Authors Note: Wellll... , so that's my first published story here. I would like to say that I'm a 14 year old girl from Germany who learns English since four years. This first chapter has been read and corrected several times, but I'm almost sure there are still mistakes and I apologize for that.

Everybody likes to get response to his work, so please, please review.

That's all for the moment. Enjoy.

Titanic

Forever a part of him

Have you ever had the feeling that you don't know where exactly you belong? That…well, that you don't even know who you are? Because every time you see the families around you, and the bond that they share, you feel like a stranger. Because they all are a part of a…a tree on which they are the leaves and they are all endlessly precious to each other and they love and protect each other. The most of them at least. They know where their place is in the world. I too have a tree. But I am a single leave. Apart from all the others on a bleak branch. Don't get me wrong, I love my life and the people in it. I'm not depressive or unloved or such things. I life a happy live. But I don't even know where part of my roots lie.

Moonlight shone through the open windows and a slight breeze ruffled the deep blue curtains while the calming sound of the breaking waves on the beach could be heard in the background. The thin petals and leaves of the three pink roses that stood in a crystal vase on a simple mahogany table on the wide balcony fluttered slightly. In the corner of the same balcony a small fountain was gently splashing and sprayed a fine dust of tiny droplets, which were sparkling silver as the moonlight broke in them, over the balcony.

The balcony detached to a huge room. The wooden floor was a deep colour, the walls were pearl white but draped over and over with beautiful drawings which looked like they were drawn with charcoal. The bowed ceiling was painted in deep blue and all the furniture was mahogany. On one wall stood a bed with silken, blue bedding and a small nightstand at the head end with a mirror hanging above. On the white door had been painted a name in curvy letters: Jacqueline.

It was the name of a girl, a fifteen year old girl that laid on the bed, her fiery curls spread across the blue pillow, her tan skin shining in the moonlight. She laid on her back, her lips slightly parted and with every breath she let out, a strand of her orange-golden hair that hung across her face fluttered up and then fell back again.

One of her hands was casually thrown above her head and her fingertips were touching a portfolio that had been put on the nightstand earlier.

The thick portfolio was bound in brown-red leather and its corners were worn out from long use. It could be held together with four streams that were detached to the edges. On the front were printed small golden letters which said: Jacqueline Josephine Rose Dawson.

Right next to it stood a framed photo with three people on it. In the centre sat an old women on a chair, behind her stood a teenage girl who had propped her hands on the arm leans of the chair and on the right side of the chair knelt another teenage girl on her feet.

Both girls were holding one hand of the old women, their grandmother, and all three smiled happily into the camera. The kneeling girl was observably Jacqueline, petit, slim and curvy, in a flowing white skirt that reached just under her knees and a jade green tight t-shirt with rolled up sleeves. The girl behind the chair wore a jeans, a pink shirt and pink sneakers. She was tall and curvy and slim and had curvy brown shoulder length hair. The old women was dressed in an dress with African pattern.

She had sea blue eyes which looked wise and knowing, knowing the hardships and joys of a long life, filled with a million of memories.

The girl behind her had the same eyes, the same deep blue, but younger, still innocent, glimmering with youth. And the kneeling girl, Jacqueline, had this eye too. Right, this eye because only her right eye was this beautiful sea blue. Her left eye had another colour. A stunning colour. It was turquoise, with light blue blushes and deep green little points. And both of her eyes sparkled and shined with life and adventure and humour together with the lopsided grin on her lips.

But the photo was taken two years ago and the two girls had grown up. Sure, their natures and spirits were still the same, in their eyes you could still see the same emotions and characters.

But you could also see something different, something hard and serious.

The youthful innocence had vanished, the naïve beliefs of paradise. The childish thoughts of perfection, that life was like the corny love novels you could find everywhere, that there could be peace if you just wanted it, that love was always nothing but joy, that life would bring exactly what you wanted it to if you just said so. It was replaced by the simple realisation that it wasn't life which adapted to you, but you who had to adapt to life. You could say, life had tought the girls a lesson. A hard lesson.

As the sun rose and drenched the room in gold-orange light that let the hair of Jacqueline glow that one almost couldn't look at it, life came into the house. Barking could be heard as Freddy, the mongrel of the family, woke up and began, like every morning, to wake up the rest of the household. In front of the house the first car drove past and the neighbour opened his garden doors with a Quieeek´.

A new day began, and the people of Santa Monica crawled out of their warm beds and were getting it on, some of them with smiles upon their faces, whistling, looking forward to their dates at the evening, or to going to the beach, or just a pleasant talk with their colleagues at work. Some of them still half asleep, waking up from the hot cup of coffee or the pain when they bumped their tows on the table, and some of them with grim faces, muttering about their stupid boss, cursing about their stupid work and wishing they could go back to bed.

