Page 57 of Unconventionally, Elle

Five years ago

Rach: Elle, I'm worried about you.

Sarah: Yeah, Elle. We haven't heard from you in a few days.

Are you okay?

Rach: Ellz, c'mon, it's us.

Me: I'm not great, but I'm okay. It's fine, I'll be fine. Things always work out. Plus, it's the day before Halloween. How can I be sad when I have Hocus Pocus to watch?

Sarah: Do you want us to come be with you? I know Jude leaving was hard and then Grandma Di. Elle, you aren't alone, we're here for you.

Sarah: P.S. Yes to Hocus Pocus!

Me: No

Rach: Are you sure?

Me: Don't come. I'm super busy. I wouldn't be able to entertain or take you two anywhere.

Sarah: Elle, you don't have to entertain us, you don't have to do this alone.

Rach: Right. You have us. You always have us.

Me: K

Rach: Elle, this isn't okay. I know you're not okay. Please talk to us.

Me: I have to get this email out. Love you both. Ttyl.

Sarah: Elle, please, tell me you're hanging in there...

Rach: Elle?

They say acceptance is part of grief, right? This was my acceptance.

I didn't want to keep living life without my grandmother.

Missing our last call continued to haunt me, and I was robbed of saying goodbye.

I didn't want to keep living life without Jude; my bed was empty and cold without him.

Should I keep up the illusion? Should I tell the girls what's really happening? My tortured heart, my tortured mind.

I hadn't talked to Jude since I told him about my grandmother. He'd stayed on the phone and listened to me cry for hours, but within a few days, I was ghosting him again. Hot and cold, I couldn't make up my mind. I was toxic, and so I texted him one last time before I assumed he went to work.

Me: I don't want to keep pretending. I don't want to live a lie anymore.

Jude: Elle, what are you talking about?

Me: I'm so tired, Jude. Exhausted. I love you, Jude, okay? You were the best part of me.

Jude: Elle, you're scaring me. Talk to me. What's happening with you? I'm still here for you, okay? I'm still here.

Me: Everything is dark. It's so hard. Breathing is hard. Jude, I'm tired. I love you, ok? I love you.

Jude: What's going on, Elle. You're not making sense.

Jude: Elle?

Jude: Elle, answer me!

Jude: Elle Belle, what the fuck? I just called you three times.

Answer your fucking phone.

Jude: Elle!

I'd had a forced yet convincing smile on my face since June.

Everyone saw it. They heard my hearty laughs.

No one knew I was dying and fighting my demons on the inside.

I felt alone with a shattered heart. I felt like the world would be better off without me.

What did I matter in this world? I was merely a speck on our planet in a vast universe.

What was our purpose, my purpose? What was the point?

For some reason, I waited. I convinced myself not to do anything stupid. Maybe I'd hang on, maybe I could do it.

I couldn't.

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. Jude's.

"Elle, don't you fucking dare!" His voice vibrated through my body.

I held on.

"Elle! Elle!" His arms were open, fear etched on his face with wide eyes and sweat along his brows. "Elle, get down. Please. I'm here, please get down!" He stepped a little closer.

The woman on the street had her daughter's eyes covered and her phone up to her mouth.

"Please don't jump, Elle. Let me catch you. Please, I'll do anything, let me catch you!" Jude begged and stepped right next to me, inches away from my body.

Before my fingers lost their grip, before I let go, his strong hand clasped my sweaty forearm.

"I've got you." His voice was far but firm. "I've got you, Elle."

I didn't fight him. I was so tired. So fucking tired. I couldn't think anymore; the exhaustion and darkness were all-consuming.

So I let go. I let go of everything, everyone, and fell right into Jude's open arms. He squeezed me tight to his chest, my head cradled into his shoulder.

"I'll always catch you, Elle. Always." His voice cracked as he sobbed into my shoulder.

His unwavering grip was a silent promise I knew he'd keep.

"Thank God you still don't lock your doors.

Thank God." He half chuckled, half cried into my ear.

He gently stroked my head, and the strands of sweaty hair clung to his fingers.

I'm not sure when I completely disassociated and blacked out, but I do know that Jude was with me the entire time.