When The Rain Falls - Book 1 by N, Y. (feel good books .TXT) 📕

Chapter One: Alone

  

As the trees go by in the rainy cloudy view of London, I sat back in the cab. I was on my way to give my speech and my amends for my family. 

 

I missed them so much.

 

It has been a long time since i've seen my husband and kids.

 

 

Once I reached the doors of the typical conference room, I walked down the aisle. Press and reporters and tabloids took pictures of me.

 

I wore a grey pencil skirt and a black blouse.

 

My hair was cut short to my shoulder and I wore my mom's favorite heels.

 

As I got to the podium, the press began to speak.

 

 

"Ms. Woods, Ms. Woods how does it feel to be out of jail?"

 

"Do you finally get to live with your family again?"

 

"It's been so long since the big murder scandel, how do you feel?"

 

I sighed and tried to ignore the questions and nervously put my hands on the podium. As I tapped the microphone every press and reporter gained my attention. The cameras were on me and it was my time to speak.

 

 

"Um, hello....I'm Elle Woods and i'm sp glad I got to come here and see my family. In London. I have been over the fact of being in jail for the past six years. So this is my chance to say something."

 

 

The press asked non-stop questions. Wanting more about the truth.

 

"Ms. Woods, how did you feel about going to jail 2 times and knowing you left your husband and children behind?''

 

That one reporter completely caught me off guard.

 

Everyone in the crow leaned in. Even Jacob and my 3 kids.

 

Kylie, Jake and Galleria. Who were standing off to the side watching me.

 

 

"It's been a while since I've seen my kids and husband. The last time I remember seeing all 3 of them, was when Galleria was just a newborn and Kyile and Jake,.....my wonderful twins were just 3 years old. Someone I knew leaked information about my past and told it to the police. And I admit, at first I wanted to attempt threats. But I was no longer in control of resisting my actions. And after 6 years in jail, I realized I needed to get my life together."

 

 

I looked out into the crowd as I tried not to tear up in front of the cameras.

 

"I mean, leaving Jacob behind with my kids after I went off to jail again? That's just not me. But I did what I had to do. The first time I went, I thought Jacob was gonna leave me and never forgive me for that."

 

 

I started tearing up, but I had to hold it together.

 

A tabloid interuppted. "Ms. Woods, tell us exactly what happened and why you depend on making your future better than the past?"

  

"A long time ago, every single bit of my past had to do with how I got here in the first place." 

 

 

I looked to the crowd, now more confident.

 

"It was when I was writing a new blog on the metro bus on my way home, on a rainy afternoon."

 

 

 

4:47PM

 

 

"I really don’t know what I wanna do with myself. It’s difficult to think while i’m blogging and on the fairly clean bus filled with so many students and people who go to the same school as me. There’s the girls who talk about everything and allegedly think every boy in the whole university has a crush on them. They're...I don’t wanna say what I really feel about them. I know my mom says I shouldn’t call girls that type of word. But I really think it’s necessary to say that they're basic. I mean, I wouldn’t call myself basic judging myself solely. I’m just different from everyone else with their well dressed clothing, their talent and thinking they're the best, out of anyone. But anyways, I gotta go. My bus just got to my stop. I have got to get home my ElleWoodsers. Have a nice weekend and see ya next time." - @SummerElleW_86

 

 

I got off the bus as I popped in my earbuds and blasted music like usual. I walked down the old sidewalk and stared down at the ground as I walked home...like always.

 

This is my life.

 

I am Elle Woods, the daughter of a now un-anger managed mother and moving-out dad. 

 

 

Ever since the big divorce, I couldn’t handle the fact of my parents leaving me to be with just one of them. I’ve always thought that the divorce was part of my fault.

 

But dad told me i was because mom needed to go to anger management class and become stable again. 

 

After all these years my parents spent together, they were always happy. And my mom did so many things I never knew. Like sky diving and touring France and she had short hair back then, which surprised me.

 

 

 My dad is an artist. Loving and inspiring others to do what they want.

 

That’s were I got my sense of blogging from.

 

I've been blogging on my laptop for about 4 years after I finished middle school.

 

It’s been tough.

 

 

But knowing that after school, getting on the bus and opening my laptop to write to my fans, I feel happy to know that I have so many people all around the world listening and reading about me and my life.

 

And what I believe. 

 

 

 

Mom enters out of the house with a relieved look on her face once she saw me. And a concerned but mad look after, she had her hands on her hips.

 

"Where have you been Elle, i’ve been waiting 10 mintues for you to come home. Have you've been wondering again? You haven't done that since middle school."

 

I looked down, straying away from her eyesight.

 

"And stop doing that, you made me call in late for work."

 

There she goes, complaining again.

 

 

She sighed and walked down the steps from our house. Talk about moms, mine’s more annoying than ever.

