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.
Even the next generations that had tried to renovate the house hadn't made any improvement; my parents included. But as soon as I inherited it, I was going to make it look beautiful.
With a sigh, I started pedalling again, heading straight down the hill (that our house was built on) towards the city.
As I glided down the hill, I thought about my life.
It was pretty good - apart from the fact that I hated it.
My parents were complete control freaks. They were both strict Catholics.
My mum, Charlotte Swan, had a really posh, high-pitched voice which made my skin prickle. Wispy blonde hair framed her ageing face and dull blue eyes never showed any hint of happiness.
My father, Robert Swan, was nothing like a father. Yeah he was THERE, but I couldn't speak to him like my friends could with their fathers; I could never recall any special father-daughter moments that I could cherish.
They stuck to themselves, really, either working, going to Church, or doing their hobby. The only time they ever spoke to me was when something had to be decided about what I was doing in my life.
I didn't them hate them - how could I? But I felt as if I didn't have my own life, and I hated how I couldn't be in control of it.
The only time I felt like I had control was when I was away from them. Sneaking away was thrilling; I had the freedom I wanted, even if it was only temporary.
I grinned as I got into the closest part of the city, where the first line of houses began.
I did this almost every night. I went to him and we stayed together most of the night, until it was late enough that I had to flee back to the boring building where my parents would be waking soon.
I turned into one of the brick driveways and parked my bicycle just below his window.
He was there waiting already - his scruffy, sexy, light brown hair just the way I liked it; his bright blue eyes gazing down at me cheekily; his soft lips pulled up in a grin.
He casually opened the window and motioned for me to come up. It was also the 'sign' that everyone in his house was asleep too - not that his parents were against me seeing him. They just probably wouldn't be very happy if they found me with him past midnight.
Even if they did find us together, they wouldn't tell my parents. They didn't really like my parents either; they thought they were stuck-up, and I completely agreed with them.
I had mastered the art of climbing, and I ascended the vines on the side of his house neatly and quickly, without a sound being made. His window was wide open, and I slipped through it swiftly.
He stood there in the centre of his carpet, just staring.
Jordan Caines - hottest boy in school with a gorgeous six-pack. He was smart - a straight A student, but he wasn't cocky about it. In fact, Jordan Caines was the complete opposite of the other typical, good-looking but arrogant-as- hell guys that were around.
But despite the fact that he was loving and caring, my parents would still dislike him and order me to stay away from him.
That was partially why I was with him.
The only other reason as to why I was with him was because he made me feel alive, and he made me happy. He never controlled me; he never looked down at what I done, or what I liked; he was perfect.
I was young, only 16, but I felt as if we were soul mates.
'Hi, beautiful,' He murmured as he hugged me.
My body fit perfectly against his as we hugged. I felt different when I was with him.
When I was with my parents, I felt like screaming and shouting, running away, tearing everything apart... But I never did, though. I hardly ever got angry. Just like climbing vines and pipes, I had become a master at concealing my emotions around my parents.
When I was around Jordan's family, I felt respected and accepted. His mum, Carrie, was beautiful. She was also more of a mother to me than mine could ever be, and it was the same with Jordan's father, Charlie. He was always making me laugh. Even Jordan's older brother, Nick, was actually quite a decent bloke. He was married and owned his own little Italian restaurant.
They were my real family.
And when I was with Jordan and his family, I felt calmer, more at peace. I felt like I could be myself, and not get judged for it.
Jordan and I sat down on his bed and gazed at each other as time passed around us - bright blue eyes gazing into bright blue eyes: we were a perfect match.
Then we talked. He never asked about my parents, and I was glad for that. I had told him everything about them the first time he asked about them, and although he and his family respected them, they preferred to stay away and not talk about them, or even to them. It was easier for me.
Jordan began stroking my cheek. It felt as if he was smoothing a feather across my skin - that was how delicate his touch was.
He sent tingles down my spine, and I automatically started winding my hands through his thick hair. Our breathing came quicker, and our lips soon met.
We kissed, our hands holding each others' while the other stroked one another's body.
As the moment intensified, my whole body felt as if sparks of lightning were shooting through it. We began delicately pulling each other's clothes off, and then he reached for something in his bedside drawer, keeping our lips in close contact while he silently grabbed something.
His hands left my body and wondered to his for a moment as he slipped the condom on.
I knew where this was leading to.
And I couldn't wait.
I clinged to him, wanting him.
Our bodies melted together as we done something that my parents would disown me for.
But I couldn't give a flying fuck about what they thought.
But there was something deep inside of me that contrasted with those harsh words.
There was also something deep inside that felt slightly different to what my brain felt about Jordan, and the secret life that I was trying to live.
I never let those feelings surface.
I kept them buried.