Chapter Four

Elle

EVERYTHING seemed different.

~Everything is different.~

The air tasted richer. The traffic sounded louder. The temperature felt cooler. Even the sensation of cheap vinyl around my shoulders and cushy sneakers on my feet was different.

Nineteen years and this was the first time I’d been introduced to the world without finery or rules keeping me barricaded from living.

I inhaled deep, coughing a little as a taxi spewed exhaust. The burn in my throat was so foreign to the filtered air of the Belle Elle building that I grinned rather than grimaced.

The purse with its cash whispered to be spent, and my identification badge remained hidden in my pocket, reminding me who I was and how irresponsible I was being.

I had no phone for Dad to contact me. No method of communication or way of calling for help if I got lost or into trouble.

I was willing to put myself at risk just to live a little; to taste a different life than the one I’d been given.

I couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t exhilarating, but it was also absolutely ~terrifying.~

Those first few steps away from Belle Elle physically hurt. The ache in my chest at disappointing my father hollowed me out until even my excitement at doing something new couldn’t fill.

A few times, I second-guessed myself and almost turned around. I stopped, spun, and looked back at the huge hulking building where the shopping mega store was run.

But then I reminded myself if I didn’t do this, I would never know what it was like to be normal.

So I sucked it up, turned back around, and put one sneakered foot in front of the other, slowly entering the empire of downtown New York.

Strangers bumped into me, tourists asked me to take their photograph, and street vendors yelled about their wares directly into my face.

The sensory overload slowly eroded my shame for sneaking out and forced me to pay attention to every minor thing.

For hours, I walked.

I stared.

I breathed.

I let life take me wherever it wanted for a change. I had no idea where I was going or how to get back, but I let my feet get me lost because I had money to catch a taxi home.

I knew my address—I wasn’t that sheltered. I could afford to go wherever I wanted, and at the end of my adventures hop in a cab and return with a new depth to my existence.

And a secret I would happily harbor forever.

At some point, I must’ve done a block and looped back on myself, so instead of turning left when I arrived at Times Square, I turned right and continued letting the city show me what I’d been missing.

Flashing billboards tried to convince me I needed the latest Jeep and Hummer. Hollywood stars and starlets glowed in LED wonder with snippets of upcoming movies.

~Madame Tussauds~ promised wonders forever encapsulated in wax, and ~Ripley’s Believe It or Not!~ beckoned me to see things not common in everyday life.

Walking past a souvenir shop, a bunch of clocks held up by mini Statues of Liberty showed I’d wandered for a while.

Ten p.m.

By now, if I’d stuck to my routine, I would be at home, fresh from a quick treadmill run and shower.

I would answer a few last-minute emails and crawl into bed to read the latest romance before my eyes closed and the e-reader bopped me on the head.

Not tonight.

Tonight, strangers smiled or yelled—depending if they wanted me to do something for them or get out of the way.

I either moved too fast or too slow, unable to fall into the rhythm of the mismatched crowd I’d adopted.

My jacket overheated me from walking and being cramped into streets with sweaty people made me claustrophobic. My feet were flat, and my tummy was empty.

But nothing could detract from how freeing and awe-inspiring every experience was.

Turning another corner, I spotted a food truck promising the best Mexican this side of the border. Hadn’t one of my bucket list items been to eat from a street vendor?

~It might make you sick.~

Yes, it might. But food poisoning would be yet another adventure I’d long been denied. Pulling the purse from my pocket, I joined the queue and waited my turn.

As I shuffled to the front, I craned my neck to look at the guy leering down in a grease-spotted apron.

“What can I getcha?” He chewed a piece of gum, fingers twirling his pencil in impatience.

I narrowed my eyes at the menu behind him. “Um, what do you recommend?”

He scoffed. “Recommend? Lady, do I look like I have time to shoot the shit with you?” He pointed at the crowd behind me with his pencil. “Hurry up. I got paying people to feed.”

I opened my wallet and pulled out a twenty. “I’ll just have something chicken.” I handed him the money. “Oh, and not hot. I don’t like spice.”

“Got it.” He snorted. “Chicken and bland. Boring order for a boring girl.”

I tensed. “Excuse me?”

He looked me up and down. “Beat it, princess. Your order will be ready in five minutes. Pick-up is at the window down the truck.” He tossed me a dirty ten-dollar bill. “Here’s your change.”

I curled my fingers around the money, annoyance and hurt making equal acid tracks inside me. I’d never been talked to that way. No one dared.

The fact he’d called me boring, when I completely agreed with him, pissed me off even more. I wadded up the money and threw it at him. “Know what? Add a beef something or other to that order, too.

“And make it extra spicy.”

I walked off toward the collection window before he could insult me anymore.