 

Before, my mom use to design dresses in Manhattan. And when she got the big call 14 years ago about an offer in working with the most famous designers in Europe, we packed up and left from New York to Paris.

 

It was an amazing experience of course. I don’t know what happened after 2 months of living in Paris, but all I knew was my mom suddenly had anger issues after that one night I snuck into the Fashion Show she was promoting.

 

She quickly made us move back to the U.S.

 

 

But instead we moved to Rosewood, it’s a small unknown town in Georgia (far far away from New York). 

 

There I go wondering again, my mom’s yelling at me and i’m not listening.

 

"I told you so many times...Elle! Elle? Elle!?…get your butt inside the house and never come out or you're grounded. You're gonna come straight home from the bus stop and i’m gonna watch you walk to the house! I'm so disappointed."

 

I had built up anger inside and I finally let it out for once.

 

 

"Mom you treat me like i'm a 12 year old, i'm 18 mom. 18. I can handle things. But sometimes I wonder off because I think about things and about my life. And mom, I have to come back to you everyday nagging about me and my priorities to you."

 

My mom looked frustrated at me. And for the first time in my life, I say those 3 horrible, blinding, words to my mom.

 

"I hate you."

 

 

It was loud enough for my mom to hear. Those words struck my mom like a dagger in the heart.

 

From that day I didn't talk to my mom.

 

 

I stormed inside the house, feeling boiling mad as I let it simmer in my thoughts.

 

I'm just trying to live my life and she had to ruin it. Everything.

 

She went to work crying, upset. Her eyes looked like the dew drops on a leaf from the prettiest plant on earth. I knew I let her down but it was worth the everyday talk she tries to give me.

 

 

As soon as she left, I run inside the house to see my dad.

 

The only person I could trust. 

 

He’s amazing, someone who I look up to. Someone I can count on.

 

 

"How's my little sport today?" he asked.

 

"Great, but mom got all mad because I got home 10 mintues late after I got off the bus. Dad can you make me a sandwich? Just like I want it."

 

 

"Of course you are my only daughter and child. Anything for you, and you know it."

 

I respond. "Right, I’ll be upstairs."

 

 

I ran upstairs to my room to see my walls, which I had painted purple 4 years ago.

 

The color expresses how I feel most of the time, like a grape.

 

 

A big purple grape who has so much to live for and has always been different from the others.

 

 

I call my room The Purple Palace, because I would love to live in a palace.

 

Just like in Paris.

 

Memories of living there come flooding back, but it's one big blur. I can't remember the details.

 

 

Dad suddenly comes in with my sandwich. Two pieces of ham, three pieces of turkey. Mustard, light mayo and a glass of my favorite orange juice.

 

"Here ya go." Dad says.

 

 

I take a bite and the white bread gets stuck in between my teeth, as I look to my window.

 

I dream of Paris and running away to it someday.

 

Maybe I can leave this lose town after all. If my dreams come true.

 

 

I bite into the sandwich again.

 

 

To go back, back in time when everything was right. Although I never really thought of escaping to Paris. But it just came to mind and i’ve been thinking about it for a long time ever since what happened in Paris, a long time ago.

 

 

I took 2 more bites out of my sandwich and sip my orange juice.

 

I always thought the best memories were the worse. But the worst have become the best in the past.

 

 

 Talking to my dad everyday is the best feeling in the world. Like when you know you found the right person that’s just perfect. The type of person you want to spend the rest of your life with.

 

I want to spend the rest of my life with someone who's perfect for me.

 

 

That used to be the type of relationship my parents had, but now it’s ruined.

 

 

I haven’t really told anyone the real story of why my childhood ended up shattered and it faded away quickly.

 

 

Dad leaves the room. I watch his figure leave.

 

He know’s how I wonder a lot and I must admit, he’s a wonderer too.

 

Me and my dad are just the same. Always thinking and making the best of every moment.

 

 

The real story of how my family and I came to be was back when my parents met in New York, where my dad lived. Before we came to Rosewood and before Paris.

 

He was writing stories hoping to become a journalist and accidentally ran into my mom at a small craft store. And at that moment they fell in love.

 

They lived in a small New York studio apartment. And after dating for 1 year, I was in their lives.

 

 

Up until I was 5, mom got the big call that she would get to launch her Fashion Line in Paris and work with other designers more closely. Of course, back when she was a designer.

 

And as for now she’s an accountant working at a bank. Managing money for big product companies that design clothes and shipments. I guess you can say she's got half the fashion designer field back in her life.

 

But not really.

 

 

How low did my mom go to get this far?

 

But, when she found out the news, we packed up and left to Paris in less than a week. I mostly remembered the flight to Paris from New York.

 

It wasn’t long since we lived on the edge of america. In New York.

 

 

And when we got to Paris, my mom had a big Mansion or should I say, Palace waiting for us. Mom bought the