Chapter One: Breathe
You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand, and I can't breathe, without you, but I have to. Breathe. – Taylor Swift
Jacob had the nerve to follow her into the elevator of the building she lived in. Bella was still in shock, the statement he made earlier not yet setting in. I kissed her. Again. The third time he had cheated on her.
"Can I just explain," Jacob begged like he was trying to convince someone to hand over the last Mark Jacobs bag ever created.
"No, now get out of my building," Bella said coldly not turning to face him in the front of the elevator. She would not let him see her break down; her mother raised a strong woman. Couldn't this elevator move any faster! Bella owned one of the penthouses on the top floor with her best friend from Princeton, but come-on!
Jacob, trying to take advantage of the current speed of the elevator he pleaded "She meant nothing to me…I swear." Oh the nerve he had.
When the elevator finally opened, Bella jumped out and speed walked to her apartment. She was done, and had enough. Obviously he didn't catch the memo because he caught up to her and grabbed her arm.
Wiping her arm back like a cobra, Bella replied icily as she slid her coach key chain into the door, "Don't touch me. Three strikes and you're out! We're DONE."
"Baby stop," He cried.
That did it. Turning sharply on the heal of her black Alexander McQueen pumps, she faced him, her amber eyes flickering with anger. Jacob almost stepped back in the sudden glare. "I'm not your baby."
With that she flung her door open and slammed it into his frozen face.
Placing her quilted white Chanel on the counter top, Bella walked to the back of the penthouse and opened the double glass doors that led to the balcony. Bella had to grab the wall for support as she let the previous news hit her. It was like being hit by a bowling ball. Her legs felt like they were ripped out from under her-like rejected piece of fabric.
When Bella placed her hand on her moisturized cheek, she felt the wet substance streaming down her face. Pressing her hands into her eyes, she tried to push the tears back. He was a pig and she refused to cry over him.
Try as she might, tears still fell.
Gazing at the multiple skyscrapers and buildings in the city she loved, a huge gust of fall air slammed into Bella's frame. Whipping her tears and long chestnut brown hair back.
Ehmagosh! The wind was a sign! God was helping her be strong. Helping her push back the horrible feelings of rejection. Helping her move on from the pig that was once her boyfriend ever since college. It would take time-something she learned from her sister's many relationships- but she would get over it with grace. She would move on like Jen after Brad and Angelina became Brangalina.
Alice walked down the busy streets of Chelsea, New York eager and excited. Not wanting to scare the other pedestrians, she speed walked, now only a two blocks from the penthouse she shared with one of her best friends from college.
Alice was ecstatic; she had scored two front aisle passes to the Calvin Kline fashion show in a week for her two best friends, Rosalie and Bella. Working as a backstage producer for CK had its major perks. Of course, Bella could just as easily get tickets to all the designer's shows because of her senior reporter position for the style section of the New York Times but they were usually aisle two seats. Not to be outdone, Rosalie's position as a marketing director for Michael Kors had perks, but not front aisle perks. They would go insane, she was sure of it.
The click, clacking of her Calvin Kline brown suede ankle boots brought her back to reality, as she turned on the street in front of her building.
"Good Evening Miss Brandon," the doorman to my building said as he opened up the door for Alice. He was an older man, probably around sixty-five. Despite his age, he was tall and fit, a must in the fashion capital of the world.
"Thanks Thomas," she replied, smiling her ice breaker smile politely.
"Oh Miss Brandon," Thomas said, stopping Alice as she headed for the elevator. "Miss Swan and Mr. Black arrived earlier and were arguing as they went into the elevator."
Like the gold bangles Alice tried to push up her slender arm, her smile fell. That could only mean one thing, the bastard cheated on her again. Desperately needing to see her friend, Alice ran across the freshly waxed marble floor and into the polished wooden elevator.
