I have never realised how many times at 3am in the morning I sit in the back garden, wishing for my life to be great for once. It feels like I do this every single day of the week without knowing why I honestly do it. The first time it happened, it was the day after I won gold at my local gymnastics contest and although it wasn't the Olympics, it still made me feel like I was somebody and I still had hope that I would get to participate in the Games. It calms me down whenever I sit in the cold howling air and I feel more alive.

"Beth!" A faint raspy voice calls me as I pick up my gown beside me, placing it on my slim yet toned body. Getting up, I watch the light in my bedroom being switched on as a blurry shadow is visible from the curtains.

"Beth!" The croaky voice repeats again, this time more subtle and I can't help but wonder who's worrying over me at this time in the morning. If anything, it would be my father but lately, Julie my stepmother has been fussing and panicking over me. It never used to be a problem but it has increased ever since my mother was arrested. I do wonder if Julie likes to rub it in my face that my stepbrother Bobby has a better family than the one I grew up in. If I told you that my life was so great, I would be lying because I lived in a 'broken' family as my now deceased grandmother used to mutter under her breath every time my mother would come home, smelling of cheap alcohol. I never used to blame my grandma Jean for mentioning because it was true; our family was never like the Nigels across the road. Mind you, they were snobby and 'up themselves' as my mother called them.

"Adrian, get back to bed. It is late and Bobby is asleep." I hear Julie say quitely as the shadow in my bedroom disappears, the light being turned off in the process. I can't see her through her big dressing gown and her bed hair or as she calls it, 'amazingly attractive bed hair,'. Deciding that it is freezing out here, I make the short walk back to the garden door which leads to the kitchen. I really hope that I don't make Julie run downstairs and scare the pants off her. I wouldn't dream of getting into Julie's wrong books, especially since that day of that horrific incident when I was thirteen years of age. Because of my parents separation, learning to live with Julie became too much of a challenge for myself. I had dealt with it for almost six years at that age and so I ran away, sick oif her and that smug face of hers. However, it wasn't too long before Julie suspected something and found me by the road near where we lived. I was pretty angry at her for having a go at me as she took me back home in the heavy settled snow yet I forgave her.

There's something about Julie that I do not understand and probably never will.