The tannoy announced the departure for the very last time. I looked around and saw families hurrying towards the crowded gates that were about to close.

Now come to think of it, I should get a move on.

I looked at my 'loving' family and saw the man who ignored my presence for almost ten years, the bitch that ruined my life and the world's biggest douchebag. One big happy family.

"We will miss you so much," the evil bitch of my step mother said wiping a fake tear. Wow, she's good. She approached me in order to show some affection but I raised my hand, signalling her to stop getting closer.

"Now, mother, you don't want to do that. Although that was quite the act." I smirked, knowing I blew off her cover. Her teary eyes became stone cold and her jaw clenched.

"Don't ever call me that" she hissed, causing me to full on smile, but sadly, my father was behind her, thinking I was truly smiling. Smiling because I truly loved her, as well as this family.

"It's a good thing you're leaving," she smirked.

"You have no idea," I grinned, causing her to fuel with anger.

The truth is, I hated every single member of my family. The living one at least. Sadly, they weren't standing here, instead, they were lying six feet under.

Ever since my mother died, my father decided to move us from England to Spain, to be near my grandparents and the woman that invaded our lives. He ignored my existence and focused more on his job as a lawyer, his gold digger wife, and violent step son. I was just a burden to them, and now, this whole façade of a happy, perfect family was coming to an end as I was moving to America.

Thank God.

Now you may be thinking, why the hell do you want to go to America? Well it's quite simple. My cousin moved there five years ago to pursue his dream as a photographer, something I grew passionate about. We talked occasionally and I always mentioned how much I hated my family. Well, long story short, he grew tired of my complaints, and offered me a place to stay. I knew my father wouldn't care as he ignored my presence. And as for the evil bitch and the douche bag, well, they were probably going to celebrate that they were finally getting rid of me.

Just as I was celebrating my freedom.

But that's not the only reason. When getting ready to move to Spain, I found my mother's old journal back in England. She mentioned that she wanted to go to America, specifically North Carolina. After her death, I promised her that I would fulfil her only dream, the one that she failed to achieve.

I looked at my father one last time and he forced himself to draw nearer.

"I'm going to miss you, mi niña," he spoke in Spanish. That broke my heart. This was the first time he had ever mentioned my nickname after my mother's death back home. How dare he.

"¿Estás segura?" he asked.

("Are you sure?")

"I've never been so sure, Pedro." I never called him dad, and he never objected.

I turned around, grabbed my luggage and proceeded to march up to the gates. However, I paused and turned to look up to my dysfunctional family.

"Don't expect me to call you when I land."

And with that being said, I headed on to my new life, without looking back but with a knot in my stomach.

***

After eight to nine long hours and a crying toddler, the plane finally reached Statesville, North Carolina. As soon as I stepped out, my hair blew up with the wind.

Holy shit, it's windy.

I retrieved my luggage and went to the other side of the airport. As soon as I got there, I began scanning the whole area as my cousin was supposed to pick me up. There's something I forgot to mention about him, he has a peculiar sense of style, so I was looking for the guy with the craziest look.

Eye spy with my little eye...

Got him.

My cousin Oliver stood there holding a piece of paper that said: 'My main Bitch,' causing me to snort. Not only that, his hair was bleached and buzz cut, and he wore an animal print t-shirt, showing off his tattoos, with leather pants.

I forgot to mention, Oliver is gay. But hey, it's a free world.

As soon as he saw me his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Who are you? And what have you done with my bitch?" I laughed. Thank God for puberty, I guess. He enveloped me in a bone crushing hug.

"Oli, I cant breath," I gasped. Chuckling, he released me from the bear hug, grabbed my bag and took me to the car.

"I can't wait for you to see my humble abode," he glanced at me with a devilish smile.

"Oh god," I groaned, "Please don't tell me you have some sex dungeon in the basement."

***

We reached our destination, and I stumbled out of the car, mouth gaping. The 'humble abode' was everything but humble, with two floors and located in a great area.

The house was clean, aside from fashion magazines and photographs scattered everywhere. The walls were covered in art work: models, animals and, surprisingly, a younger me.

Oliver told me I was the reason he was a photographer. To this day, I laugh the thought away, but still, it's kind of cool to be someone's muse.

"Stop admiring yourself and go to your room," he laughed in my ear as I was staring at a picture of me on a swing, brown locks flowing in the wind. I was smiling there, evidence that my mother was still alive.

Shaking the dark thoughts from my mind, I furrowed my brows as he pointed towards the door that led to the basement. We walked downstairs.

Holy Crap.

The whole basement was my room. I repeat. The whole freaking basement was my room.

I can't even.

Music blaring through the loudspeakers jolted me from my daze.

"All I am is a man,

I want the world in my hands..."

I looked up and saw Oliver lifting his arm as a sign to dance with him. I grabbed his hand and started dancing like there was no tomorrow. We laughed and danced through every song. As the songs went by, I realized that moving here had been the best decision of my life.

No rules.

No suffocation.

No silent treatments.

Era libre.

(I was free.)