A/N: Hi! This is my first ever fanfic, I hope you enjoy it. It's an Alec/OC. The Volturi will be brought in by chapter 2 or 3, so the wait won't be long. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, the next chapter should be up soon. Please R & R!
Constructive criticism is also welcome! Any review is appreciated.
I had been on the plane for hours but I couldn't fall asleep. All I could think about, as I looked down at the ground through the nearby window, was how I was leaving everything I had ever known miles and miles behind me.
All of the family I had ever known was gone, left hundreds of miles behind me, many of them several feet beneath the ground. I could hardly breath when I thought of any dreams I had ever had of becoming a professional ballet dancer. They were becoming more and more unlikely with every passing minute.
I had been dancing ever since I could form a sentence, and up until now ballet basically summed up my life. When I was younger it was almost all that I did, and for the past year it was all that I did. And now, barely fifteen, I have no idea what to do with my life. I was supposed to be back home in New York City, right now I should be standing in front of a mirror, surrounded by thirty other people as we practiced various positions for three straight hours. I should be about to head down to a nearby cafe with several of my friends, as was tradition, doing ridiculous of our various instructors. I should be happy, or at least, not quite so depressed.
Right now, there are a lot of things that I should be doing, but instead I'm sitting on a plane wondering how on Earth my life has gotten to this point.
I guess that this all started around eight months ago, the day my mom was hit by some random taxi as she made her way to my father's office. My life had definitely changed, I had always been close to my mom, she was the reason I loved dance as much as I did. When she was growing up, it had been her dream to make her way up in a ballet company, and she almost made it. Unfortunately, a severe injury to her right ankle made it impossible, so when I was born it became our dream for me. She'd been there to help me ice any swollen ankles, pulled muscles and broken hearts, and I couldn't have asked for a better mother. It was only expected that her death would be rough for me.
But, for my dad, it was even more difficult.
All of my life I had had a model father. He loved my mother and I more than anything, and never missed a birthday, holiday, or anniversary. He couldn't be there all the time, he was the CEO of a major corporation so it only made sense he would have to work many long nights and fly to various locations for days on end. But he was always there.
After my mother's death though, he could barely be there for himself, much less me. He quit his job and started drinking, and although he was never violent or cruel, I spent most of my time avoiding time. The man who I had always looked up to had been reduced to a zombie-like state. During his rare moments of sobriety I would try my best to comfort him, but it was to no avail.
Six days ago he was found hanging in our apartment, barely alive. At 1:08 AM he was pronounced dead.
My life, which for the longest time, had been relatively perfect. I was surrounded with people who loved me, and I was never without friends even if the only ones I did have were from ballet, I had everything a person could need and almost everything I had ever wanted, and over the course of eight short months I had lost nearly all of it. I went from the talented daughter with the whole world at my fingertips of an insanely happy married couple to an orphan with an insane trust fund.
I could only hope that Italy would be the start of something better.
