The onslaught of heat beat down my back, hot wind coiled around my slightly damp body. Gold Coast's harsh sun pierced my skin, and I heaved a sigh, wiping the sweat away from my brows. I've been out here for a massive two minutes, and I swear there are already wet patches underneath my arm pits.

"Come on, keep up!" My mother called from in front of me, waving frantically at a taxi driver who is now pulling over. I gritted my teeth, the leather of my back pack gripping onto my skin, and I tugged, almost annoyingly, at the two suitcases– one of which is broken might I add– I was dragging along behind me, all the while trying not to drop the large duffel bag I had hooked dangerously around my arm. I managed to catch up to my mother just as she passed her suitcase to the hoary driver, who lifted an eyebrow at my state. What, I can't help the fact that I sweat very easily. My mother is already in the passenger's seat, and I looked back to see the driver slamming his trunk shut.

He gestured for me to get in, before jogging to the other side, appearing to not want to stay under the heat for one moment longer. Me and you both, buddy. Getting into the taxi swiftly, a sigh fell from my mouth as cool air surrounded my heated body. The breeze from the air conditioning gently caressed my burning skin. My head lolled back against the plastic cover, my mother's voice being droned out as my exhaustion took over.

Just coming off the two hour plane flight, it is currently thirty minutes past eight in the morning. After getting virtually no sleep in our air condition-less apartment, for I was way too excited to go on this trip to even consider sleeping, the lack of rest is quickly clouding my mind.

This is the first time since I was eight years old, to ever travel in a plane.

"Chanel." I opened my eyes lazily, catching my mother's gaze over the rear view mirror. "Oh, you are resting. We will be arriving in Surfers Paradise soon sweetheart." I gave her a small lipped smile, before closing my eyes once more. It has always been this way. Just the two of us. My father has been inconsistently in and out of my life, coming and going. Sometimes when he gets piss drunk, he would tell me that the only reason my mother and father got married was because I was conceived. My father's side of the family has very traditional values. Especially my grandmother. If I show even a slit of my stomach, she will go absolutely mental. For an old lady, she is still as scary as any.

My parents– they did not have a good marriage. There was no ceremony, no wedding gowns, no exchange of rings, no love. It was a slip of paper that contained the two of their signatures, and that was all. There was a period in my life, when I could remember that my father was still around in our lives, like a family. Although I should be glad to have them both present, I could still feel the misery that lingered around the six year old me as if it were yesterday.

Dinner time used to be the worst time of the day. Every night, around the glass dinner table, we would sit down in tense silence, and then something smaller than a grain of rice would evoke a hurricane of arguments that got me sent to the bedroom, in my parent's vain hope to keep me oblivious as to what they were fighting about. It was when I turned seven, that my mother received the all clear to move us to Australia, and attempt to obtain a citizenship. My father refused to come, maybe because he was too scared of his mother. Which was ironic, because he threatened to throw my mother under a bus every time they argued.

Life was– difficult to say the least. We came with just enough money to do what we had to in order to get the citizenship. I was ripped from my childhood the day we landed on Australian soil. My mother worked in three different jobs to pay the rent, I made sure I never added to her stress, learning how to pay the bills and do the tax, buy the groceries and cook dinner as soon as I was capable. The two of us, with the little we had, had actually managed to start a life here. My lips quirked up to a small pained smile. But no matter what, our situation would always be better than some other people.

My mother constantly tells me with sad eyes that my father was- is a good man. He apparently uses verbal violence to hide the fact that he is very self conscious. Now, I have no doubt that he is a good man, because in the little hours that he is sober, he would treat me like a real daughter. But there is always a little part of me that holds a small resentment, for all the tears and pain he had caused my mother.

Despite being very stingy with spendings on our entertainment and enjoyment, I am feeling as giddy as a little child at Disneyland, at the chance of being able to come on this summer holiday.

I managed to doze off after a little while. I felt a pair of hands shake me awake after what feels like a minute of actual sleep.

