I like my life. I get to go to elaborate parties and see the thrill of the city. I'm Elizabeth, I'm 19 and I'm a CIA wanted thief. I am fairly tall, nice strong built. I like to wear short jackets and army like cloths that got changed to NYC fashion. I have olive skin like a nice tan from California sun. I never got rid of that part of home. Just to clear the air I ran from my family at 17 and from my high school sweetheart Kyle. Yes I miss him as all my other special people in my life daily. But I love my life now, running from city to city disappearing in a moment. I like the idea of taking everything I own legally in a bag and leaving. I have nobody in my way for me to drag around. I get to flirt with guys and have the single life. I once walked into a government office, took my file name and walked out without anyone noticing. I don't brag but, oh yea I'm that good. No one knows what I actually look like, all but my old family.
Sadly all fun must come to an end. All past comes to bite you in the back. My past just came screaming to bite out my heart and rip it out in front of me. I heard some news the other day that my old family came to the same city I'm in now. I know that it might be a coincidence because I'm 19 and so is he so maybe he has a job in New York. And in Chicago before that. Where I was, before that...Nope, he is following my trail. I have to move now, I can't let him find me. That insisting, insufferable, persistent, super hot, kind, loving, mess of a person who glides the halls with such grace as if he has wings and are gliding over to me with his green/gray eyes ripped jeans and a t-shirt that shows his passion for climbing and running, Kyle.
My high school sweetheart who I left along with the rest of the people who have been there throughout my whole life, who loved me and cared for me. They have come back with all of their love and sappy forgiveness. I bet they just want to see me again to tell me it's ok. The only one how understood me was Kyle. He understood that I didn't want to be pampered in some big house, but I wanted to work hard and earn a living (I must have taken a wrong turn). He came from a struggling family that I learned to love like my own next to my dad and mom.
Every Saturday the two families would go to my house and eat dinner like they were already family. It would always go me (a brunette with skinny jeans, a tank top and a shirt or jacket around my waist with my necklace that I always wore from Kyle that he gave me when he asked me out the first time), Jeannie (Kyle's younger sister that helped me with her diva fashion sense that rocked), Sara (my mom) then my dad who never left her side except to go on work meetings to his companies buildings. Then last was Kyle's mom Grace the, best Italian mom who tried very hard to fatten me up at every chance she got. Those were good times, but I wanted more, more worth living for then hot California beaches. More then Kyle.