Alice wasn't sure if she should
a) Kill Jacob
b) Kill the slut that he cheated with
c) Hire a hit man to kill both of them
d) Call Rosalie
e) Call her loving mother to help
f) Take the stairs because of the decrepit elevator
Alice opted for d because she was positive Jacob's six foot eight frame could take her, being only four foot eleven.
After dialing Rosalie's number on her iPhone, Alice heard her high voice, "Hello."
"Rose, Bella needs us, the jerk did it again," Alice said harshly into her phone.
"I'll be right over, I'm just getting out of a meeting," Rosalie said quickly, already understanding what Alice was referring to.
After hanging up, and opening their penthouse door, Alice saw Bella spread across the black leather couch, What Not to Wearplaying from their plasma screen television. Bella was wearing her navy Juicy sweat suit over top of a white beater.
Looking closer, Alice realized Bella was crying. It was more shocking when Chris Brown and Rihanna got back together.
Bella never cried. She was always the strongest out of their group of three. Always there for her friends, never concerned with her own emotions, it was heartbreaking.
Placing her brown hobo bag on their granite countertop, Alice walked over to Bella and grabbed her in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, he's a jerk," Alice said truthfully. She never liked Jacob, even from the beginning of their relationship.
"Why did he do this to me again?" Bella asked.
"I don't know hon, but he's a pig and your better without him," she said as she wiped Bella's mascara streaked cheeks with the hem of her cream BCBG sweater.
"It hurts Al," Bella replied, pressing her head into Alice's short, lily scented hair.
Rosalie grabbed her black Mark Jacobs bowler bag from her office desk and sprinted - well as fast as she could in five inch pumps and a high waisted pencil skirt – into the street and threw her arm in the air for a cab.
When the cab skidded to a stop in front of her, Rosalie jumped in and shouted the address of her best friend's penthouse to the bald overweight driver.
"Any thang for you sweethauwt," said the driver, winking at Rosalie through the front mirror. Ugh, he was a slimebag. Rosalie rolled her eyes and watched through the window as the driver swerved in and out of lanes, ignoring the honking of other mustard yellow taxis.
When the taxi skidded to a stop, Rosalie threw the driver a twenty and ran to their building. "Their upstairs Miss Hale," Thomas the doorman announced as he opened the door. He knew by the look on her face that she was in a hurry.
"Thank you Thomas," Rosalie called over her shoulder, not wanting to be rude to the older man. He reminded Rosalie of her own father, despite the fact that her he owned a law firm in the city. They were both tall and always acted like gentlemen. That's how her dad had won over a model for a wife.
After unlocking the penthouse door with the spare key Alice and Bella had given her, she saw her two friends huddled together on the couch, Alice rubbing soothing circles on Bella's back.
Tossing her bag on their love seat, Rosalie grabbed Bella in a tight hug, and heard her quite whisper, "It still hurts…d- did I do the right thing?"
Rosalie was stunned. Bella was always so sure of herself, always had confidence. Seeing her eyes begin to fill with tears, Rosalie tried to distract her, "Of course you did B." Spreading her arms out like Vana White, Rosalie said, "You are Isabella Swan, senior reporter of the New York Times. You are young, beautiful and strong. He is a pig, and you deserve so much better."
Every word rang truthful. All Alice could do was nod in agreement.
Looking back on the chapters, I noticed that I had spelt some of the designers name's wrong or that I was just not happy with some of the phrases. Really sorry! I cringed when I read that I had spelt Kline with a C instead of a K. Sometimes when I typed the chapters, I didn't prof read after.
Thanks x 10 to those who let me know of my mistakes!
Again, really sorry. For all the copies of Teen Vogue and Style I have read, you would have thought that I would be able to spell Blanik correctly!
I really liked the idea of Bella, Alice and Rosalie living in New York City, so I channeled my inner fashionista. If you liked the first chapter please tell me. I'm planning on the story to consist of multiple chapters, and I want to post a new chapter every weekend.
As always, thank you for reading.