“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.
“You’re insane,” I told her.
“I know,” she admitted, lifting a Cheshire grin my direction.
She faced the wind and screamed, making my adrenaline spike further than it already was.
“You’re burning my buzz,” I told her.
She turned to me but it was too quick a reaction for her drunk body, and she stumbled. She began to fall forward but did nothing to stop herself. Instead, she closed her eyes as if she sat at the top of a roller coaster, ready to drop.
I tossed her back and she fell on top of the chaise, unharmed.
But I lost my footing. My arms wound around, as if that could balance me. This is it, I thought. Poor mom. Poor Bridge.
My feet slipped from underneath me and I began the fall but at the last second, Piper pulled hard at my arm, drawing me back toward the villa decking. It wasn’t far enough and I caught the middle of the balcony solidly on my side.
My left arm dropped to my side, but I kept my right hand on the growing bruise. Oh my God, I thought. I could have died. I lifted trembling hands and ran them through my hair then down my face. I stared at my reflection, wondering if I kept it up if my poor mother would have to bury me in the family mausoleum before I even finished college.
I entered the shower and sat at the tiled seat, letting the steam swarm around me, hoping it would hide me away forever. My heart beat erratically in my chest, thinking back on what I’d barely survived. My skin blazed in anger thinking on the redhead, thinking on her whispers, her gentle coaxing. She was so convincing, so alluring, so persuasive.