Living With The Bad Boy [COMPLETE][VERSION ONE]

Chapter 3

It's 6:58 on a Sunday morning. 6:58 on a Sunday morning. 6:58 on a Sunday morning after I just couldn't sleep until about 3am last night. My mother is loading boxes and boxes into the moving van as I stand there with my sore legs at 6:58 in the morning.

I really hate moving.

My legs are sore and there are bags under my eyes and the wind whips through my threadbare fleece as we get into the back of the moving van, a lump in my throat as I look back on my house, my entire life, one last time. The tree where I broke my arm when I was eight. The colorful handprints in the peeling white paint siding that we'd put up when I was 10. The window I'd been looking out of the moment my dad told us the results of his cancer screening.

No. I've changed my mind. Fuck this house. Fuck the memories. Fuck it all.

As the van pulls out of the driveway, I don't even look back. I just stare at my hands.

It's about a 20 minute drive from our house to Glendale, but it feels like a lifetime until we're off the freeway and pulling onto a lush, suburban road full of perfect culs-de-sac and sparkling clean minivans. This is where we're going to be living? With some spoiled ten year olds and annoying soccer mom?

But the van pulls away from the upper-middle-class suburbia and we enter another road, Magnolia Private Drive.

This road is different. There are no culs-de-sac here, no children playing outside. Just long, winding, ornate gardens stretching along the road. Fields of orchids and lilies and roses and willow trees dot the landscape, and I'm pretty sure I spot a pond/lake thing as we drive by. We must be taking some sort of shortcut.

My mother leans against me, her auburn hair tickling the back of my neck. "Look at those lady slipper orchids! I can't believe that they're blooming this late in the year!"

Is this a shortcut? Because it seems to be taking an extremely long time to get through.

After a solid ten minutes of "look at those apple trees!", we turn into a magnificent brownstone archway teeming with ivy and blooming flowers and concealing a long, lush driveway. What the heck? Did we take the wrong road or something? But, instead of turning around, the van keeps driving, past marble cherub fountains, maze-like hedges, and tall, vine-like rose bushes. The road abruptly turns to the left, and I get a view of the most enormous, gorgeous, and expensive house I've ever seen. It's like the mansions on TV, with cold grey stone built up at least four stories and vibrant stained glass windows that look large 200 feet away, leading out to expansive balconies overlooking ponds, fountains, and the perfect cobblestoned patios. Even the garage looks fancy and expensive, made almost entirely of glass that allows onlookers a view of the pristine BMW and Tesla. As the van pulls up closer, my heart starts pounding. This is where we're going to be living?

When the van driver rolls down the window and punches in a code at the wrought-iron gate, I know with a sinking feeling that there's no chance this is a mistake.

I can barely breathe. It's bad enough that we have to leave our house and live at the mercy of someone else while my mom works as their maid, but the fact that this house exists makes me think its owner probably is some sort of stuck-up rich heiress. I can't believe that this is happening. It's so terrifyingly real that it makes my heart race and my hands shake. Calm down, Sienna. There's no reason to freak out. You're going to be fine. But that doesn't really do anything.

"Sienna, you coming?" my mother asks.

"Huh?" Her words jolt me back to reality. I hadn't even realized that the van stopped moving. "Uh, no- I mean yes- I mean-"

Just that second, I hear a door slam shut and my mom and I look up instinctively through the window.

And instantly regret it.

Because the reason that the door slammed shut? Someone just came outside.

But not just any someone.

Tall. Muscular, Messy brown waves. A too-cool-for-this attitude as he slouches against a pillar. He's as real as daylight, but my brain must be deceiving me somehow. Because there's no way the universe can be this cruel. But he looks up, and I make eye contact with him, electric blue, a shiver running down my spine.

"Oh! I forgot to mention," my mom says, somewhere in the back of my mind. "Lizbeth has a son that's about your age, isn't that wonderful? His name is...um..."

"Jase" I breathe. "His name is Jase." 

--Author's Note:--

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to leave advice in the comments, but remember, this is my first draft, so please don't be too harsh as I will be making changes! :) also thank you for sticking with the story so far, I PROMISE it gets waaaay more interesting and dramatic very very soon ;) I just need to finish the exposition and all of the background information. So please please keep reading and I promise it won't stay this boring forever !!