mum described," I lost my smile, and looked at the white, bland wall of my room. My father realized his words, and I realized how he felt bad what he had said.

I used to live with my mom in France. We would travel all over the country, and at first, it was enjoyable. I would go to whatever school was close to us for the time and then switch when we leave. I was raise using English but learned a good amount of French. I'm quite fluent in both, and useful in other subjects.

I found out my mother moved us around a lot when I was about 13. She was an alcoholic and couldn't hold a job. It saddened me, but it got worse when I realized my mother was...

That doesn't matter anymore. 

When she finally got around to telling me about my father, I asked her where he was but she refused to tell me on the grounds that it wasn't my business. So when she was out "working", I looked through everything and found his number and called him. His sounded very likable over the phone and I found out he owned a company that made good money all around England.

In the end, I hopped on a plane and flew across the English Channel to Liverpool, where I will live with my father for a year till I'm 18.

"I'm sorry Rosie, I'm just not used to this. Please give me sometime." He half smiled with his crooked teeth, not wanting to start off like this. I agreed with a nod, understanding how weird this must be for him but how happy he is. I mean he just found out he had a somewhat French daughter    whose 17 years old.

"It's alright," I lied; it hurt, very much. My father stood up from the side of my bed, and put his hands behind his back, nervously.

"Well, school starts in an half an hour for you. There is some breakfast downstairs on the table, and the address as well. You can take the other car if you would like, or you could take the bus that stops down at that corner. I have to go now and I probably won't be home till late. See you soon, um, bientôt." I nodded, smiling slightly at his ridiculous attempt at speaking french. He walked out of the overly large room, and into the hallway, shutting the new wooden door behind him. 

My new room was large for one person with few possessions. There was a normal size bed shoved against the wall with dark color sheets and a one white pillow. One large window that looked out of the back yard and could be reached by simply climbing the pile that ran up the side of the house, which was covered in plants purposefully, was against on of the walls. Across was a large desk with bookshelf and a walk in closet that held my few outfits and such.

I rubbed my eyes with a finger and walked over to the door of the closet. I pushed inside of the smaller room and looked at my shirts hanging up on the rack against one wall, while a large white dresser that blended into the wall, was exactly opposite.