I remember the first time I died. It was the only time my soul left my body and went up to Heaven for the briefest of moments. Ironically, it's the best memory I've ever had in my long lifetime.
I want to write a book about it. Dying, I mean. That way people won't be so worried. They get so scared that it's going to hurt or be the end of their soul. But it's not. Death doesn't hurt. It's peaceful, if anything. Your body recognizes it's shutting down so it does what it can to protect and ease your mind.
Now the reason behind a person dying - yes, that can be painful. Once I realized I was immortal I was too skeptical to 'test it out,' so to speak. But after the first fifty years of immortality, I was in a bad accident. I should have broken my hips, my collar bone and my left wrist. But by the time I realized what had happened, I was healed.
My body still hurts when it is broken, yes. But the healing process is so fast, the pain is always very short-lived.
After that first incident, I got a bit carried away.
I jumped from mountain tops, drowned myself, hung myself…I even shot myself in the thigh one night after having one too many drinks. I guess a psychologist would call it suicide attempts. I call it curiosity, a need to find my immortal body's limitations. And after hundreds of years of testing, my conclusion is I have none. I cannot die and when I am injured, my body just snaps back to its original state.
I don't do that kind of stuff anymore though. Even though my body is just an elastic shell of what it used to be, I try to take care of it. Plus, with the medical help today, the less accidents I'm in the better. People start to wonder when I'm in a near-death accident and am healed in less than five minutes.
Evan is supposed to pick me up soon. I had to go shopping for a new outfit. I have no idea where he's taking me so I chose a cute summer dress. It's bright purple and contrasts well with my almond eyes and chocolate brown hair. It's tight against my slender curves and shows just enough cleavage to be enticing - but not slutty. That's a fine line now-a-days.
I've curled my hair into big banana curls and pinned a few strands up on my head to give it some height. Now some purple eyeliner, black mascara, a small bit of blush, and a touch of silver eye shadow.
I check myself in the mirror.
Well, I look the same as I did almost a thousand years ago, but at least the fashion has changed since then. Thank goodness.
I've been told time and time again I'm an attractive woman. I'm tall, slender, have seductive curves and a pretty face. After so many years of compliments, I truly believed I was 'hot stuff.'
But after looking at the same face for 989 years, I guess the appeal has diminished. Oh what a millennium can do to an ego, I think dryly.
I slip into my matching purple high heels and spray on a bit of perfume onto my wrists. The smell is intoxicating, even for me. I've had this perfume since the year 1055. There was a local 'artist' that lived close to me and she made bottles of perfume and potions.
The smells she could create were astounding. When I finally found one that I thought was irresistible, I bought out her entire collection and paid her to keep making more until the day she died. I started out with hundreds of thousands of bottles. Now I'm down to a mere 252.
I close my eyes and get lost in my own scent, my mind racing back to those days so long ago….
As I stand here alone, a weird sensation runs through my body. It's unsettling as it is exciting. My stomach lurches forward and I can feel my heartbeat picking up speed. My palms begin to sweat and my muscles clench against their own will.
I can hear the wind outside pick up speed, its power so strong it sounds like a dog's whine. And then it stills.
I am frozen to where I stand and turn my gaze to the front door. I'm holding my breath, waiting for the inevitable to happen.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three loud knocks on my front door. It's not locked and I see the golden handle begin to turn. My heart is in my throat. I can't do this, not right now. Evan will be showing up any minute…
The door opens slowly, and a tall man walks through the doorframe, his body language exuding confidence as if he owns the place.
His head lifts up and sees me in an instant. Our eyes lock and for a moment, and I feel breathless. His green eyes are bright, a shade lighter than Evan's I note. His wavy jet black hair is long, pulled back into a loose ponytail behind his head.
He stands at a massive six foot five inches tall and is chiseled muscle from head to toe. He looks good. Really good. I can't help staring at him.
He's wearing fancy black pants and a formal white shirt, an impressive black jacket over top of it. His shoes are black and shiny, and I wonder how much he must have spent on a suit this classy.
His masculine face is clean shaven, a look I haven't seen on him in quite some time. His lips part and he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly.
"You look beautiful, Stella," he says. His voice is like honey to my ears but my brain keeps flashing me warning signs.
My mouth opens and closes but not a word comes out. How did he find me?
"It was easy," he replies to my thoughts. "You're easy to track when I want to find you."
I can hear a rustling outside and a moment later I can see Evan's lean body walking up to my door. He sees that it's already open and pokes his head inside. When he sees me he smiles, but then frowns as he seems my intruder as well.
"Ah…hey Stella," Evan says, question in his voice.
I don't have time for this now. I just wanted to have dinner with Evan. And of course, it blows up in my face.
Mustering up my confidence, I walk past the intruder and grab Evan's arm, pulling the both of us outside. I slam the door in my intruder's face and scurry down my front stairs.
"Who was that?" Evan whispers when we are out of ear shot.
I take a deep breath and shake my head, trying to erase the image of the man now standing in my living room.
"It's my ex-husband."