𝒜𝓁𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒮𝓊𝓃𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒

「 2 」

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 〔 ３ ｕｓａｉｎ ｂｏｌｔ ｓｔｒｉｄｅｓ〕*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

And now, I'm standing here with my visa and passport, each declaring me: Isla Martin, a citizen of the United States of America.

And now here I am, in my dorm room, with my parents looming over me. I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I looked over at them arguing. "Mom, I'm old enough to unpack, please," I pleaded, as she ignored me, starting to organize my tiny closet, "and Dad, stop. Everybody's dorm is the same size, I don't see why mine must be bigger." "Yes but darling you're Rick Martin's daughter," he exclaimed frustrated, in that posh accent of his. I rolled my eyes, "Dad, for god sake! No! We've been over this, I don't want anyone over here to know that, please," I pleaded again. "But honey, you'd want your friends to know about your mother, right?" she questioned, smirking at my dad. And there you go, they're arguing again.

I tuned them out as I looked around my room, there was hardly anything to look at, I guess. The room was pretty small in length, it was around 4 to 5 Usain Bolt strides. There was a small bed stuck against the wall and a small dresser on the opposite side with a small desk beside the door. There was a tiny bathroom with a shower and sink. The whole thing was small.

It's not that I'm ungrateful, I mean its Paris. The city of Lights! The city where all romance novels are based on, it's just the whole boarding school-being away from home for 3 years idea. I had a life back home, my brother, my friends, my boyfriend, well my ex-boyfriend now. But obviously, they didn't consider that. They're like two sides of a coin, on purpose. Like if my dad said pizza is good, and even though my mom liked pizza shed say pizza sucks. God, what's up with my analogies today.

My dad is a hot-shot interior designer, he's designed the homes of celebrities, businesswomen, athletes, models, basically, anyone who has a heavy wallet and capable of throwing money.

While my mom is a hot-shot fashion designer, her label 'Isabele Martin' is so renowned that even if someone was about to go broke, the last thing that person would probably buy is an Isabele Martin scarf. It's that good. The name rings around the fashion industries like a prayer. And even though my dad wouldn't admit it, mom's more famous than him. But they're both equally good, and now separated. Mom lives in Los Angeles while I lived with dad in New York.

Mind you, they're not divorced but separated and they've been telling me that they're "on a break" for the past six years. I mean I'm pretty sure even Rachel and Ross's break wasn't that long. And they still do love each other but the competition of the business industry drives them apart.

Anyway, back to the present, I looked over at them and mom was crying and dad was trying to comfort her. And by comfort I mean, saying "shh" "shh" and wiggling his index finger. I rolled my eyes at him, again. "Baby I'll miss you so much, we won't get to spend our summers together for a while but it's alright, you'll become an independent woman here," she sniffled again using her Hermès handkerchief to blow her nose. She got up and hugged me saying, "I'll check up with the principal." And after another nasty sniffle, she walked out.

I looked over at dad, his eyes moist, tears pricked my own, I looked up not letting them fall. We both looked at each other and laughed, again surprised at how stubborn we were. "Darling, just know that I'm immensely proud of you for doing this and I'll miss my partner," he kissed my forehead and did the one thing I never expected him to.

He left.
He left me in Paris.
Alone.
I burst into tears.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ hope you liked it ;/ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