Page 1 of Unconventionally, Elle
Six years ago
I knew death.
My silent companion in the darkest of moments.
I, Elizabeth Watson, knew this mysterious presence that lingered in the shadows of my existence.
She stole my family, she robbed me of my identity, and she devilishly whispered a sweet song of surrender while I sipped my glass of rosé.
I didn't want to feel this sharp pain through my chest or the agonizing way my throat closed every time I remembered that I wasn't there for her, that I didn't know.
When my grandmother, the woman who raised me, died of cancer, cancer I wasn't aware of, I fell to my knees and screamed until my throat burned raw.
Why didn't she tell me? I wouldn't have canceled my trip to visit her because of work.
I would have been there. I would have taken care of her. I think.
Instead, I was here. Long hours and never-ending emails. I should have known. Even Jude said I was overworked, but I didn't care. I needed to work harder, to become better, to climb higher on the slippery corporate ladder.
Seated on my French Quarter balcony, three stories high, I scanned Bourbon Street, where crowds of tourists flowed in sync, and the smell of alcohol and cigars drifted through my fern-covered rails and around my heavy head.
The music from a bar at the corner of Bourbon and Conti rumbled through the street and rattled the glass panes of my floor-to-ceiling windows.
The humid October air was thick and uncomfortable; condensation slowly rolled down my chilled glass of rosé while I twirled it on the table.
What would happen if I did it? What would happen if I listened to this sweet song of surrender? I stopped twirling my glass, the stain of my bloodred lipstick still fresh on the side. Why did I feel so alone? My heart constantly ached, and all my emotions were void and empty. I was numb.
I slowly stood up and slipped my shoes off my swollen feet.
I lined them up neatly next to my chair and lifted my chin as a slight breeze caressed my skin and brushed my hair away from my sweaty brow.
I was aware of my body moving toward the edge of my balcony, and I felt my hips brush up against the iron railing.
I leaned over, just to look, and my breath went shallow.
Memories rushed through my cloudy mind, glimpses of the life I'd thought was right. Now everything was wrong. Six years old and my grandparents officially adopting me. Fifteen years old and telling everyone I was going to be famous. Twenty years old and falling in love.
With blurry eyes, I pressed up on my tiptoes. My calves ached, my arches sore from my heels--stupid heels. Everyone was gone. I was alone.
My heart was beating through my lightweight linen dress. The orange one Grandma and I had picked together in Italy the last summer we had Grandpa.
My head spun and my vision tunneled as I gripped the cast-iron column with shaky, sweaty hands. My biceps began to quiver as I hoisted myself up, taller, higher.
I took a jagged breath and looked down one last time.
A mother and her young daughter walked together hand in hand, the little girl taking two steps to her mother's one.
The little girl looked up, and our eyes met.
The mother stopped short and looked up to my balcony.
Her face paled and her eyes went wide. I saw her pull out her phone, but I didn't care.
My heart ached. I had to fix this feeling.
Would it hurt? How much longer could I keep pretending I was okay? No one would believe this. No one would think I was hurting. I never showed them.
A tear trickled down my cheek. No one would care.
I closed my eyes and waited as a breeze, warm and muggy, tickled my face.
I gave a small, delicate grin and leaned into the breeze.
It would be okay. I leaned a little farther, and I heard a woman scream at the same time a man's voice boomed from behind me. All I could feel was darkness.