Meet me in New Orleans

hey! I'm new at this so you're gonna have to be patient with me... I have this fanfic going here's the link http://www.wattpad.com/47566287-meet-me-in-new-orleans?utm_source=web&utm_medium=email&utm_content=share_info&ref_id=26307210 I would really really appreciate if you read it and if you could give some suggestions it would be great.

With love,

Lea

Ok so following an advice here's the kind of prologue of my story:

It didn't happened the way it should have, I guess nothing really does. I had my first big deception at the age of fifteen and what hurt the most was that I conspired against myself. One minute I felt like I had everything I wanted, like I was on top of the world and the next thing I knew was that I was too afraid of getting there. Back then traveling to Europe, getting away from everything and everyone was the only thing I wanted, it was some kind of Eden for me as if all my problems, everything that I did not wanted could get better once I crossed the atlantic, I didn't realized that if was too broken here would be equally broken anywhere. Reality made me face the fact that there was one thing i could never run away from... Me. That was when I decided that I had to stop feeling self-pity, that was when the courageos woman I am now started to grow.

Everyone kept telling me that there was no rush, that i had all my life ahead of me, that Europe, anywhere really, would be there waiting for me until I was ready. I knew that, what scared me was that I would never be ready. For me growing up meant running out of time, months went by and I found myself one year later even more confused than I was before, bullshit stayed there despite all my efforts to remove it, guilt was still there even though I knew it was of no use. Days went by and just when I thought I was putting together the pieces of me that had been ripped to shreds since i was a kid, fear crept into my mind once again. In april, eight months before I turned seventeen, I was already worried of being throwing the little time of life that I had to the trash can. I was so convinced that risky things were the key to happiness, and yet I was so used to play safe that I could not get out there and dance to the last drop of pure adrenalin. I walked around life thinking that while I was just there sitting a chair all my classmates where having fun, I felt like I was missing everything and cursed myself for not seizing strong enough to the only opportunity of life experience I had had a year ago. It scared the shit out of me waking up in seventy years regretting a life without emotion.

Ups and downs went by and I graduated from high school way too slow and way too fast. The summer in between my teenage life and college had the promise of taking me to Europe. It never happened. I kept writing shit every now and then, and when I say shit I do mean shit, half of what I have always written is a way of puking all the frustration I have inside of me, the other half of impossible expectations.

I cannot gather from my memories how it was that I came to meet my best friend but the thing is that at some point when we were studying we moved in together into a small apartment with a terrible view, in a terrible neighborhood, terrible really, but it was pretty close to school and was the only thing we could afford. For some reason in my crazy resented mind popped the idea that I did not wanted my father to pay for anything after I turned eighteen so I loaded myself with classes and also a bad payed half time job.

I graduated from college as slow and as fast as I did from high school, the life experience I had was as lame as always, I simply added weekends alcohol flooded. I got a job as a columnist a couple of months after I left behind school, my best friend -she needs a name, lets say she was called Rebekah- apparently inherited shitloads of money, she never said so but I do not believe that as a Math teacher she could have bought us a huge apartment in the most, if not only, beautiful part of the city.

My mood and creativity kept radically changing, going from up to down faster than the pulses marked in the EKG of a person having a heart attack. Coexisting with my drama, Miranda's fake mental health kept trying to make me heal. I knew it was fake because she never would never speak of her family and when she was about to she had always a good excuse to distract herself from the topic. I might not have learned much throughout my years of bouncing between misery and happiness, but something I knew for sure was that a person that had conflicts mentioning its family could not possibly be okay.

During one of my periods of happiness and on-top-of-the-world-attitude Rebekah got engaged, that is why I finally came to hear about her family.

Week number two of celebration for her upcoming marriage led to a mental break down and panic attack since somehow the news of her engagement traveled to her sibling's ears. Before that I kept telling her that no good could come about her repressing whatever reason took her away from her family but she would not hear of it until she found herself in the need of telling me everything about it.

She talked to me about all her six siblings, five boys and one girl, the later she had not hear from since she was twelve. All her five brothers were as different as five boys could be, the oldest was literally a piece of shit, and I say it with all the respect he earned later on. His name is of little consequence and since i do not wish to name him properly just yet I would call him brother N.

N had managed to turn my best friend's childhood into a living hell, at some point he took the place of the devil himself- who was of course their father- and keeping the family's tradition of having a tyrant, he gave up all the good in him and put down all his anger in the back of his brothers. My friend and I knew that N's behavior must have had been caused by some traumatic experience, and that we could guess even without the psychology course we had both attended to. However, Miranda could not fear him more and her resentment towards her brother would not diminish.

The second son, E, was the only one who had ever been brave enough to challenge the psychopath Miranda had as a brother. He would be both the worst enemy and the only ally N had, he believed that all his siblings could find peace at some point. The strength of his hope made me believe it too.

The remaining three brothers were as bath tempered as my own, but also as caring. They advised Rebekah to run away and to try to stay as far as she could from the torment she had grew up into.

I listened to her story and made no attempt of saying something to comfort her. There was nothing I could possibly say that could make her feel better, I should know.

The confession, I acknowledged at the end of it, had been provoked by a letter she had received. Both N and E wanted to know her future husband, and as she had described the manners of them that acquaintance could be no good for the maintenance of her relationship.

In those days I believed I was some kind of healer that had achieved enough peace to help any troubled soul. I was crazy indeed, I have always been, but without that delusion I might never had the enough courage to face her family with her. And thankfully, to make that decision lead me to know the one person capable of turning everything upside down.