Page 79 of Unconventionally, Elle
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 barat 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 littlegirl 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.
49
Now
In the roaring club, our table was silent. The tension was thick and heavy.
"Remember what I said to you, Elle Belle?" Jude was looking at me and only me.
I nodded slowly and said, "Let me catch you. Please, I'll do anything, let me catch you!"
"You saved her," Finn said, eyes wide with awe.
Jude didn't look away from me. It felt like if he did, I'd fall apart, and he knew it. He only nodded silently.