So, almost everyone, because it was the first day of the summer holidays and very few children and teens actually showed signs of beginning the day. And Jacqueline, from nature a long sleeper, didn't plan on getting up any time before noon. She just turned on her side, used to the morningly noises and simply ignored them and slept peacefully on.

Only three hours later, as somebody tapped lightly on her door, she was taken out of her dreamland. Her door opened and the brown haired girl from the picture came in and tapped across the room to Jacqueline's bed and let herself fall next to her cousin. " Wazzup?" , yawned Jacqueline" It's 11.30 am" "So?". Shelby Calvert turned her head and blinked sleepily at the girl next to her "So grandma wants us down in half an hour." " Why?" "Breakfast, sleepyhead" "Uhnng. OK."

For the next five minutes none of the two moved more than an inch.

Suddenly Jacqueline opened her eyes "Shelby?" "Mhm?" "I again had that dream". Now Shelby's interest was caught. She turned on her side and propped her head on her elbow. "Really? Exactly the same?" "Yeah. All night long" "Wow". Jacqueline looked up and raised an eyebrow "That's not Wow! That's something to worry about. Since two months almost every night the same boring dream." She crumpled her nose "I'm going mad". Shelby smiled: "Since when are you so pessimistic? That doesn't suit you." for a moment she was silent, then she said slowly: "You know, maybe this dream means something. Like a prophecy. Or no, that doesn't hit it. Like something your spirit wants to say to you ,something from your future or your…your past." For a few seconds it was silent, then Jacqueline exploded with laughter and Shelby grinned and said: "I'm telling crap, aren't I?". Jacqueline sat up and stretched her arms above her head "Yes, but that was a first time! An illogical and cryptic statement from the mouth of my ever logical and strict cousin. That doesn't suit you." ; she said, still giggling. The brown haired girl narrowed her eyes: "Stop making fun of me!". Jacqueline's grin became even brighter: "I'm not making fun of you, I would never do that." "You're an asshole, Jackie." "Thanks, I love you, too"

Jacqueline jumped down the stairs and whirled into the living area. " Mornin'", she called as she went to the table which was loaded with breakfast. Three people sat there already.

One was Shelby who bend slightly forward and let her hair fall around her face to hide her grin.

Then there was Mrs. Farewell, a round, highly sympathetic, humorous and loveable women in her fifties. She was short, had a round face with always red cheeks and always laughing eyes and short brown grisly hair with a few grey streaks. She worked for the family since seven years now.

Their Grandmother, who they lived with, was very wealthy and still fit for her age, but wasn't able to hold the whole house clean and intact all by herself. Jacqueline and Shelby helped where they could, but still had school. And they were two fifteen and seventeen years old teenage girls. They just had other interests than scrubbing and dusting and cooking.

So their grandmother had hired Mrs. Farewell and now she belonged to the family. Nobody could imagine a life without the giddy, slightly uncoordinated but hardworking 'maid', how the two girls called her teasingly.

And then there was their grandmother. Rose Dawson Calvert, a 78 year old women. Rose was the type of human who could look fragile and breakable, but you still wouldn't say anything nearly impolite in her presence or make a wrong move. She was one of this people who carried the air with them that gave the impression that you couldn't and wouldn't bring her down, nor would she take any commands from you, no matter the circumstances. Head high, shoulders square she would march down the street, not stopping until she got what she wanted.

But with a smile. Always with a smile. Because the outer façade often gave you the wrong impression. And when you took a second look, you saw a women with a warm heart who always put others in first place. A women with thousand of memories, some so very melancholy, some unbelievable happy and filled with joy. A women who had seen almost the whole world and was still eager for adventures and new experiences.

When you took a second look, you saw that behind the hard outer façade was a women really as fragile and breakable as she sometimes seemed.

The girls loved their grandma over everything. And their grandma loved them endlessly.

Who touched them with bad intentions had once had a life. Rose Dawson Calvert would make it hell.

Jacqueline ignored the disapproving frown of her grandmother at the jogging suit she wore and took a seat in between Shelby and Mrs. Farewell.

"You couldn't possibly have chosen more appropriate for breakfast, could you?" Rose asked.

"Nope. The suit is comfy. I like it."

Shelby muffled her giggles with a mouthful scrambled eggs and Mrs. Farewell was suddenly very interested in her slice of bread on which she had smeared honey on both sides in her distraction.

While Jacqueline loaded her plate Rose stared at her unmoving. Her granddaughter returned the stare and raised one eyebrow. It was the morningly staring competition.

Suddenly a splotch marmalade flew from Rose's spoon and hit Jacqueline direct on the chin.

Shelby and Mrs. Farewell burst out laughing while the redhead whipped the marmalade away disgusted. "Absolutely not fair. You could have warned me. Since when is playing with food allowed?!" Her Grandmother grinned smugly " Holiday bonus, dear!"

All in all, they were the perfect family. But they had their dark secrets