"Chanel, honey, we are here." I nodded sleepily, groaning softly as I feel the cracks that emitted from my neck, a dull pain throbbed at the base of my head from the awkward position my neck must've been twisted in whilst I was napping. I stepped out of the taxi, the stifling heat enveloped me, making my eyes fly open. We were once more exposed to the dry wind, which roared in my ears, muffling the distant sound of the car door slamming shut. The taxi pulled away quickly, leaving us alone with our suitcases. Looking around us, my eyes widened even more. This time, it was not because of the heat. Well, it partially wasn't. "He dropped us off at the wrong place! Wait, come back!" I jumped up and down, frantically trying to wave back the taxi. But only the shadow of the speeding away car answered me.

"We are not at the wrong place." My mother's soft chuckle reached my ears. My lips dropped in a frown. Looking around us, it feels like we have just been dropped in front of Kim Kardashian's neighborhood. Fancy houses that looked way too exorbitant lined neatly down the road, the short grass trimmed to perfection, and you can almost see the gleam that shone off the polished glasses from each house. "Come, follow me." My frown deepened as my mother strolled away confidently to a large house across from us, an aura of grace and elegance emanate from her. I picked up the remaining luggage, hobbling over to a beach house that stood tall and proud. I don't know what exactly is happening, but I walked after her with a slow uncertainty. She rapped her knuckles on the heavy oak wood door three times, and a tall, dark haired man answered after a moment.

"Thea! Nice to see you again. How have you been?" My mouth could't help but drop open as I watched the handsome but aged man pull my mother into his chest.

"Life's still the same Eli, but it's so good to see you." Who- is this man? My mother pulled away from the hug, and turned around to face me excitedly. "You remember Chanel."

"Nice to see you again Chanel. You were the size of a tiny pea the last time I saw you." He smiled at me fondly, his deep voice did not fail to create a lasting impression in me.

"Thank- you?" My eyebrows raised high, my brain trying to wrack through years of memory to see if I have ever met this man before. Nope. Nothing came up.

Elliot laughed deeply. "Welcome to Paradise Waters girls. Come in, don't stand in this horrid heat. Let me show you around." He picked up two suitcases with ease, and headed back into the house, I followed with the rest, my face scrunching up in confusion.

"Mum-"

"I'll explain later." She grinned at me, and I relented, because it feels like it has been ages since I last saw her this happy. I won't ruin it for her, for now at least.

Luxury greeted me almost as soon as I stepped foot into the house. Heavy black and white marble floor, spacious foyer that seemed like the entire size of my apartment, and a wide spiral staircase which lured guests to venture upwards. Intricate designs etched into the snow white walls, trailing up to a grand chandelier hanging right above our heads. This room screams expensiveness and otherworldly, and I feel so completely out of place with my shorts and backless tank top. Following the sound of my mother's laughter, I found that they have already headed upstairs, leaving me by myself. Not wanting to get lost here, because that is probably most inevitable for me, I decided to just follow after them and hope for the best.

Grunting, I used my knees to nudge one end of the suitcase up, catching it with my hands. My muscles straining as I carried the weight up the stairs, slowly, and unsteadily. But with me being me– a bungler, I tripped over my two left feet.

It's as if it was all in slow motion. The suitcase fell before me, my body reached up in a sad attempt to save myself, my arms flailing about to grip onto something, only to grab air and fall right back down. I collapsed unceremoniously on top of the black suitcase with my face a centimeter away from the ground, my thighs underneath me to hold the suitcase in place. If not for this, my effort of bringing it almost half way up the stairs would've been completely wasted.

Just as I was slowly collecting my composure, and praying to every god I knew, for no one to see this unfortunate mishap, a slow clap sounded out behind me. "Amazing job." My face immediately burned bright red. Shit.

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Hope you guys enjoyed it! The next chapter should hopefully be out soon! In the mean time, check out my stories on Radish Fiction! User handle: MissTroubleX

Oh! I have a treat for you guys! Especially for all the android users! You'll find out more soooonnn! Love you guys!