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“Have you ever felt free?” she asked.
“Never,” I answered truthfully. I could barely keep my eyes open. “I live in a cage,” I embellished.
“Poor baby,” Piper cooed, swiping her crimson lacquered nails down my face. She wasn’t sincere, not even in the slightest. Anger briefly flashed across her face.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I rumbled through a thick tongue, “but you’d be wrong.”
“No I wouldn’t,” she whispered. “You live a life of privilege.”
“It’s not half what it’s cracked up to be. Do you know how hard it is to be a good person with money?”
“Do you know how hard it is to be a good person without it?”
We were quiet, watching the fountains below my twenty-story villa.
“Do you want to feel free?” she asked.
“Of course,” I admitted.
She grabbed my hand and we stood. She dragged a chaise to the edge of the concrete balustrade and perched on top, almost toppling over she was so inebriated. She giggled then braced a hand on my shoulder before balancing one high-heeled foot on the balcony edge.
“You’re crazy,” I told her.
“I know.”
But I followed her. For some reason, I followed her. My mom’s voice of reason popped into my head, something about friends and bridges and jumping, but I ignored it. I anchored my dress shoes from Church’s in London on the cushion of the chaise. I stared down on the foot, seemingly unable to move another inch. Fear crept into my stomach, securing me where I stood.
“Come on,” she whispered in my ear.
I steeled my stomach and lifted onto the chaise. I turned toward the world around us and breathed deeply of the cool air that can only be found at the height we stood. I let the wind rush through my hair and took one more step onto the edge of the balustrade before lifting my entire body.
I stood on the precipice of twenty stories, of exhilaration, of adrenaline, of stupidity, but most importantly, I stood on the precipice of death. I turned to Piper, her eyes were wild as the wind whipped her hair around her face and plastered her gown to her body.
She grabbed my hand to steady herself and turned toward me.
“Do you feel it?” she asked.
“Feel?”
“Do you feel alive yet?”
“No.”
She ignored me and faced the fountains below.
“I wondered what would happen if I jumped,” she stated matter-of-factly, but I could tell she didn’t care if I answered her. She was contemplating.
ok my head and smiled at her then rolled down the divider. “Joël Robuchon, please,” I told the driver.
Chapter Five
Oh my God, my head. The pounding was intolerable. My eyes felt heavy, too heavy. I began to move my arm, but it felt pinned by something, making me crack open an eye. I glanced to my left. Shit. Shit. Shit. The back of Piper’s head rested on my wrist. I slid my arm out from underneath her but she only groaned, dead to the world, it seemed.
I practically jumped from the bed, staggering back a bit from the pain in my head. Oh, God. Oh, God. What have I done? I asked myself, bringing my hands to my head. Remember. What happened? You went to dinner...
Dinner. It was standard. Steaks, liquor, lots of liquor. More liquor than I thought two people could possibly drink. Random memories of Piper moving to my side of the booth, her hands sliding up my thighs, her tongue in my ear. My stomach lurched and I turned, only to stumble over a random guy sleeping at the bottom of the villa’s master stairs. I felt ill, and not from the liquor. I made my way to the kitchen, meandering around the leeches asleep at my feet. I needed water. I staggered a little, still a bit drunk. I threw open the freezer door and stuck my head inside.
“Fucking leeches, all of them,” I said, thinking on all the assholes littering my villa floor. She’s the worst, I thought of the burgundy headed vixen in my bed. I lurched into the cold air, ready to spill bile, but closed my eyes and swallowed instead. I breathed deeply through my nose several times and the nausea subsided.
