Lauren was mad.

Actually, to say she was mad would be an understatement. She was absolutely furious. Just this morning, her mother had appeared at her door step and told her to pack her stuff because she was"going home". Hah. Home? Pa-lease. She was home. In this gorgeous, modern house located in the heart of La, what other place could a gorgeous, young, rich girl possibly call "home"? Classy cars, maids to match with an impressive 100 meter pool, she loved her life and she wasn't planning on giving up. Well. That's what she thought, anyway.

Her mother had literally come around, two body guards at hand, knocked on her door and forced her to come. And by "forced her to come", I mean literally forced. Telling the blokes to toss her over their shoulder and shoving her in the car, you could barely say the choice was mutual. And that's not even including the hang over...

"Excuse me!" Lauren whined, ignoring the throbbing head ache as the heavy red doors were closed behind her, "but I don't believe I agreed to this!"

Her mother just ignored her though, locking her in the backseat.

"Oh, save it." she rolled her eyes, sliding into the passenger's seat and signalling for her father to drive, "you crossed the line with those boys last night, coming back in such a state! How DARE you even try to complain? I gave you a chance in the big city and you blew it once again. What do you think your father said when I told him? Do you think he was proud that his daughter was sleeping around?"

"It's not like it was even that bad!" she defended, remember the cute russians from last night, "they were hitting on me. And besides..." She shrugged, picturing their cute faces and their gorgeously toned abbs, "if you were ten years younger, you'd totally be doing them too!"

"I would not be "doing them too"!" The brunette rounded on her too, shooting her a murderous glare, "For your information, Lauren, I have far more class than that!"

"Class?" Lauren almost spat at the idea, the thought of her country-bumpkin mum having any form of class what so ever, "I can hardly call your "gumboots and cattle" life any where near classy!"

"It's a hell of a lot classier than prostitution." her mother spat back. Her eyes wandered down to her tiny, plaid, Gucci skirt, and then back up to her black sports bra and pierced belly, "you look like an upper class whore."

Lauren sat up, opening her mouth to retort but had to lie back, tilting her head back against the seat. Her head was doing circles in the small, confined space, clearly she was way too hung over to be dealing with this. "Ugh... whatever..."

She groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples, "I don't expect you to understand what it's like to be young, anyway."

"On the contrary." She shook her head, turning back to the road, "like you I am surrounded in young people, working on the farm. The difference being, that they're actually earning their living. Of course, they have their fun, drinking and partying and such. At least that Miles boy still knows how to control himself..."

Lauren perked up at that, sitting up in her seat. Did she say Miles? Like her ex boyfriend, happy country boy Miles?

"And now she decides to listen..." the smirk on both her mother and fathers faces were enough to make the young woman glare, "I see we're not completely over the country life..."

"I don't give a damn about some country boy." She lied, crossing her arms and sinking back into the chair, "that's all he is. An ex boyfriend. and nothing else."

To be honest, the mention of his name made her uneasy... it's not that she didn't care, it's just that she didn't want to talk about him any longer.