The Bodyguard.

Chapter One- H2o

*Ella is shown above*

Water.

H2O. Two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen. A nice refreshing drink after the soccer game. A fun place to cool off after along day at the beach. That's all water was, right? Wrong.

Water.

Often times, in literature, the symbol of water means rebirth. This symbolism dates all the way back to the Bible. Genesis 7:4 is the description of a flood. Literally, through death and devastation, God gives the chance for a new life. Even more recent, F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel, The Great Gatsby, proves this symbolism even further so. Jay and Daisy first rekindle their love after a storm. The sun peaks through the clouds, just as the two's spark returns. The prior rain had washed away their long past, hopefully providing a sunny future. Although we all know how the novel ended, the opportunity of a new life loomed in Daisy's future.

And even most recently, Nicholas Sparks' novel (let's be honest, most of us just saw the movie), The Notebook, Noah and Allie's past was full of so much love and plenty of drama. The two are reuniting platonically, that is, until the rain begins to fall. The rain washes away their dramatic, sticky past, allowing them to share a kiss to seal their future's fate.

Water.

While it has a huge influence on literature and movies, the actual household use is most beneficial . Though it is a necessity for life, it also cleanses.

So why did I still feel so dirty? Why didn't I feel "reborn" yet?

I sat in my bathtub, knees clutched to my chest, makeup running down my cheeks, sopping hair covering my face, like so many times before. A year and seventy two days had passed since the incident, and I was the only one left to hold the memories. My shrink told me I needed to stop referring to it as 'the incident', but the word itself made me feel so much more filthy- rape.

A rape victim. That's what I was. That's ALL I am, according to the media. While my father tried so very hard to keep my incident and the attacker's suicide under wraps, a poor paid kitchen boy spilled the beans. "Ella Winslet: Millionaire, Dominic Winselt's Daughter, raped by her OWN bodyguard!" It was front page news for weeks. I was asked to do interviews, talk shows, and I even got one movie offer. But to all these people, the ones who offered money to describe the event, only saw me as a payday. A front cover, full spread sob story. None of them understood that the pain of discussing that dreadful night could not be bought. No amount of money would ever get me to relive what happened.

The thoughts of that night always resurface whenever I saw my unclothed body. But the water pelting down my back, calmed me for the moment. Yet, no matter how many times I wished for the shower to wash away the pain I felt inside, it never did.

Once I finally fought off my laziness, I stood, turning off the shower. The bathroom was engulfed in steam, so I quickly jumped into my clothes before the mirror was useful again. I wiped it clean, revealing my blue eyes staring back at me. I noticed my freckles were a bit more prevalent than they were in the winter. The sun always seemed to bring them out.

"Miss Ella?" One of our cleaning ladies, Valeria, called from outside the bathroom door.

"Uh, just a minute," I replied, throwing my chocolate hair up into a messy bun. I opened the door to face Valeria. Due to my tall stature, I looked down at her. "Val, I told you, just Ella." I added, smiling. Valeria was a tiny, old woman. She had prominent wrinkles all over her face and hands, and her hair was grey. Valeria had been working for my family ever since I could remember. Back then though, she was my nanny.

"I'm sorry Ella, I forget sometimes. You know, Julia has me call her 'miss', so it kind of just carries over," She said in her thick, Albanian accent. I rolled my eyes at the mention of my sister. Valeria was her nanny too, and yet she still treats her like she's just staff.