Part 3

Being forced out of my escape-from-the-world room to go to some country half way around the world , wasn't really my idea of how I should spend my summer . but with mom and dad , there are no buts, ifs, or whys . I was going to Libya with my legs and hands tied together like a sacrifical lamb to the gods. Or that's how my dad put it. We were leaving on the 23th of June , at 6:30 A.M. I marked it on my calender as D-day. I spent every second i could in my room, with exception of going to the bathroom , was really the only time I left my room. I even ate in my room. Mom's constant naggging about it being unhealthy spending that much time in my room , and that I showed designs of depression, and bla bla bla . You all know how mothers/doctors can be.

The night before "D-Day" arrived , my mom walked in to see if I'd packed already. There were a pile of clothes in the corner in an open suitcase. As she always did , she started to make that annoyed sound all mothers make when their dissapointed. " tsk tsk tsk" .

" Hey , at least I packed ! "

My mother looked back one last time at the pile of clothes , moved her head-sideways in the disapproving way mothers do when their children lack discipline and left the room .

Having the weakness of always trying to please my mom , even though reluctantly , I staggered off my bed and dragged my feet across the room , and to the suitcase . Being the lazy person I am , taking the crumpled up clothes out of the suitcase and folding them neatly to be put back in again was a sheer miracle . With every shirt , pants , skirt , and any other piece of clothing that I folded , I became more and more depressed about leaving for Libya for the summer . What the hell was I going to do in Libya for god's sake ? Adopt their traditions and ways , and ride camels with burqa on to keep my complexion from burning and peeling off like an over-rippened tomato ? Or count how many grains of sand can I find in the Sahara Desert ?

When I finally was done folding everything , I slammed the suitcase shut , hoping the clasp would break off , and that would be my excuse not to travel . Yea right , they'd probably tell me to stuff everything in duffel bag and drag it along through the many airports we'd probably transit it . With thought in mind , my lack of any strength would bite me in the ass , cause God knows I can barely go up and down the stairs without panting like a stray dog .

Oh god , if only I hadn't slammed the suitcase so hard , the clasp wouldn't have broken wide open in Heathrow , and I would've never met...Killian.

Part 2

In Libya , at the turn of the century , is where my story begins. My father and mother , both doctors without borders, were flown in due to an outbreak of Malaria . Since I had no one to stay with and it being summer break , they decided to take me along. I would have rather stayed at home, where my electronic retreat was, that and I wouldn't have to be under the mercy of the scorching sun. My skin couldn't handle it anyways, being porcelain white and all. I probably got it from my grandmother, since both my parents where naturally tanned. I look more European then Hispanic. My grandmother had come from the lavished french countryside , where there would always be a cool breeze , meadows of lilies , and wine vineyards that went on for miles and miles. She was a kind woman, who simply grew more elegant and breath-taking with age. Her porcelain skin complemented her dark auburn hair that she always wore down. It made only made her jade eyes stand out that much more. I look alot like her. But I do miss her dearly. She always had my back and came up with the most reasonable solutions ( no matter how outrages they sound at first.) She had fallen in love with my Spanish grandfather, who at the time was one of the richest vineyard owners on the whole European continent. He had seen the world over, living most of his teenage years behind the pilot's dashboard. They had later come to America , where he began traveling all over the country , trying to pin point where his first wine shop should be. He finally decided on L.A. , where the demand for excellent wine was very high.

It started off well . Soon his branches started budding up all over the continental U.S. My mom's identical brother , took over the business after my grandfather died. My mother decided to be a doctor instead , which my grandfather encouraged her to do. He always had a saying "Do what you love, but with no regrets"
God ! If I only listened to that saying , then none of the damage that has been done would've happened.....

An Introduction

Where do I begin and where do I end? Do I start off brief or begin with detail ? How can you describe a lifetime in a few sentences? Is it that simple or rather it's me complicating things as usual? Is it that fact that nobody really understands the gravity of some situations? Or do I seem to be the only sane person around here ? Did it happen because of me? Are the nightmares ever going to end? Was it all worth it ? Is it strange that I don't feel guilty at all? Or is it cause I'm still in a state of shock?



No , let me gather my thought before I begin. My name is Jolene , I'm 17 years old , I'm currently in a Swiss boarding school , and oh yea, I'm really under the witness protection program for witnessing my parents brutal murder , that ended up happening because of me. Hey , nobody said high school was easy...