The Dark Angel

Chapter 1-Angela Isabelle

The Dark Angel
By: hottieJESSIE

People see me as the rebellious, arrogant, reckless, self centered, easy-goer, rich kid who knows nothing but to kick some arse, pick on helpless kids, spend her money on some luxurious shit, appear on newspapers three to four times a week, do illegal car racing, stuffs like this and that but...no. People who see me as 'that' doesn't really know me, or even a single part of me at all. . .

Damn. I sounded like a fucking Drama Queen. . .

******

I slowly open my eyes. My freaking alarm clock continues on ringing starting to fill my ears with its death-bell-like sound. I harshly turn to the bedside table, just as I realize how my whole body ached as I reach for it. I threw it somewhere and later hears glass break. Well, I've turned it off, somehow.

I sighed heavily as I shut my eyes close and roll under the thick duvet. I must've hit the aquarium again, for the hundredth time, since I moved in in this penthouse. But it's actually changed every time I break it. That is, everyday.

A groan escape my lips as the two doors of my room opens with a creeking sound and light footsteps, indicating the people I've been expecting since the last five minutes, enters the room. They're just a bunch of minions sent by an old man to clean up the mess in this place in each and every morning of my freaking life. And it is so annoying.

Give me a life!

I heard two claps, a signal for them to get started. The sound of vacuum cleaners and some whispered chit-chats instantly fills the atmosphere.

I thought everything will be different once I've finally move in my own place- with no maids interrupting my sleep in every morning of my life, entering my room just to clean my already dustless crib and invading my privacy -and a father who never missed a day scolding me.

But I was oh-so wrong.

Well, this is me and my extraordinary life. . .

Welcome to it.

"Miss, it's time for you to get up of bed." and there goes my second alarm clock, which I choose to ignore. Everytime.

It's George, the ever loyal butler-slash-personal assistant-slash-one of the few people who can tolerate, no. . . Endure my mood swings, sent by the old man to take good care of his spoiled little daughter.

He's like my second grandad, you know, he has these gray hair that's almost connected to his really fluffy mustache covering his whole jaw, where the foam from the coffee sticks everytime he takes a drink from it, wrinkles visible near his eyes and on his forehead that reminds me of my old grandad. Well, yes. He's kinda old, as in old. He's on his 70's and he has stayed with our family since I-don't-know-when. He's not a real butler, by the way. He's a professional, big-time, Lawyer.

He lets out a heavy breath and says in an exhausted tone.

"Angela, you need to get up now or you'll be late for school. I know you're awake and I know you hate being lat..." he was cut off with his scolding when a hystericall voice started shouting from the outside of my room.

"Where is she?" The voice echoes in the hallways and it becomes louder and louder as I hear his clanking footsteps draw nearer, finally entering my room and stops. I let out a deep sigh under the mattress. Oh, gross. My morning breath stinks.

So. Speaking of the old, cranky man.

"Angela Isabelle!" he shouts and I decided to roll the mattresses down, exposing my face to the brightness of the day since the daylight has already filled my entire room through the glass walls covering all the corners. There were about a dozen or two of maids on their white uniforms scattered with navy blue aprons and lowly bunned hairs around my room doing the chores, some are still cleaning the broken glass from the aquarium which I hit earlier with the poor fishes who must have died of exhaustion, the ones I've noticed as I look around before boredly meeting up the gaze of the man standing beside George.